What I thought would be a low-key summer on campus turned into one of the most memorable chapters of my life...
The campus was a ghost town that summer, a quiet skeleton of its usual self. I was bunking in an old brick dorm, the kind with long, echoing hallways and floors that creaked with history. The room was mine alone. From the day I’d moved in, I’d been eyeing the big, plush armchair abandoned in the third-floor lounge, its cushions sunken in and worn soft. It only took me an hour of feigned nonchalance before I hauled it down the hall and shoved it into the corner of my room, a perfect throne of stolen comfort.
It was a few weeks into the summer session when she first knocked. I opened the door to a petite Asian girl who seemed almost too small for the oversized T-shirt and tight jeans she wore. Her hair was a sheet of pure black, stick-straight and cut sharp just below her shoulders. A delicate, narrow face. She was from Taiwan, she explained, part of a summer program for international high school students. Her name was Lin.
Her room was right next to mine, and soon our impromptu chats became a regular thing. She’d tap on my door in the evening, a little hesitant at first, and then make a beeline for the plush chair. She’d curl up in it, tucking her feet underneath her, while I’d stay sprawled out on my bed, listening to the soft, careful cadence of her English.
It started with small talk—classes, the strange food in the dining hall, the humidity. But over the weeks, the space between us, separated by a few feet of worn carpet, began to fill with heavier things. She started talking about home, about the life she’d left behind for two months.
"It's loud there," Lin said one night, her voice barely above a whisper. "Always people. My parents… my friends…" She trailed off, staring at the scuffed toe of her sneaker. "My friends, they all laughed when I left. They said I would find an American boyfriend."
I just nodded, propped up on an elbow. I’d learned that just listening was what she needed. She wasn’t looking for answers, just a place to put the words.
"There was this party. Last weekend," she continued, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the arm of the chair. "A boy… he is in my program. He was very nice at first. He kept getting me drinks." She paused, took a shallow breath. "Later, he wanted me to go to his room. He said… a lot of things. He said I was being a tease."
Her hands clenched into small fists on the faded floral pattern of the armchair. "He kept saying I was leading him on. That the way I dress… the way I smile at people… that it means I want it."
I stayed quiet, just watching her. A part of my brain, the primal and selfish part, flashed with an image of her—her clothes, her smile—and felt a hot, possessive anger at the thought of some nameless guy putting his hands on her. But I pushed it down. That wasn't my place. My job, in this strange, unspoken pact we'd formed, was just to be a solid wall she could talk at.
"I didn't want to make a scene," she whispered, her voice getting thinner. "I let him walk me back to his dorm. It was on this floor, just down the hall." She hugged her arms around her stomach. "In his room, he… he was very forceful. He started to kiss me. I kept turning my head, but he was strong." She paused, her throat working. "He pulled off my shirt. Then my bra."
I saw her swallow hard, her slim neck contracting. She wouldn't look at me, her gaze fixed on a crack in the plaster wall.
"I just froze. I felt… very small. Like I wasn't there. He was unbuttoning my jeans when I finally… I pushed him away. I told him to stop." Her voice cracked on the last word. "He got angry. But he let me go. I just… ran back to my room."
She finally looked over at me, her face pale in the dim light of my desk lamp. "Is it my fault? Because of my clothes?"
"No," I said, my voice firmer than I expected. "No, Lin. It's not your fault." I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The creak of the old mattress springs sounded loud in the silence. "He shouldn't have done that. It doesn't matter what you were wearing."
She watched me, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, she just held my gaze, and then she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It was like a dam breaking. The story of her ex-boyfriend in Taiwan came tumbling out. His name was Wei. They'd been together for a year. He was her first for everything.
"We only did it twice," she said, her voice small. "The first time… it hurt. I didn't like it." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "He said it gets better. The second time… it was okay. But I didn't feel… what you're supposed to feel. You know?"
I had a pretty good idea. But I just said, "Yeah, I know."
"We are not… broken up," she added, as if it was an important detail she'd almost forgotten. "But we are not… I don't know."
We sat like that for a while, the silence settling back in. The air in the room felt heavy, thick with her confessions. I could smell the faint, clean scent of her shampoo from across the room. I had the sudden, powerful urge to go over there, to put a hand on her shoulder, to offer some kind of physical comfort. But I stayed put. The chair was her space, the bed was mine. Crossing that line felt like it would break the delicate balance we had.
Finally, she unfolded herself from the chair, her joints popping softly. "I should go to sleep," she said, but she didn't move. She just stood there in the middle of my room, looking small and lost. "Thank you for listening."
"Anytime, Lin," I said, my voice a little rough. I cleared my throat. "Get some sleep."
She gave me a small, tired smile and slipped out the door, closing it so softly I barely heard the click of the latch. I flopped back onto my bed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. The room felt strangely empty without her in the chair. Her stories, her vulnerability, were all still hanging in the air. The faint floral scent of her lingered, and I found myself thinking about her slim body curled up, the image of her in just her jeans, of her small, bare breasts. I thought about the idiot down the hall, and the boyfriend back in Taiwan.
I felt a familiar stirring in my boxers, a low thrum of heat. It was a purely physical reaction, a response to the images her words had painted in my mind, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt. Here she was, trusting me with these intimate, painful pieces of her life, and my body was betraying the purity of that trust. I rolled onto my side, pushing the thoughts away, trying to focus on the boring text of my political science textbook. It was a long time before I fell asleep.
The next few days fell back into a familiar rhythm. We'd pass in the hall with shy smiles. Sometimes we'd eat together in the mostly empty dining hall, poking at the sad-looking Salisbury steak and talking about nothing important. Then, one evening, there was that soft tap on my door again.
She came in, a little less hesitant this time, and went straight for her chair. She was wearing a tight, black halter top that left her shoulders and back bare, and a short denim skirt that showed off her slim, pale legs. She looked... good. Really good. An ache started low in my stomach.
