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Brad doesn’t get himself right now. Practice is over, the rest of the team cleared out to enjoy a Sunday afternoon, but today he just didn’t feel like going out with the guys for burgers and laughs. But he doesn’t feel like being alone either, so why is he wandering the bottom floor of the school building in the dimness? Why doesn’t he just go home, or better yet, catch up with his teammates? Why is he acting so weird?
He hears a giggle.
A soft, private-sounding giggle, from behind him. He turns to look at the classroom doors. None have lights on, just whatever’s coming through the inside windows — but the light moves in the third one down. He heads back there and pulls the door open.
There’s a girl there. The Girl he’s been looking at for weeks. She’s short and soft with an amazing set of knockers, and the biggest glasses anyone’s ever seen. She’s sitting on the teacher’s desk reading a book, but she looks up when he walks in, her little eyes going wide behind those bottle-glass lenses.
Brad grins. Of course she looks up. All the chicks dig a varsity guy, right? He’s even wearing his jacket today. “Annie, right?” he says, walking right up to her.
She scoots back a little, her plump little mouth turning downwards. “No,” she says. “Andry.” She’s wearing a pink tee with some cartoon characters on it. There’s text too but it takes Brad too much concentration to read so he doesn’t bother.
“Looking good today,” he says. Her thighs are thick and round in jeans shorts, much tighter than her usual long skirts. He may talk a good game about the usual model-type hotties, but what he really wants is a girl he can press his hands into.
Chicks are supposed to like compliments, but she just keeps frowning. “If you’ll excuse me, I was reading.”
“Huh.” Brad takes the book from her, and she huffs. The cover picture is a metal ball with things sticking out, set against a space background, and a big slice of something round and orange at the bottom. “… Space Station Three?” He reads the easier bottom half of the title. “Weird.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Andry says primly, holding out her hand. “My book, please.”
Brad looks her over, hot and annoyed and hot but she’d rather read than talk to him. What’s up with that? And they’re alone down here. He’s been dreaming about those tits for weeks. So he decides to do something about it.
He drops the book and swipes her glasses. She screams. The noise goes straight to his dick. “Ahahaha,” he laughs, then stops short. Without her glasses her eyes are fucking huge, green and amber like gemstones. And round and unfocused, as she swipes at his hand over her head, missing by a mile. She really must be damn blind without them.
“My glasses!” she shrieks. “Give them back!”
“What’ll you do to get them back?” he asks, tossing them back and forth over her head. Best afternoon ever.
“What do you want?” Her voice shakes. “Please, give me my glasses back. I can’t see—“
“You look so much better without them,” Brad says, sliding them into his back pocket. “You’ve got really pretty eyes. And great tits. Take off your shirt.”
She sucks in a breath, big eyes narrowing, glinting in the afternoon light. God she’s hot. He has a sudden thought of knocking her onto her back onto the desk and pulling out his dick, but before he can do it she takes a noisy breath and peels off her shirt.
Her bra has lace on it, and her breasts bulge over the top like ice cream overflowing a cone. “Look at these,” Brad says softly, curving his hands over their softness. Tits deserve all his attention. Andry shakes under his hands, and he looks up to see her biting her lip, her cheeks gone red. She just looks more and more gorgeous. This is what he’s wanted, all afternoon, for weeks now, after all those dates that ended with just a peck on the cheek and hugs from thin arms. This is what he’s been needing.
He squeezes, and lace tingles his palms, and she quivers, and he wants more. “Take it off,” he tells her, and he doesn’t want to stop touching her, so he puts his hands on her sides. Her skin feels as soft as dessert.
“Please,” she mutters, her voice shrunk like all the air went out of it. “Please,” but he just nods. And she reaches back and unhooks her bra.
“Oh my God,” Brad murmurs as Andry’s stupendous tits slide free, reaching to gather them into his hands. They’re heavy and warm and impossibly soft. He pushes his face between them and feels her heart racing against his mouth, their softness on his cheeks. He could stay here forever.
Instead he stands straight and picks her up. Just wraps his arms around her and lifts her off the desk, and her feet dangle and thrash as she shrieks into his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“C’mon, babe, you can’t just whip out a pair of tits like this and expect a man not to react,” he murmurs into the top of her sweet-smelling head. He can feel them, heaving against his chest. There’s a mat in the corner of the classroom and he drops onto it with her, on his knees, then flat atop her. She feels like she’s trying to dodge, or would be on the field, so he keeps hold of her shoulder and pins her with his side as he peels his jacket and shirt off one-handed, and pulls her bra off her arms. “There, we match,” he says, ignoring how she flails her little fists at him.
Andry socks him in the chest, and it actually feels kind of nice, a thump of warm pressure. “Let go of me!”
“Don’t you want your glasses back?” Brad reminds her. She goes limp so fast he almost wonders if she’s passed out, but she’s squeezing her eyes tightly shut, and her mouth too. He kisses her on that mouth but it stays tight under his. Whatever. He knows how he can loosen her up.
First things first. Ever since Samantha he’s carried a condom beside his wallet rather than in it. Faster that way. He pulls it out and unzips his fly, and those big green-amber eyes open to shiny circles. Tears run down the sides of her face — no wonder her eyes are so bright — as she gasps, “No, no no,” pushing her soft little hands against his chest. God, they feel good there.
