Microbiology

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“Hey, what if microbiology was the study of baby animals?”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

It was one of dozens of times that evening that my mind had wandered off the task at hand – studying for my comprehensive midterm in microbiology. I was certainly amusing myself but I was starting to concern you with my inability to focus. We sat on my bed together with a few study guides spread about and the textbook. Both of us were just in comfortable t-shirts and comfortable underwear. For practical reasons both of us were wearing our glasses. I tried to hide how much that distracted me but I wasn’t very good at it. I was a little crestfallen every time you didn’t find me hilarious, and I really didn’t want you to find it annoying that I found you to be inconveniently sexy. You actually needed to wear those glasses but every time you started talking about biology my eyes would wander to your lips. I’d try to make eye contact again to stop thinking about your lips and I’d start thinking about how incredibly erotic your nerdiness was to me the second I saw those glasses. For a while it seemed like I was a really intent listener but then I couldn’t answer any of your questions very well – couldn’t even remember what the question was, and the problem was readily apparent.

As the attempted study session went on you attempted different means to try to make me study. At first you tried to just not be attractive. This was, of course, impossible. Something about the way you belched after drinking soda just had me appreciating the frankness of your soul – or something like that. My rose colored glasses were thicc. I wasn’t getting any reading done because of them.

Then you tried something that backfired even faster.

In general I’m not a person who likes being told what to do. The glaring exception to that rule being, at times, my sexuality. Yet even that was an unruly facet of who I was. You thought you could make me study. You eventually did but it took a lot more than the first try.

“Lana,” I perked up out of a daydream about going down on you when you said my name. It wasn’t just my name. It was the way you said my name. After hearing my name said that way so many times before being really given what I want, I had certain associations. That tone sounded like a warning. It sounded like authority. It sounded like you were about to tell me what to do and that, in my mind, could be anything from giving you head to slipping my hand into my underwear to show you how much I needed you. I didn’t expect you to tell me to focus on my reading. On some level I understood what you were trying. Part of me was truly sympathetic. I wished focusing was easier and I was really grateful for your help with my studies. I didn’t want to vex you unnecessarily. That part of me was rational. Another wilder part of me had far more sway after hearing you talk to me like that. I shook my head to say no.

“No?” You asked as you broke character somewhat. You really did expect that to work. Mostly you felt disappointed and at a loss as to what to do. You considered that maybe you didn’t lay it on thick enough and I’d fold given just a little more pressure. Despite how cliché and a little porn-y it was you lowered your glasses and repeated yourself. “No?” You looked over the tops of the black rims at me as if you couldn’t believe I’d dare refuse you. At this point those books and study guides were as much props in the porno in my head as your glasses. I’d forgotten they served a functional purpose besides their association with sexuality for me. I did reconsider my choices at that point though. I didn’t like being too stubborn with you when you were like this. I was worried if I held out too much you wouldn’t find this dynamic to be fun. At the end of the day it was incredibly fun to “give in” – but giving in didn’t usually mean studying. I stared dumbly as I was really turned on and at a loss for what to do.

You put your glasses on and took some time to organize the piles of paper around us, thinking. You seemed a little distraught. I moved toward you and kissed you on the cheek to try to make you smile – and you did. “I’m sorry I’m being difficult.” I said quietly into the small space between us. You kept smiling but it turned wicked. “You’re being really naughty.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. But it wasn’t a boisterous laugh. It was sudden and nervous. I sat back. I blushed furiously. I was Bayan Escort Antep so turned on but taken aback entirely. You smiled even more and pursued me across the bed. My heart hammered in my chest uncontrollably. “You’re such a bad girl.” I think I stopped breathing. I looked away off to the side and tried to keep a straight face if only because I wasn’t sure how to react. You dragged your tongue up the side of my neck to my temple and I let out a shuddering moan. I collapsed backwards, whispering the question, “Come here ..?” And you did. You laid on top of me and gazed down at me. We spent a long moment like that. My breathing returned to normal – it even slowed down quite a bit as I calmed down. You laid your head on my chest and listened to my heart beat. I needed the moment to collect myself. You noticed after a while that I wasn’t moving or saying anything. Briefly you worried that you had said something wrong, but you only asked – “What are you thinking about?” I’d calmed down but I was far more passive than normal in that moment, and it was clear that I had gotten lost in thought.

“You’re not going to look down on me for this are you?” I ask. Maybe it’s a little late for this question but I know in my heart I’d rather have the respect of my lover than the exploration of whatever tangential kinks are a part of my sexuality. I hoped so much that I wouldn’t have to choose. You shake your head and then go back to holding me close. We’re silent for a long moment as you’re pondering your own worry. “Did I say something wrong?” You finally come out with it. And to that I shake my head. I find myself smiling and blushing. “Not at all.” I’m really blushing quite intensely. My worries leave me and I say, “Feel.” I take one of your hands and guide it into my underwear. My eyes close. You can feel the sharp breath I draw in underneath you and you can also feel that I am incredibly turned on. When I open my eyes again you’re there and you’re staring at me with a grin like a very mischievous cat that is about to eat a canary.