We talked for hours. She seemed lighter, the weight of last week's confessions lifted. She laughed, a genuine, high-pitched sound that made her shoulders shake. She told me about her family's apartment in Taipei, her overbearing mother, the pet turtle she'd had since she was six. She was animated, gesturing with her hands, and the movement caused the thin fabric of her top to shift, offering fleeting glimpses of the smooth curve of her side.
As the night wore on, a comfortable silence fell between us. The only sound was the hum of the ancient window A/C unit and the distant chirp of crickets. I watched her from my bed, the way the lamplight caught the shine of her dark hair. That ache in my gut hadn't gone away. It had settled, a low, constant heat.
"You're very easy to talk to," she said suddenly, her voice soft. "Not like other guys."
"I just try to listen," I said, the words feeling inadequate.
She smiled, a small, genuine curve of her lips. "It's nice."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than usual, and I felt it like a physical touch. The air between us crackled with a new tension, something different from the confessional intimacy we'd shared before. This was a charged stillness, thick with unspoken possibilities. I could feel my pulse quicken, a slow, heavy beat in my ears. The desire to close the distance between us, to finally cross that invisible line, was a physical pull, a tightening in my chest.
I pushed myself off the bed and walked over to my small desk, fiddling with a stack of textbooks to give my hands something to do. The silence stretched, and I knew if I didn't say something, do something, the moment would pass, and we'd go back to being just the boy in the dorm room and the girl in the chair.
I turned around, leaning back against the desk. "So," I started, my voice sounding a bit hoarse. "This ex-boyfriend... Wei. You think you'll get back with him when you go home?"
She chewed on her lower lip, considering. "I don't know," she said finally. "He is all I have ever known. But being here... it feels different. I feel different." She looked up at me, her dark, almond-shaped eyes holding mine. "Maybe I want something new."
The words hung in the air between us, charged and definite. *Something new.*
The hum of the air conditioner seemed to fade away. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. I stayed leaning against the desk, my hands gripping the edge behind me. Her gaze was steady, searching, and it felt like she could see right through my carefully constructed walls of older, responsible friend.
Slowly, I pushed off the desk and took a step towards her. Then another. I stopped just in front of the chair, the plush armrest brushing against my leg. I was so close now I could see the tiny, almost invisible freckle just above her lip. I could smell the faint, sweet scent of her skin.
I didn't say anything. I just reached out, my hand hesitant, and brushed a stray strand of her silky black hair away from her face. My fingers grazed the softness of her cheek. A tremor went through her, a quick, sharp intake of breath. Her lips parted slightly.
I lowered my hand, letting it rest on the arm of the chair, my knuckles just inches from her thigh. The silence was absolute. My heart was pounding against my ribs, a frantic, heavy rhythm. I leaned in, my body screaming at me, my mind a riot of warnings and desires. I lowered my head, closing the last bit of distance between us. Her scent filled my head as our lips met.
It was a tentative kiss. Soft. Exploring. Her lips were even softer than I had imagined, yielding slightly under the pressure of mine. I kept it gentle, a simple meeting of mouths, but the electricity of that first touch was a jolt that shot through my entire body. I could feel her surprise, a slight tensing in her shoulders, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, after a moment that felt like an eternity, her lips softened further, responding to mine, a silent permission.
Her mouth was warm and wet, and the taste of her was intoxicating. It was a clumsy exploration, two nervous tongues learning the rhythm of each other. Her hand came up, resting tentatively on my chest, her small fingers curling into the fabric of my t-shirt. I could feel the light tremor in them. I shifted my weight, bringing one knee up onto the edge of the chair's cushion, leaning over her more completely, trapping her in the soft depths of the armchair. Her other hand came to rest on my shoulder, a feather-light touch that sent another shiver of desire through me.
A corner of my mind buzzed with a low-grade alarm. This was Lin. Petite, seventeen-year-old Lin, who told me her secrets, who looked to me for guidance. I was supposed to be the older, responsible figure to her, and here I was, my body pressed against hers, my tongue in her mouth. A voice, the responsible one, whispered that this was wrong, that I was taking advantage of her trust, of her youth. I promised myself I'd keep it light. Just this. Just kissing.
But as my mouth moved against hers, a deeper, more primal desire took hold. The taste of her, the feel of her small body pliant against mine… I wanted more. The promise I made to myself was already feeling flimsy, a thin barrier against the tide of what I really wanted to do. Just a little further, a different voice whispered back, a more persuasive one. Just to feel her.
Slowly, reluctantly, I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against hers. We were both breathing heavily, short, sharp gasps in the quiet room. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes dark against her pale skin. Her lips were swollen, red, and glistening.
My hand moved from the armrest, sliding along the bare skin of her arm, feeling the goosebumps that rose on her flesh. It was a slow, deliberate journey. My fingers traced the delicate line of her collarbone, then dipped lower, over the thin fabric of her halter top. I hesitated for a fraction of a second over the gentle swell of her breast. The alarm bell in my head was ringing louder now, but I ignored it. I flattened my palm over her heart, feeling the frantic, bird-like beat beneath. I could feel the small, firm shape of her breast through the cotton.
Her body went rigid for a second, a sharp intake of breath, but she didn't push my hand away. That was all the encouragement I needed. My thumb stroked the soft fabric, circling the small, firm mound. Even through the cotton, I could feel her nipple harden into a tight little nub. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a sound of surrender, and her head lolled back against the cushions of the chair.
That sound erased the last of my restraint. Keeping one hand on her breast, my other hand went to her back, finding the place where the halter top was tied at the base of her neck. My fingers, fumbling slightly, worked at the knot. It came undone easily. I hooked my fingers under the loosened fabric and peeled it downwards.