“Okay,” he lies, pitching his voice low and encouraging, the way he talks to the rookies. “Okay, if that’s what you want, we can stop and get dressed and go home.” She rolls those big eyes towards him, still unfocused. “Me with the worst case of blue balls this decade, you without your glasses. That work?”
She sobs. She actually sobs, her face kind of crumpling up. But she still looks so gorgeous he can’t breathe, his dick pounding against her thigh. “Why?” she sobs out, her chest heaving, those tits quivering deliciously.
“You’re so pretty,” he tells her. “I’ve been wanting you for weeks and weeks, and now we’re finally alone. Come on, live a little. Have some fun.”
She just turns her face away and keeps crying. Maybe when they’re actually fucking she’ll get into it. He unbuttons her shorts and pulls them with her panties down her thighs, with no help from her, working them down her calves and off. She’s so much shorter than him that he has to arch over her, his face pressedt to the mat, to get their hips together. But he rolls the condom on and gets her leg up, his hand pressing into her soft hot thigh, and pushes and slides and pushes and there.
So hot, so soft, tight and rippling. His eyes roll back in his head as he groans and shoves and groans. For a moment he’s blind and deaf with glorious pleasure, can’t do anything but feel how hot she is inside, how soft she is underneath him. When he can hear again, what he hears is her sharp high noise against his shoulder. “C’mon, babe,” he tells her, getting his other hand under himself, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “C’mon, you feel so good.” His hips roll without his brain’s input, back and in and back and in and she keeps making those little sharp noises that prod him along, thrusting harder and faster.
He comes embarrassingly fast. She whimpers, and he tries to roll to the side and hold onto the condom at the same time, to be polite and give her some air. “Ugh, wasn’t that fun?” he murmurs into her hair.
She’s still crying. She shakes her head, and he gets his hand up to properly stroke her cheek, to wipe the tears away, as he kisses her soft, soft skin, her cheek and her neck and oh god, the top of her breast. He could put his mouth there, why didn’t he think of that before? He can feel an electric surge as his dick responds, swelling again until the condom clings to it. Might as well leave it on.
He mouths along her breast, sucking in a soft mouthful, her nipple a pebbled counterpoint, and the feel is incredible, unbelievable, so fucking hot he nearly comes again just from her soft trembling flesh under his lips, on his tongue. Her fists are clenched to her sides and he needs to fuck her again and doesn’t want to let go of these tits ever.
There’s a solution, right? Right. It’s so simple he laughs a little, and squeezes her other breast, and lets himself keep sucking a little longer before he pulls back. Then he takes her little waist in his hands and rolls her over. She just keeps sobbing, her cheek pressed to the mat, and limply lets him arrange her, pushing her thighs forward and wide, her ass in the air.
What a gorgeous ass, better than he dreamed. He puts his hands on both sides and squeezes its roundness, and feels her tender and quivering in his grip. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen,” he tells her honestly. “Even counting porn.”
She makes a kind of squashed noise that might have been a word. Probably “thanks”, except that she’s still crying. “Shhh,” he tells her, “shh,” as he slides his hand under her chest, curling it around one of those gorgeous breasts, pressing his wrist over the other, as he slides his other hand over the plush curve of her belly — why are guys supposed to want girls to be skinny anyway? — and sinks his dick back into her slick heat.
She makes a low, kind of hurt sounding noise, but there’s no way this could be hurting her. It all moves so smoothly, so nicely. The condom squishes a little at the tip and he pushes into the doubled wet warmth, sliding his hand down to feel her pussy, to feel himself in her from the outside.
His fingertip brushes a little bump and she squeaks as her whole body jerks under his. “Andry?” He asks, and she doesn’t answer, but when he presses again she shudders again, her noise more choked this time. “Holy shit, is that it?” It throbs against his finger, like a teensy button of a cock, and he gets another finger on the other side and starts to stroke. “Is that your clit?” He never found that on a first date before. Holy crap, this is the best day ever.
Brad thrusts and strokes and thrusts and strokes and Andry squirms harder and harder under him, around him, until she starts clenching around his dick like her pussy’s gonna squeeze it off, until she starts wailing, her voice shivering through his melted brain. “Oh my fuck, Andry,” he mumbles over her spilled-out hair, and comes so hard the surges of pleasure wash the thoughts clean out of his head.
Brad comes back to himself slumped half beside, half atop Andry, and she’s shaking and snuffling, one hand up over her face. He slipped out of the condom, which is hanging out of her kind of hilariously, and he pulls it out, knots it and shoves it into his front pocket so he won’t forget to toss it. Then he pets the soft, slick flesh of her pussy lips for a little while, just because she feels so good all over, because she can't stop him.
Eventually she coughs, and says in a flattened voice, “Give me back my glasses.”
“In a minute, a minute,” Brad says, and kisses between her crimped-shut eye and her reddened ear. “You look so gorgeous without them, did you know that?” She shakes all over, and he kisses her cheek, tasting salt, and murmurs into her skin the way he's heard chicks like. “Come on, stop crying. You’re my girlfriend now. You’re gonna be so popular.”
She does stop shaking at that, even if she’s still breathing heavily, and they lie there for a few more seconds, maybe half a minute. Then she whispers, “no,” and he pretends not to hear her.