“Your hand is still in my underwear.” I point out.

“I know. Any complaints?” You say, stroking me with the slightest motion.

“Nuh-uh.” I say, “No … way …” I let out an elongated exhale, arch my back, and close my eyes again. You keep playing with me using the softest touches to highlight just how sensitive I feel. I bring my hands up to my own hair and revel in the sensation of it all. The slow touches, the warmth of the blankets around me, the pressure of you on top of me, even the small conversation that we just had … I feel like I could melt into the bed.

“Good girl,” You say barely loud enough for me to hear but I find myself smirking. Of course there’s that modicum of anxiety that wants me to bring this to a pause again to have a more drawn out discussion. Of course I want to hear you say, like twelve times, that you still respect me. I ignore it and give in to that other, better sinking feeling. Trusting you is so much more fun than doubt. Trust feels like safety, warmth, understanding, contentedness … I think you’re soothed by my responses too. Given the chance I wouldn’t want to offend you, hurt you, or make you feel disrespected either.

You’re moving downward and I’m a little offended by the loss of contact as less of you is on less of me. You’re urging my underwear down and I lift my hips to help out with that. I open my eyes in time to see you comically slingshot them across the room. They hit the opposite wall as I think that my sense of humor might be rubbing off on you. It’s as comforting as it is hilarious. My legs fall apart and I’m just watching you quietly. My mind wanders. It never goes far but the haze of arousal is always fertile ground for thoughts about how lucky I am to have you, and how amazing you are. If you could read my mind you might think I’m a huge kiss-ass. I mentally make a note to make a joke about that during future sexual encounters. While I’m wandering around in my own thoughts, your tongue meets my clit and I am suddenly jarred back into reality. The motion isn’t dissimilar to a cat grooming itself. I’m not going to get off on that but I am going to become uncomfortably aroused. I can already feel my resolve melting even further, and faster. It really doesn’t take long before I’m a total mess underneath you. You have to put two firm hands on my hips to hold me in place and that turns me on even more. You “torture” me for a while longer.

Then you switch it up. You’re back to manipulating me with your hand and you slither back up to me to use that wicked mouth for other things. I am still, wholly, a mess. I’m constantly moaning, panting out tiny soft needy sounds. You’re keeping me there on purpose. For what purpose I am anxious to find out – and you let me know. You place your mouth so close to my ear as you speak to me that your breath, and the heat of it on me is as much a feature of your speech as your tone and choice of words.

“You’ve been such a bad, bad girl.” You start, and I think I’m going to die or maybe explode. My feelings can only be summed up as: I can’t even. “That ends here. You’re going to study, and we’re going to have fun.” I have to open my eyes briefly to see if you still have your glasses on and it’s like peeking through my fingers in the middle of a suspenseful movie. I turn my head to check and yes, yes you do. I am surely going to die. All the little synapses in my brain must be hyperactively firing to the extent that I will surely short-circuit and explode. The back of my head hits the pillow and my eyelids snap shut. You stop speaking because I’ve started breathlessly chanting the phrase “oh my god” over again. Not only do you stop speaking but your hand slows down to next to nothing. You lay your full weight over me and seem to cuddle me for a moment as I calm down from the excitement of nearly dying by spontaneous sexual combustion. When I do you rise up over me and resume speaking.

“Look at me.” I can’t but I feel your hand leave my pants to grip my chin and make me look at you. My eyes open slowly and I’m absolutely paralyzed. I wish I could be sexier about this but you’re pushing all the right buttons and I can’t even function. You seem to be power-tripping a lot though. “You’re going to be good. I’m going to make you into the perfect student.” I have no idea how, but I believe it. “Sit up.” You pull me up and hand me my book. I’m still stupidly turned on and I don’t comprehend anything. You quickly move and sit behind me with your legs spread around me. You lean back against pillows piled up behind you and pull be against you. Your arms snake around my waist. Your legs pry my legs open and pin them down. Your head is on my shoulder. I’m entirely held captive. “Don’t drop the book.” You say, and to my credit I manage to hold onto it as your hand goes back to my clit. Your other hand is manipulating my breasts. You get me all hot and bothered again then stop.

“Start reading.” You say, and though I should’ve figured it out before now I suddenly get it. You explain anyways. “As long as you keep reading, I’ll keep touching you. When you stop, I stop. At the end of every section I’ll ask you questions. If you answer well, you’ll be rewarded. If you can’t answer at all, you’ll have to read it again. And when you’re done with all the reading …” Your voice drops to a whisper and you use one of my favorite phrases in our bedroom vocabulary. “I’ll fuck your brains out.” I feel your teeth on my earlobe before you draw away and stop messing with me entirely. “That is, if you’re good.” You laugh, and I’m dazed for a moment before I take up reading obediently.