The pale globes of her breasts were small, perfect, just as I’d imagined. Her nipples were a darker rose color, tight and puckered from my touch, pointing up at me. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, a blush creeping up her neck and across her chest. She looked so vulnerable, so exquisitely open to me.
My mouth left hers, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the long column of her throat. She arched her neck, giving me better access. The skin there was so soft, so sensitive. I could feel her pulse hammering under my lips. I reached her collarbone and moved lower, my tongue flicking out to taste the salty skin above her breastbone. She let out a low, whimpering moan as my lips closed over one of her nipples.
This is as far as it goes, I told myself, a frantic internal negotiation. Above the belt. Just kissing, just this. It’s respectable. It’s something I can rationalize later, something I won’t have to feel so guilty about. It’s just playing around.
I suckled her nipple gently, teasing it with my tongue, rolling the hard little bud between my lips. Lin’s hands, which had been resting passively on my shoulders, moved, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of my head, holding me to her. Her hips lifted off the chair, just a fraction of an inch, a small, involuntary press against my thigh.
I switched to her other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. The warmth of her, the clean scent of her skin, the small, desperate sounds she was making in the back of her throat… they were all systematically dismantling my defenses. The boundary I'd set for myself—*above the belt*—was starting to feel less like a moral line and more like a frustrating obstacle. The urge to go further was an insistent, heavy pulse in my groin.
My hand slid from her back, down her side, tracing the gentle curve of her waist. I felt the button of her denim skirt under my fingertips. It felt like a lock I was destined to open. My fingers skimmed over it, my palm coming to rest flat against her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, even through the thick denim. She shuddered under my touch, a full-body tremor this time.
My fingers found the cool metal of the button. With a slight pressure, it popped open. The sound was deafening in the quiet room. Her breath hitched. I slid my hand down, over the rough brass teeth of the zipper. It made a rasping sound as I pulled it down slowly, inch by inch, revealing a tantalizing strip of pale lace panties underneath.
My hand slipped inside the opening, my palm flat against the warm, soft skin of her lower belly. The lace of her panties was silky against my fingertips. She was so small, so delicate. My fingers dipped lower, pressing gently against the mound of her mons, feeling the soft curls of hair through the thin fabric. A wet heat bloomed against my palm. She was soaked.
A low, guttural moan escaped her throat, and her hips writhed against my hand. That sound, that movement, was my undoing. All thoughts of stopping, of boundaries, of what was right or wrong, evaporated in a cloud of pure, unadulterated need.
I broke away from her breast, my mouth finding hers again in a deep, bruising kiss. At the same time, I pushed her skirt down over her hips, bunching it around her thighs. I hooked my fingers into the elastic waistband of her panties and pulled them down, over her smooth legs, until they were tangled with the discarded skirt around her ankles.
The sight of her laid bare in the armchair made the air rush from my lungs. Her narrow hips, the gentle curve of her stomach, and the dark, neat triangle of hair between her legs. It was an image of pure, feminine vulnerability, offered up to me. A soft sheen of moisture glistened in the lamplight, catching on the soft curls.
I looked up from that intoxicating sight to her face. Her eyes were open now, watching me through heavy-lidded eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and swollen from our kisses. There was no fear there, only a dazed, heated anticipation. She held my gaze, and in that look, I saw my own desperate longing mirrored back.
I moved from her mouth, my lips tracing a path down her chin, her throat, and over the smooth skin of her stomach. Her skin tasted of salt and her own unique, sweet musk. Her hands gripped my shoulders, her fingers digging in as my face neared the dark curls between her legs.
I buried my face in her, inhaling her scent. It was earthy and intoxicating, the smell of pure female arousal. Her Taiwanese pussy was even neater and more delicate up close than I had imagined. A small, tight mound covered in a tidy patch of silky black hair that narrowed into a thin line as it disappeared between her legs. Her outer lips, the labia, were smooth and pale, barely there, framing the treasure within. The inner lips were a delicate, glistening pink, dewy with her wetness and slightly parted. They looked like the petals of a small, exotic flower, swollen and inviting. The clit itself was a tiny, perfect pearl, half-hidden beneath its hood, peeking out as if begging for attention. The entire sight was breathtaking, an intimate masterpiece of flesh and heat.
My tongue flickered out, tracing the seam of her cunt, from the swollen peak of her clit down into the slick, wet entrance. She tasted divine, a complex flavor of sweet musk and a slight, tangy saltiness. She cried out, a sharp, high-pitched sound, and her hips jerked up off the chair, pressing her pussy harder against my mouth. That was all the confirmation I needed. I opened my mouth and took her, my tongue working tirelessly, lapping at her wet folds, dipping into her slick entrance, then circling back up to lave the hard little nub of her clit until she was writhing and bucking beneath me, incoherent moans tumbling from her lips.
Her whole body tensed, her inner thighs clamping against the sides of my head. Her moans became more frantic, pitching higher. I felt the muscles of her cunt clenching and unclenching around my tongue in a series of frantic, involuntary spasms. A wave of heat washed over my face as her orgasm broke, her juices flowing freely into my mouth. I kept my mouth on her, drinking her in, not stopping until the last tremor had subsided and she lay limp and gasping in the chair.
I pulled back, my chin and cheeks slick with her wetness. She looked dazed, her eyes glassy, her chest rising and falling rapidly. A string of her clear fluid connected her pussy to my lips. Without thinking, I reached up and swiped a finger through it, then brought it to my mouth, tasting her again.
Her eyes followed the movement, a fresh wave of pink coloring her cheeks. This was it. This was the point of no return. I scrambled out of my own jeans and boxers, kicking them aside. I was rock hard, my cock aching with a painful pressure. I moved back to the chair, settling myself between her parted legs. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of my erection, jutting thick and heavy from my groin.
