Morgen lies face down in the middle of her double bed, one hand crooked beneath her hips. Her housemates are all home, pre-drinking already in the kitchen downstairs, and so she bites the pillow to keep herself from making any noise. She thinks of Lisa. Beautiful Lisa with her tight body and her bright blue eyes. Her pulled-back hair and narrow hips. The soft curve of Lisa’s breasts, hidden beneath her sweater. Morgen’s fingers explore the cleft between her legs, rubbing in long, slow circles. She shudders with pleasure.
She imagines that she and Lisa have ended up alone in Lisa’s office. She has only ever seen Lisa’s office once before, when she dropped by to turn in a late assignment. It was narrow and stacked with books and smelled lightly of Lisa’s perfume, and Morgen loved it almost at once. In her head, Lisa is standing between her and the door, hands on hips. Now she’s pushing Morgen backwards, one step at a time, towards the desk. Her hands are confident, steadying her and turning her face up and drawing her into a long, open-mouthed kiss. And while Lisa kisses her, her hands are busy elsewhere, teasing at the seams of Morgen’s clothing, pulling at the hem of her skirt.
It is the middle of the day, in this fantasy. The door to the office is shut, but students are shuttling back and forth in the corridor beyond. They are separated from the real world by only a single panel of wood, but it’s enough. Lisa pulls back, smiles knowingly, and lifts her sweater up and over her head. Beneath are perfect, heavy breasts cupped in half-moons of black satin. Bigger than Morgen’s. Rounder – more shapely. Morgen has spent an exceptional amount of time staring at the shape Lisa’s sweater makes over her breasts, and she feels as though she can imagine them perfectly. Lisa’s pussy, however, is a mystery. Beyond knowing.
Morgen is so wet now that her fingers slip. So wet that she knows she’s leaving a patch in the middle of the bedspread. It’s so easy to dip her fingers inside herself, and when she does the floating sensation that engulfs her entire body makes her moan with pleasure. It’s as if she’s filled with stars, weightless. In her brain, in the dark behind her closed eyes, she makes her fingers into Lisa’s fingers. She is lying on Lisa’s desk while Lisa kisses her, and rubs and circles and dips into her pussy. Then Lisa is kissing her neck, her breasts, her stomach. Down and down… and Morgen imagines that her fingers are not her fingers anymore at all, but Lisa’s sweet, wet tongue.
Something is fluttering in the pit of Morgen’s stomach now. The pitch of it rising steadily. Her free hand makes a fist of the bedsheets and her body spasms a little, her hips rocking against her hand. She feels like a firework with a burning fuse, like a cup about to overflow. She bites down hard on the pillow, and somehow without any conscious though the picture in her head rearranges itself. Now it is Lisa on the desk instead of her. She is naked, and so beautiful, so perfect, so spread and ready. Breasts lying flat against her chest. The smooth curve of her abdomen. And the mystery of the cleft between her legs, which Morgen cannot fully picture, even as she brings her mouth down to it in the fantasy. Even as she licks and laps, tasting Lisa’s intimate fluids.
The fluttering isn’t a fluttering anymore. Now it’s a steady pulse, a heartbeat of increasing pleasure, something that thrums through her like the rumble of jet engine. It is deafening, and it is so perfectly right, and she imagines licking Lisa’s clit and feeling Lisa’s thighs tights on either side of her as she writhes with pleasure. Lisa’s hands gripping her hair, pushing her down. Lisa grinding her hips up against her.
The thought of Lisa coming with her mouth on her pussy is enough to send Morgen over the edge. She groans into the pillow once more, and the firework in her belly explodes, sending sparks skittering to the very top of her head, to the tips of her toes, all the way up her spine. She shudders, convulses, her hand cupping her spasming pussy. Even at the height of it she holds Lisa in her head – still beautifully naked now and convulsing with pleasure just as she is. It’s so intense she can barely breathe until it’s over, until the last shivers have made their way through her body.
When at last her orgasm subsides, Morgen curls up in the middle of her bed and lies there, slowly regaining her breath. The tidal wave of her orgasm is over, but little sparks still announce themselves now and again, each one bringing with it that same mental image of Lisa – her eyes wide, her mouth open. Is that what she’d look like when she came? Morgen can only imagine – and that is something that she does extensively, whenever she has the chance. For the last six weeks whenever she has touched herself it has been Lisa she thinks of. Always Lisa – beautiful, impossible, unattainable Lisa.
There are some nights, after making herself come two, three, four times that Morgen thinks she might very well be in love.
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