Late for Algebra


I couldn’t stop thinking about my ass that afternoon. With good reason, it was getting plenty of verbal and imaginative attention.
“What are you doing before you go in to class?” I asked my SO over the phone.
“Hmm, maybe a nap,” said he.
My ears perked up.  We don’t do phone sex talk for the most part, but I was feeling a little sassy. “Oh really, a ‘nap’, huh?” I said, placing just enough emphasis on the word nap to let him know what I was thinking.
There was a slight hesitation on his end of the line. Then, “Y-e-e-e-s,” he said cautiously.
“Are you going to stroke yourself while you nap?”
He let out a little huff of laughter. “Probably,” he said.
“What are you going to think about while you touch yourself?” I asked.  I frequently ask him this after he masturbates.  I want to know what images, what thoughts, what fantasies turn him on. He seldom shares them with me except in the most minimal descriptions, but I think it amuses him that I try to tease them out of him.
“You,” he said promptly, as he almost always does.  Once, he told me he was fantasizing about J, our gf, riding him, fucking his mouth, writhing above him, her back arched, her perfect globe breasts thrust up, his hands squeezing her ass.  That image stayed with me in my imagination for the longest time, pushing me to my own orgasms many times.  Then, the other day when she was here, I saw it for real and it about drove me over the edge with heat and desire.  I sucked his cock as she rode him, I saw his hands, pale against her tanned skin, squeezing her ass and her breasts, felt his excitement and his cock grow as she ground her cunt against his mouth.  I thrust my hips blindly into the comforter as he shoved his cock up into my mouth in time to her thrusts against his mouth…it was blind-blowingly hot.
But this time it is me he will be thinking of, he says.
“Doing what?” I asked, pushing just a bit. “Fucking me? Or is it my mouth you want…”
Surprisingly he answered. “I’ll be thinking of pushing you over the edge of bed and shoving your face into the pillow to muffle your screams while I fuck you.”
WHOA.  Okay, now we’re talking.
“My pussy?” I said, “Or my ass?”
“Both,” he replied.  And leaves it there. And I usually would too, but, well, I was feeling it.  Even on the phone.
“Which first?” I asked, and when he was silent a moment too long I continued. “My pussy. You’ll make yourself wet with my pussy juices, fuck me awhile, make me hot, make me moan, make me start to arch back against you, trying to get at my clit with my fingers. But you’ll pull out, won’t you, right at the moment when I am almost there, you’ll pull out and push just the tip of your cock against my asshole, letting me know what you’re planning.  And I’ll tense up just a bit, I won’t be asking for it yet–”
“Because you won’t have any tequila in you,” he says, laughing. I stumble to a pause, the fantasy I was weaving in my head gone, the moment shattered.
“Tequila makes other people’s clothes fall off,” he said. “With you it makes you want to get your ass fucked.”
And damn, just like they always are, those words were a trigger.  I was seriously hot and wet now.  My pussy and my ass were throbbing. My hand was straying down to the waistband of my slacks. But I was at work, and I had to be in an algebra test in an hour, so…all I got to do was think about my ass.  Think about getting it fucked, and all the ways that might/could happen. Think about him sliding into me, slowly, almost tentatively, from behind, gauging my reactions, waiting for me to open to him, waiting for me to start pushing back against him, waiting for me to want him there. He likes that moment, the moment when it turns from me not-wanting, only acquiescing, to wanting his cock in my ass.  Because I don’t want to want it, I don’t want to be a dirty girl that likes to have her ass fucked, I don’t want to like it.  But damn it, I do.
I was late for my algebra test.

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