I leaned forward, capturing her mouth in another deep kiss, while my hand guided my cock to the slick entrance of her cunt. The head of my dick slid around in her wetness, the sensation nearly making me lose control right then and there. I pressed the tip against her opening. It was so small. So incredibly tight. I couldn't imagine how I was going to fit inside her.
I positioned myself, pushing forward gently. The head of my cock disappeared between her swollen, pink lips. A low hiss of breath escaped her teeth. It was a perfect, snug fit, her flesh closing around me like a warm, wet glove. This was just the very tip, and already it felt like heaven. She looked down, her gaze flicking between my face and the point where our bodies were joined. Her hands came up, her palms flat against my chest, as if to brace herself.
I looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of pain or hesitation. All I saw was a wide-eyed wonder, a flicker of apprehension mixed with a consuming curiosity. I pushed a little further, slowly, letting her body adjust to the invasion. The smooth, slick walls of her pussy stretched to accommodate me, a tight, exquisite friction that sent fire shooting through my veins.
"Is it okay?" I whispered against her lips, my voice thick.
For an answer, she just nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. Her hands on my chest didn't push me away; instead, they splayed out, her fingers pressing into my skin. I took that as a green light. Gritting my teeth against the overwhelming pleasure, I began to ease myself into her.
It was a slow, painstaking process. Her cunt was unbelievably tight, a snug passage that fought my intrusion even as her wetness tried to ease the way. I had to push, using a steady, controlled pressure, gaining ground millimeter by millimeter. I could feel her wince, her nails digging slightly into my chest, but she didn't cry out. She just watched, her gaze locked on our joining, as more and more of my length disappeared inside her small, hot body.
Finally, with a determined shove, I felt a subtle give, a release of tension, and I was in. All the way in. My pubic bone pressed against her soft mound, my balls tight against her perineum. We were both completely still, our bodies fused together. I was buried to the hilt inside her, enveloped in her slick, pulsing heat. I let out a long, shuddering breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I was finally, completely, inside of her.
I opened my eyes, looking down at her. Her face was a mask of conflicting emotions—pain, pleasure, awe. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and trailed down her temple into her dark hair. Her cunt was stretched taut around my cock, gripping me tightly. I could feel the throb of her pulse deep inside her.
I stayed still, letting her body get used to the feeling of being so completely filled. After a long moment, the tension in her body began to ease. Her hands unclenched on my chest, her fingers now just resting lightly against my skin. She took a shaky breath and then, slowly, her hips lifted, a tentative, exploratory movement that sent a fresh wave of blinding pleasure through me.
I pulled back slowly, almost an inch, feeling the incredible sensation of her tight walls dragging against the length of my shaft. Her eyes widened as my cock began to withdraw, and a small whimper escaped her lips. Then I pushed back in, sinking back into her depths. Her head fell back against the chair, her lips parting in a silent gasp. I established a slow, steady rhythm, drawing out almost completely before thrusting back in, letting her feel every single inch of me. Each thrust was deliberate, measured, a lesson in pleasure for both of us. The slick, wet sounds of our bodies meeting filled the quiet room, a graphic soundtrack to what we were doing. Her wetness, mixed with my own pre-cum, coated my dick, making each slide smoother, more intoxicating than the last. She was so hot, so wet, so unbelievably tight. It was better than I ever could have imagined.
Her whimpers turned into low, throaty moans. Her legs, which had been resting on the cushions, lifted, wrapping around my waist, her ankles locking behind my back. She was pulling me deeper, taking all of me, her body demanding more. The initial pain was gone, replaced by a raw, hungry pleasure that mirrored my own. I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming harder, faster, driving into her with a desperate energy. The plush armchair squeaked and groaned in protest with every powerful slam of our bodies.
My mind was gone, lost in the sheer physicality of the act. The sight of her flushed face, her head thrashing from side to side, her swollen lips parted and letting out small, broken cries. The feeling of her tight, hot pussy milking my cock with every stroke. The slick, slapping sound of my balls against her wet flesh. It was a sensory overload, a pure, animalistic fuck that consumed every rational thought.
I could feel the pressure building low in my belly, the unmistakable tightening in my nuts that signaled I was getting close. The pleasure was becoming unbearable, a sharp, exquisite agony. I tried to hold back, to make it last, but her body was too much. Her inner walls clenched around me, a series of fluttering convulsions that was her second orgasm of the night, and that was all it took.
"Lin," I gasped, my voice a strangled rasp. A roaring filled my ears as control slipped away completely. My body tensed, every muscle locked rigid. With a final, desperate thrust, I drove myself as deep inside her as I could go and let go. A wave of intense, shuddering release ripped through me. I felt my warm, thick cum flood out of me, pumping in hot, powerful jets deep into her tight, clenching cunt. I pulsed again and again, emptying myself completely into her, the sensation so intense it bordered on pain. My vision went white at the edges as my body convulsed with the force of my orgasm. I collapsed onto her, my body spent, my forehead resting on her damp shoulder, the echo of my climax still reverberating through my exhausted limbs.
We stayed like that for a long time, tangled together in the armchair, my now-softening dick still nestled deep inside her. The only sounds were our ragged breaths slowly returning to normal and the faint hum of the air conditioner. My face was buried in the curve of her neck, and I could feel the faint, rapid flutter of her pulse against my cheek. I was slick with our mingled sweat, and the air was thick with the smells of sex—her musk, my cum, the scent of our exertion.
Slowly, I pushed myself up, my muscles protesting. I looked down at her. Her face was flushed, her dark hair stuck to her temples with sweat. Her lips were red and swollen. She looked debauched, thoroughly fucked, and unbearably beautiful.
