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He laughs at me, though it is not a nice laugh.
“I’m free in ways you don’t understand, Dreamy,” he says, pulling me close. I gasp, breathless, as his mouth descends on mine in a passionate kiss that drives all my self-righteous ideas out of my head and leaves me instead with a body full of chemicals reacting to him.
“You kissed me,” I exclaim, whispering. We cannot make too much noise. Someone might report us, and then I’ll never be a worker.
“I did,” he whispers back. “Because I could. That’s what my freedom is. Things I cannot do and things I can. I do whatever I can.”
“Whatever you can?”
“What do you wish you could do before you lose your will, Dreamy?”
“I don’t… I won’t. The training isn’t losing your will, it just makes it easier to do your job.”
They don’t tell us precisely what coding is, but we all know there’s a difference between a student and a worker. Students are just people. Workers are focused machines — and I mean that in the best way. I can’t wait to be part of something greater than myself, to put aside all the confusion that comes with trying to work out who I am, and just know what I am. At least, that’s what I thought I wanted. Right up until he kissed me.
He’s looking at me with triumph. He’s the big, bad criminal. And I am the helpless, innocent student at his mercy. That’s what he thinks. But then I reach out, grab his jacket, and I kiss him back. Two can play at this game of tease.
He growls and grabs me, this time his hands clasping my ass, pulling me hard against him. I feel the throbbing line of his manhood pressing against me through the fabric of his pants.
A student and a criminal. A good girl and a bad boy, hiding out of bounds. We make a pair of polar opposites, and there’s something about that which sparks a reckless fire in me.
“Have you ever been fucked?”
“No,” I breathe against his mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you today, Dreamy,” he tells me. He’s cupping my ass under my skirt and letting the tips of his fingers run against my pussy lips from behind, massaging the material of my underwear against my sex. It’s fucking hot. He is hot. I have never encountered anybody like him, and I am sure I will never know anyone like him again.
He lies back and sets me atop him, my legs straddling him. We are fully clothed, but really there’s just the gusset of my underwear and the fly of his pants between us. Neither one of those barriers last another thirty seconds. He pulls his zipper down and his big fingers slide my panties to the side. I draw in a shocked breath as I feel the length of his cock against my pussy.
“Good, huh?” He grins up at me, his hands on my hips as he guides me back and forth, rubbing my pussy on his cock. There’s wetness between us, a lubrication of my own making. I don’t know what I am doing. I know about sex, of course. A lot of the students fuck, but I never have. I’m a good girl.
I feel the head of his cock bump up against the little bud that only I have touched before, the part of that sends jolts of pure pleasure through my whole body.
“Shah…” I put my hand on his big, broad chest. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it so good.”
He’s an outlaw, tempting me into his lifestyle with the promise of cock. He lifts me up, and his thick rod slides up without my weight on it. Now the soft lips of my sex are suspended above him, ready to be impaled on him.
“Do you want to stay a virgin?” He asks me the question.
He’s teasing me. Sadist. He’s holding me right over everything my body wants and he’s going to make me tell him to fuck me. He’s not going to give me the criminal courtesy of just doing it to me and letting me think I had no choice. I can feel the head of his cock right between my lower lips, poised to penetrate. Shah could hold me here all day if he had to. I think he might.
Everything that is happening right now is something I was taught was wrong. So why does it feel so right? Why does this terrible criminal turn me on? Why did I help him? Why did I crawl into this dark, private space with him where the only outcome was to have my innocence torn apart?
“Tell me what you want,” he orders. He’s stern when he wants to be. That’s the contradiction. He’s an outlaw, but he is also an authority to himself. In his hands, I am controlled, and I am safe and I…
“Please,” I whisper. “Do it.”
“Do you, you mean?” His voice is husky with the effort of the self-control it takes not to just fuck me. “Tomorrow you’ll be a good little worker, but today you can be my hot little fuck toy.”
With those words, he lowers me onto his cock, the thickness entering me, stretching me, taking the last vestiges of the innocence of my flesh. He reaches up with his other hand and rucks my sweater up above my breasts. It’s more lewd this way, to be partially dressed and partially naked and to have the hot cock of a criminal I do not know sinking inside my pussy one hot, hard inch at a time until finally I settle my ass back against his thighs, totally filled with him.
“You have a nice cunt, Dreamy,” he growls. “It’s a pity nobody will fuck it after today.”
Again, he lifts me up slightly. He’s making space for my claimed pussy to be properly fucked. A few inches is all he needs and then I am trapped in his grip as he works that flesh piston in and out of me, his movements controlled at first, but becoming harder and faster until the roof space is full of the sound of my wet pussy being filled over and over again.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” I gasp and whimper as I give myself to this wild embodiment of everything I claim to stand against.