Trial and error lasts through the first chapter. You have to find the right amount of stimulation that keeps me needy but not too overwhelmed with need to function. I end up having to re-read most of the sections because I can’t concentrate. Eventually we get it, and we really get it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this diligent about reading a textbook ever. I start consistently answering your questions well, and each time you take a moment to drive me nearly to the edge of orgasm as my reward. When your hand needs a break you use a vibrator. When my clit becomes too sensitive you play with my breasts, suck on my neck, or finger me. In the last few chapters you have me seated on a dildo, and use your hips and hands to control the speed I can use to fuck myself with it. It’s the strangest feeling of satisfaction to get so much done as far as studying while to stay on this plateau for so long. I glance at a clock. It’s been around an hour. I’ve lost my sense of urgency and I’m just dazed. Yet, somehow, all of my answers are so very, very detailed and on point. I answer the last question and my voice trails off. “Good girl ..” You murmur into my ear. I’m too sedated by arousal to even remember that earlier I been concerned about letting you talk to me like this. It all just feels perfect. I moan and the book falls away.

You move and I fall onto my back. You reclaim the toy and fasten it into the harness then straddle me. I’m looking up at you and clearly seeing stars. You lean over me and place your hands on my shoulder, pressing me into the mattress. Then you lower your chest over my face and let me up some. I take each breast into my mouth and swirl my tongue over the velvety soft flesh. I don’t bite but I pull on each nipple with my teeth. I hear you moaning over me, and it’s wonderful encouragement. I could lose myself in pleasuring you, but when my hand goes to your waist you sit back and grab me by the wrist. You take my hands and pin them over my head. “Keep them here … ” Your mind wanders to the handcuffs in the drawer, but you don’t even want to take the time to grab them. All at once it’s been too long. Something clicks and you want to drive me over the edge, right now. You’re also pretty sure that I’d do anything you asked of me in this state.

I do. I grip the top of the mattress as you slide that toy into me to the hilt. You sit back on your calves while pulling me to you, and staying fully inside me. I lose my grip immediately, and my fingers trail over the fabric as I pull up the fitted sheet and hold on to that instead. You have my hips slightly elevated and you shove a pillow underneath to help keep me propped up. It turns out to not be especially necessary. I use my core muscles to keep my back arched. You use your hands to pull me to you with every inward thrust. Not a bit of it is gentle. You might go slow but every thrust is bottoming out and moving my whole body. I’m screaming. I manage to hook my legs behind you so I’m dragged with you every time you pull out, and I help you every time you slam back in. “Good girl!” You exclaim, and my mind is almost entirely gone as promised. My voice goes hoarse and I start panting. You continue on unabated. My pants turn to punctuating moans. You really work me out just like this until you suddenly fall forward over me and grab my chin again.

“Open your eyes.” I do.

“Don’t come until I tell you to.” You say and I nod weakly. My eyes close again. You reach down and rub my clit until I’m squirming. My expression looks almost pained because I’m trying so hard to do what you’ve told me.

You pull out and give my ankles a tug. “Come on. Bend over the bed.” I move, though my entire body feels bone-less, and you end up pulling me along. When I get to the edge of the bed you push me down against the mattress again, spread my legs with yours, grab my hips, and slam back in again. I’m entirely limp as if I’ve already came three times, but I haven’t – not even once yet. I’m so entirely spent and my brain is entirely vacant. All I know is that this feels incredible. Your hand snakes underneath me and starts playing with my clit again and everything comes back into focus sharply. I’m holding my breath trying not to come.

Your other hand is holding me by the back of my neck. You’re leaning in and I know what comes next. I can’t wait, and I start saying this: “I can’t wait, I can’t – Britney I can’t wait, I can’t -” You pause as long as I’m saying this but then I shut up because even trying to speak is taking up the focus I need to hold off having a mind-blowing orgasm. You’re probably smiling like the devil, and on the power-trip of your life. I can’t be bothered to care. You pull back on my hair, pulling my head up, and fuck me harder against your hand as well as the bed while you tell me to come. I do. I see little bright lights and then I gasp for breath. My heartbeat is crazy. I’m shaking and my legs give out. I’m pinned against the bed so I don’t fall.

You stay inside until I stop shaking and then you urge me up onto the bed again. You pull the thick comforter over me and then slide out of the harness and join me underneath it. You face me as you curl up in front of me. You watch as my breathing returns to normal. I look so damn peaceful. You think I might be asleep and reach out to stroke my cheek tenderly. I smile and my eyelids flutter open. Immediately, seeing you, I bury my face in the covers and grin like an idiot. You just start playing with my hair. I have to come up a second later to let out a big yawn. “Roll over.” You murmur and I do. You curl up against me and wrap your arms around me, spooning me perfectly. “I love studying.” I say as I fall asleep to the feeling of you kissing the back of my neck.

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