I started to withdraw from her, a slow, slick slide. Her inner lips, still swollen and sensitive, clung to my shaft reluctantly. Finally, with a soft, wet plop, my cock came free. A thick mixture of my cum and her slick juices immediately began to ooze from her swollen, gaping cunt, pearly white against her pale skin, dribbling down onto the plush fabric of the chair. She looked down at the mess, her eyes wide, a blush crawling up from her chest to stain her cheeks. It was clear she was just as shocked by what we had just done as I was.
Without a word, I went to the small bathroom connected to my dorm room and grabbed a handful of toilet paper. I came back and gently began to clean her up. She didn’t speak, just watched me with those wide, dark eyes as I carefully wiped the mixture of our fluids from her inner thighs and the plush fabric of the chair. My own dick was still sticky and wet, but attending to her felt more important.
When I was done, she slowly, a little unsteadily, disentangled her legs from around her ankles, where her skirt and panties were still trapped. She pulled them on, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were sore. She straightened her halter top, tying it behind her neck, arranging the fabric to cover her breasts again. She looked like the same girl who had walked in a few hours ago, but we both knew everything was different.
She stood up from the chair, avoiding my gaze. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken questions and the profound weight of our shared act.
"I…" she started, her voice a small, wavering thing. She shook her head, unable to finish. She just looked at me, a hundred different emotions swimming in her dark eyes—confusion, pleasure, regret, and a deep, unnerving vulnerability. Then she turned and walked to the door, her hand resting on the cool metal knob.
Her hand rested on the doorknob for a long, silent moment. I stayed where I was, standing beside the chair, the damp wad of toilet paper still clutched in my hand. My own clothes were still in a heap on the floor. I felt exposed, raw, and a deep, cold ache was starting to bloom in my chest.
"Lin," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She didn't turn around, but her shoulders tensed.
"Are you okay?" The question sounded stupid, inadequate, after everything that had just happened.
She was silent for another beat, and then she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Without another word, she opened the door and slipped out, closing it softly behind her. The click of the latch echoed in the sudden, crushing emptiness of the room. I was alone with the mess, the smell of sex, and the overwhelming feeling that I had just broken something precious.
The next day was agonizing. Every time I heard a footstep in the hallway, my stomach clenched. I replayed the entire night in my head a thousand times, each replay sharpening the edges of my guilt. I had pushed her, taken advantage of her vulnerability. I'd started as her confidant and ended as just another guy who couldn't control himself. The image of her standing at the door, that tiny shake of her head before she left, was burned into my brain.
I didn't see her at all that day. I skipped lunch in the dining hall, unable to face the possibility of running into her. By evening, the silence from her room was a physical weight. I couldn't stand it anymore.
Taking a deep breath, I walked out of my room and stood in front of her door. It felt like the longest walk of my life. My hand was shaking as I raised it to knock. Before my knuckles could make contact, the door opened.
Lin stood there, wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt and pajama pants. Her face was pale, her eyes slightly puffy, as if she hadn't slept well. We just stared at each other for a moment, the air thick with the unspoken events of the night before.
"Can I come in?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly.
She hesitated, her gaze flickering down the empty hallway and then back to my face. Finally, she stepped back, holding the door open for me to enter. Her room was a near-identical mirror of mine, except hers was neater, with a few stuffed animals arranged on her pillow. She didn't have a stolen plush armchair; instead, there was just a standard-issue wooden desk chair. She gestured towards it and then went to sit on the edge of her own bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. The silence was deafening.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words feeling heavy and useless in my mouth. "Lin, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have… I got carried away. I didn't mean to…"
She cut me off, her voice quiet but firm. "You didn't force me."
I looked up, surprised. She was staring at her hands, which were twisted together in the fabric of her sweatpants. "But I pushed you," I insisted. "I should have stopped."
"I could have stopped you," she said, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes were dark and serious. "I didn't." A faint blush crept up her cheeks. "I… I liked it." The admission was barely a whisper, but it hung in the air between us, changing everything. "It was just… a lot. For the first time with someone new."
A wave of relief, so potent it almost made me dizzy, washed over me. The knot of guilt in my stomach didn't disappear, but it loosened its tight, cold grip.
"When you came in me," she said, her voice dropping even lower, her gaze falling back to her lap. "That's never happened before. Wei pulled out both times." She hugged her knees tighter. "It felt… different." She looked up at me, a flicker of something—curiosity? fear?—in her eyes. "You're sure it's okay? That I won't get… pregnant?"
"I think the chances are pretty small," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. I had no idea about her cycle or anything else. "It was only one time."
She seemed to accept that, or at least, she didn't question it further. She just sat there, small and bundled on her bed. I sat in the hard wooden chair, feeling like we were back at the beginning, two strangers separated by an invisible barrier, only this time the barrier was built of sex and cum and unspoken feelings. I wanted nothing more than to go to her, to hold her, but I didn't dare move. I had already broken her trust once. It was her move to make.
She unfolded her legs, the soft fabric of her sweatpants rustling in the quiet. "My friend, Jia, back home," she started, her voice a little stronger now. "She told me about American guys. She said they are… very confident. That they know what they want." She glanced at me, a quick, shy look from under her lashes. "She said they know how to make a girl feel good."
The implication was clear. A slow heat began to spread through my chest, chasing away the last of the chill. I watched as she slid off the edge of the bed and padded across the small space between us. She stopped right in front of me, her toes almost touching my sneakers.
"You made me feel good," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the collar of my shirt.
Then, she did something that took my breath away. She sank to her knees in front of me, her hands coming to rest on my thighs. She looked up at me, her face open and searching. "Can we… can we do it again?"
The question hung in the air, a mix of shy request and bold demand. My heart, which had just started to settle into a normal rhythm, kicked back into a frantic gallop. Seeing her there, on her knees between my legs, looking up at me with such raw, undisguised wanting… it was a thousand times more intoxicating than any forceful seduction could ever be.
My hands came up, almost of their own accord, to cup her face. Her skin was soft and warm. I leaned forward, my forehead resting against hers. "Are you sure?" I whispered, my voice rough with emotion.
She didn't answer with words. Instead, she leaned into my touch, her lips parting slightly. It was all the answer I needed. I kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss that was nothing like the tentative explorations of the night before. This was a kiss of confirmation, of mutual desire. She moaned softly into my mouth, her hands sliding up my thighs, her touch surprisingly bold.
When we broke for air, she didn't move back. Her gaze dropped from my mouth down to my lap, where my cock was already straining against the denim of my jeans, a hard, insistent ridge. She watched it for a long moment, a curious, almost clinical fascination in her eyes. Then her hands moved, her small fingers closing over the bulge, tracing its length through the thick fabric. A shudder wracked my frame at her touch.
"Take them off," she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes still locked on my groin.
I fumbled with the button of my jeans, my fingers clumsy with urgency. She watched, her expression unreadable, as I shoved them down along with my boxers, kicking them away into the corner of the room. I was fully exposed to her now, my erection jutting out from my body, thick and heavy, the head a glistening dark purple.
She stared at it, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and intimidation. She reached out a hesitant hand, her fingers tracing the thick vein that ran up the shaft. Her touch was feather-light, electric, sending a jolt straight to my groin.
"It's so… big," she breathed, the words barely audible. Her gaze flickered up to my face and then back down.
She leaned forward, her warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of my cock head. I braced myself, my hands gripping the arms of the hard wooden chair. Slowly, tentatively, she opened her mouth and took the tip of me inside.
It was heaven. Her mouth was hot and wet, her lips soft and slick around me. She was clumsy, inexperienced, her movements awkward and unsure, but it didn't matter. Her tongue darted out, flicking nervously against the sensitive glans. A low groan rumbled in my chest. Instinctively, I reached down, my fingers tangling in her silky black hair, not to force her, but to guide her, to steady her. She took the hint, her head starting to bob, her mouth sliding a few inches down my shaft before pulling back. It was an amateurish blowjob, but it was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. The sight of her, my sweet, shy Lin, on her knees, taking my cock into her mouth, was overwhelmingly powerful. I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I wouldn't be able to last long at all.
Her movements were uncertain, a combination of timid licks and clumsy sucking. A few times her teeth scraped against my shaft, sending a sharp, unexpected thrill through me. It didn't matter that she was clueless; it was perfect *because* she was clueless. Each awkward slide of her mouth up and down my cock was a testament to her trust, to her desire to please me.
"Oh, fuck, Lin..." I groaned, my head falling back against the hard wood of the chair. My hips started to move on their own, a small, rhythmic bucking that met the motion of her head.
I could feel it coming on, fast and unstoppable. My balls drew up tight against my body, a deep, primal coiling in my gut. The pleasure was too intense, too sharp. I was going to cum. My fingers tightened in her hair, not to force her, but as an involuntary anchor against the tidal wave that was about to break.
"Lin, I'm gonna..." The warning died in my throat, swallowed by a wave of pure sensation. My vision swam.
My whole body locked up, a tremor starting deep in my thighs and shooting up my spine. My cock swelled in her mouth, stretching the skin tight, feeling like it was about to burst. Then the first powerful spasm hit. A thick, hot rope of cum shot from the head of my dick and hit the back of her throat. I felt her flinch, a reflexive gag, but my body was no longer under my control. A second, then a third violent pulse flooded her mouth with my seed. My hips bucked forward with each contraction, my mind obliterated by the sheer force of the climax.
She pulled back abruptly, sputtering, a look of pure shock on her face. Thick, white cum dripped from her chin and the corners of her swollen lips. She coughed, a small, wet sound, and a glob of my sperm spilled out onto the front of her gray sweatshirt, a stark white stain against the dark fabric. She stared at it, then back up at me, her dark eyes wide with bewildered surprise.
As my orgasm faded, leaving me spent and trembling in the chair, a deep flush of embarrassment washed over me. I hadn't meant for that to happen. I hadn't even thought about it. The intensity of the moment had completely taken over.
Lin was still on her knees, staring at the mess on her sweatshirt. She tentatively touched a finger to the spunk on her chin, looking at the viscous, pearly fluid with a wide-eyed curiosity. I expected her to be disgusted, to recoil, but her reaction was something else entirely. It was a kind of stunned fascination.
Slowly, almost deliberately, she brought her finger to her mouth and licked it clean. Her eyes, still locked with mine, widened slightly at the taste. She swallowed, her throat working. Then, without breaking eye contact, she leaned forward again, her pink tongue darting out to lick the glob of cum from her sweatshirt, cleaning the fabric with a surprising neatness.
A fresh wave of heat, sharp and unexpected, shot through my groin. My semi-flaccid cock twitched, a reflexive response to the incredible sight.
She sat back on her heels, the front of her sweatshirt now just a damp, dark patch. "It tastes… salty," she said, her voice a little raspy. A small, shy smile played at the corners of her mouth. She pushed herself up, using my knees for support, and then crawled onto my lap, straddling my thighs. Her arms went around my neck as she kissed me, her mouth still tasting faintly of my own cum. Her body was warm and soft against mine, the heat of her pussy pressing against my stomach through her pajama pants. Her movements were no longer hesitant; they were purposeful, confident. She pulled back from the kiss, her face flushed with a new boldness.
"Now me," she whispered, her lips brushing against my ear.
Her whispered demand sent a tremor through me. This was a different Lin from the shy, hesitant girl of the night before. This was a girl who knew what she wanted.
She pushed herself up slightly, straddling me more fully, and began to work her sweatpants down over her hips. I helped her, my hands finding the soft curve of her ass as she shimmied out of them. Underneath, she was wearing the same style of pale, lacy panties as before. The sight of them, knowing what lay beneath, was enough to make my cock stir again, gaining a measure of its former hardness.
She reached behind her, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, but before she could pull them down, I stopped her, my hand covering hers.
"Let's go to the bed," I said, my voice husky. The hard wooden chair had served its purpose, but I wanted her laid out, comfortable, completely open to me.
She nodded. I stood, lifting her easily into my arms. She was so light, almost weightless. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms tight around my neck, and kissed me deeply as I carried her the few short steps to her bed. I laid her down gently on the soft comforter, amidst the silent audience of her stuffed animals.
The room was bathed in the soft, gray light of early evening. I knelt on the bed beside her, my eyes tracing the lines of her body. I reached out and slowly, deliberately, slid her panties down her slim, pale legs, tossing them onto the floor.
Her pussy was pristine, untouched. The dark, neat patch of hair, the delicate pink folds of her inner lips, just as perfect as I remembered. But this time, I saw a tiny droplet of clear fluid already beading at her entrance, a testament to her arousal. The sight of it, knowing that *I* had put it there, was a powerful aphrodisiac. I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her belly, just above the dark curls. She shivered, her stomach muscles clenching under my lips.
My fingers traced the delicate pink folds of her inner lips. They were already plump and slick with wetness, a sign of her readiness that made my blood sing. I positioned myself between her legs, my knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of her hips. She watched me, her dark eyes tracking my every move as I took my cock in my hand. It wasn't as punishingly hard as it had been before, but it was thick and heavy, ready for her.
I rubbed the head of my dick in her slickness, coating myself in her heat. Her cunt was so incredibly wet this time, her own juices mingling with the faint, sticky residue of my cum that I had unknowingly transferred from her mouth to her belly during our kiss.
"You're so wet for me," I whispered, the words a rough rasp of awe.
"You made me wet," she breathed back, her hips lifting off the bed in a small, eager arch to meet me.
I guided my tip to her entrance, that impossibly small, tight opening. This time, there was no hesitation, no painful slowness. Her body was ready. I pushed into her with a single, smooth, powerful stroke. She was just as unbelievably tight as before, her velvety walls clenching around my shaft, but this time her body yielded completely, welcoming me home. She gasped as I filled her, the sound a sharp, clear note of pure pleasure, not pain. I didn't pause, immediately beginning to move, establishing a deep, slow rhythm. Her legs wrapped around me, her ankles locking behind my back, pulling me deeper as she met my thrusts with her own, our bodies moving together in a perfect, urgent cadence. The bed creaked a soft protest with each deliberate slam, a quiet counterpoint to her soft, breathy moans.
I stared down at her, mesmerized by the sight. Her face was flushed, her lips parted as she gasped for breath. With every thrust, her small breasts jiggled, the nipples hard little points. I reached down and took one in my free hand, rolling the tight bud between my thumb and forefinger. She cried out, her back arching, her pussy clenching around my cock so tightly I almost lost it.
I fucked her harder, my pace quickening, my hips slamming into her with a bruising force. The wet, slapping sound of our bodies colliding was obscene, a primal rhythm that drove me onward. Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow, her dark hair a wild halo around her. Her moans were louder now, no longer shy whispers but full-throated cries of pleasure that she made no attempt to stifle.
"Please," she begged, though for what, she didn't say. "Oh, god, please…"
The feeling was building again, but this time I was more in control. I wanted to see her come apart for me again. I changed the angle of my thrusts, grinding my pubic bone against her slick, swollen clit, feeling the hard little pearl of her pleasure with every downstroke. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
"I'm coming," she screamed, her voice a ragged shriek. "I'm—"
Her body went rigid. Her legs tightened around me like a vice, and I felt the walls of her pussy begin to convulse around my dick, a series of deep, fluttering pulses that milked me relentlessly. Her orgasm was a violent, beautiful thing, a storm that took over her entire body, making her shudder and cry out as it ripped through her. The sight of her, so completely lost in the pleasure I was giving her, was the final push I needed. My own climax crashed over me, hot and blinding, and I roared as I emptied myself into her once again, filling her cunt with another hot, thick load of my cum.
I collapsed on top of her, my body heavy and spent, my cheek resting against hers on the pillow. We were both drenched in sweat, our bodies slick and tangled together. I could feel my semi-flaccid cock still buried deep inside her, the sticky warmth of our combined fluids a testament to our mutual release. For a long time, we just lay there, the only sound the harsh rasp of our breathing slowly returning to a normal rhythm.
After a few minutes, I managed to push myself up onto my elbows, my muscles trembling with exhaustion. I looked down at Lin. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes fanned out against her flushed cheeks. She looked utterly spent, peaceful, beautiful.
I pulled out of her slowly, the sound wet and loud in the quiet room. Her cunt was stretched and gaping, the pink inner lips swollen and glistening. A thick, pearly white river of my semen immediately started to spill from her, pooling on the soft blue fabric of her comforter and dribbling down the insides of her thighs. It was a staggering amount of fluid.
I eased myself off the bed and stood beside it, my legs shaky. Lin’s eyes fluttered open. She looked from my face, down to my still-dripping cock, and then to the spreading wet patch on her bed. A slow, languid smile spread across her face.
"You got me all messy," she said, her voice a low, throaty purr.
I couldn't help but smile back. "I guess I did."
I grabbed the corner of her comforter, bunching it up to sop up the worst of the mess. She watched me, a lazy, satisfied look on her face. Then, she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She stood and walked over to me, her movements fluid and unashamed despite her nakedness. She stopped right in front of me, so close our bodies were almost touching. She reached out and wrapped her hand around my soft, sticky dick.
"I like it when you make me messy," she whispered, her thumb stroking the slit at the tip, coaxing out another pearly drop of leftover cum. She leaned in and licked it away with a deft flick of her tongue. The bold, unhesitating gesture sent a fresh jolt of desire through my exhausted body. I felt myself begin to stir again in her hand. Her eyes lit up as she felt me harden, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. She looked from my growing erection back to my face, her dark eyes filled with a playful, insatiable hunger.
"Again," she said, her voice a soft, definitive command.
I couldn't believe it. I was physically spent, my muscles aching, but her touch, her command, ignited something in me. The exhaustion melted away, replaced by a fresh wave of raw, primal need. The sight of her standing there naked, her body still flushed from our last encounter, her mouth glistening with my seed, was a potent drug.
I groaned as she squeezed me, her small hand expertly stroking my re-hardening cock. "You're going to kill me, Lin," I rasped, but there was no protest in my voice.
She just laughed, a low, throaty sound that was pure seduction. She tugged me back towards the bed. This time, there was no shyness, no hesitation. She pushed me down onto the mattress, onto the damp patch still cooling on the comforter, and crawled on top of me.
She lowered herself onto my erection, her movements slow and deliberate, a wicked smile on her face. Her eyes never left mine as she impaled herself, taking every inch of me back inside her slick, tight heat. "I like feeling you inside," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. She started to ride me, her hips moving in a slow, hypnotic grind, her hands braced on my chest, her dark hair falling around her face. The friction of her wet pussy, already primed and stretched, sent waves of pleasure through me. I was completely at her mercy, lost in the rhythm she set, eagerly anticipating the inevitable, explosive end.
Her pace was relentless. She fucked me with a focused intensity that left me breathless. Her small body was a dynamo of energy, her hips rising and falling, taking my cock deeper with each downward press. I could only lie back, my hands gripping her ass, pulling her down harder, my mind reeling at the role reversal. The shy, tentative girl was gone, replaced by this confident, insatiable creature who was now completely in control.
The friction was incredible, almost overwhelming. Her cunt was still slick from our last session, but the constant, powerful grinding was creating a new, hotter kind of wetness. The feeling of her tight walls clenching around me, combined with the sight of her face contorted in a mask of pure, feral pleasure, was pushing me towards the edge far faster than I'd thought possible.
"Lin, fuck..." I gasped, my own hips beginning to buck up to meet her, our rhythm syncing into a frantic, pounding cadence.
"I can feel it," she panted, her voice tight and strained. "It's building... inside you..."
She was right. The familiar pressure was coiling in my gut, a tight, hot knot of impending release. I was close, so close. Her movements became even more frantic, her body slamming down onto mine, chasing her own climax. Her pussy spasmed around me, a series of fluttering contractions that was a prelude to the main event.
"Come with me," she screamed, her voice a raw, desperate cry.
That was all it took. Her words, her tightening cunt, pushed me over the precipice. With a guttural roar that was torn from the depths of my soul, my orgasm ripped through me. It was even more violent than the last. I arched off the bed, my body a taut bow of pure sensation, as my hot, thick seed erupted from me in a seemingly endless torrent, flooding her, filling her completely. As I pulsed and shuddered, her own orgasm hit, a high, keening shriek escaping her lips as her body convulsed around my spurting dick, our twin climaxes cresting and breaking in one perfect, chaotic, beautiful moment.
She collapsed onto my chest, a dead weight, her face buried in the crook of my neck. Her breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her release. I could feel my own heart hammering against my ribs, a wild, frantic beat that slowly, gradually, began to calm. My limp dick was still inside her, a slick, warm connection between our spent bodies. The smell of us—sweat and sex and cum—was thick and overwhelming, a primal perfume that filled the small dorm room.
We lay like that for what felt like an eternity, limbs tangled, slick with sweat. The gray evening light outside the window was fading to a deep, bruised purple. After a while, she stirred, pushing herself up onto her elbows, her dark hair a tangled mess around her face.
She looked down at where our bodies were still joined. With a slow, languid movement, she pulled herself off my cock. The sound was obscene, a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the quiet room. As she moved away, a veritable flood of my semen gushed out of her, thick and white and copious, running down between her legs and pooling on my already-soaked stomach.
She looked at the mess, then at me. Her lips were swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded and hazy with satisfaction. "I think," she said, her voice a low, husky drawl, "that you are out."
I laughed, a weak, breathless sound. "I think you're right."
She slid off the bed and stood there for a moment, a pale silhouette against the darkening window. Her thighs were streaked with my cum.
"I need to take a shower," she announced, and padded towards the bathroom. I watched her go, my mind a blank, blissful canvas, every thought erased by the sheer physical depletion.
That was the beginning. For the next three weeks, until the summer program ended and she had to fly back to Taiwan, our dorm rooms became our world. The plush armchair was retired; all our time was spent in her bed or mine. We were insatiable, fueled by a frantic, end-of-summer desperation. Every spare moment was spent with my dick buried deep inside her cunt. We fucked in the mornings before class, in the long, hot afternoons, and deep into the night. She was an eager student, quickly shedding her last vestiges of shyness, her confidence growing with every session. She learned what she liked, what made her scream, and she wasn't afraid to demand it.
On her last day, after a long, final morning of slow, sentimental lovemaking, we lay tangled in my sheets. The mood was somber, the reality of her departure a heavy blanket over us.
"Will you write to me?" she asked, her voice small, tracing patterns on my chest with her fingertip.
"Of course," I said, kissing the top of her head.
But we both knew, even as we promised to stay in touch, that what we had was a perfect, sealed bubble of time. It was a summer of discovery, a brief, intense, and messy collision of two people at a crossroads in their lives. The girl who had first knocked on my door was gone, and so was the boy who had answered. In their place were two people who had tasted something new, something raw and real, and who would carry the messy, beautiful memory of it with them forever. That afternoon, I walked her to the shuttle bus that would take her to the airport. We didn't say much. There was nothing left to say. We just held each other for a long time, and then, with one last, lingering kiss that tasted of salt and sadness, she was gone.