AITA - Gripping Stacy

r/AITA 6hr

18 NSFW

Gripping Stacy

Okay. First, let me apologize for the length of this post. After I finished, I went back and read the damn thing and it’s ridiculously long. Except, I’m not sure how to shorten it. You need to understand what I’m going through, and why I’m confused. And how do I fix it? Hell, do I even want to fix it? Aggghh… 

Stacy. I met her in class, fall semester, last year. College. The subject doesn’t matter, nor does our school. She sat next to me and about halfway through she followed me to the Student Union where I had just gotten lunch and when I sat down by myself at a table, she just slid into the chair opposite. As if she belonged. Honestly, it surprised me. I’m not a hunk. I’m a little gangly. A bit too tall for most women. My hair is brown and sort of shaggy and my mother tells me I dress like someone who shops at the thrift store. I favor shorts or exercise pants. 

Stacy, on the other hand, looks incredible. Blonde, curvy, petite, with a huge smile, these amazing, piercing blue eyes, and freckles. FRECKLES. She leans heavier on the “cute” scale than “beautiful” but hell, she’s that too. She dresses right on the borderline between sexy and naughty, with tight clothes and great shoes that show off her curves. And let me tell you, she’s got them. Most guys, and I mean like 99% of them, would be utterly jealous of just her sitting down, uninvited, to strike up a conversation with me.

With me. Huh. 

To put it bluntly, she struck up a conversation. Shocked and overwhelmed, I found her easy to talk to, beautiful to look at, and more importantly, we shared some rather similar interests. She wasn’t too forward either. We ate lunch. Got to know each other a little, and that was that. Two days later, we did it again, this time with a touch more planning. After our third lunch I was smitten. My heart rate went up every time she smiled at me when she came into class, and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her out on a date.

Which was a smashing success. Dinner, a walk in the park to look at some sculptures, followed by dropping her back off at her apartment. We even held hands, the touch of her skin electric. You’re probably wondering if something happened after that first date. It didn’t. I’m not like that. No expectations. I think that physical attraction is just the first layer of finding a woman attractive. The girl you find beautiful is the girl you get to know to find out if the outside is a reflection of the inside. How many guys date monsters because they’re gorgeous?

But let me tell you, Stacy… did not appear to be a monster. In fact, the more we talked, especially after the second and third dates, the more I fell for her. She seemed more like my other half than anyone I’d ever met. It was weird. It was awesome. It was… hell, I was falling in love.

Okay, I might have already been mostly there. 

The Saturday after our third date, she called me that morning. I expected it. We’d already exchanged numbers, had been texting and talking to each other, at least when we weren’t in class or actually in each other’s presence, for three weeks. But the words that came out of her mouth went deep.

“Would you like to come over this evening to Netflix and chill?”

I’m not a newb. Or an idiot. I knew exactly what the invite was for. Hell, I could hear it in her voice. The seductive lilt, the hope, the teasing. I’m not going to lie, I’d already fantasized about running my hands up and down her naked body, squeezing those massive breasts, tasting bits and pieces of her, spreading her open. Do you blame me? So I gulped a little, feeling myself stiffen in expectation, and agreed. I asked her what to wear and she said to come “relaxed”. Be myself. So that’s what I did.

No, she did not answer the door wearing a teddy. In fact, she looked plainer than I’d ever seen her. Makeup was barely there, just a little eyeliner and some mascara. And damn it all, more freckles. FRECKLES! My heart about broke from the cuteness! She wore a tee shirt that was so tight that I knew she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and hell yeah, she wore it well. Sweet little short gym shorts, nothing fancy, and bare feet with these cute, pink painted toenails. I greeted her and she gave me a light kiss and pulled me in. It was hard not to salivate.

She had dinner ready, which yeah, came from a can, but the chilli was delicious and she had all the trimmings. She handed me a bowl, we plopped down on the couch as she started up the show and she draped her legs across my lap as we ate. It was sort of domestic bliss. She didn’t even mind me rubbing the bottoms of her feet when I finished my dinner before her and set down the bowl. She groaned with pleasure and made sure I knew she loved it. 

I didn’t see it coming. I mean, well, the sex, sure. She set her bowl aside, pulled her legs away, curled up beside me and moved her hand. It slid across my leg, then without any pretense, she dug her way into my waistband, past my boxers and I felt her fingers encircle my… um… member.

Look, this is uncomfortable enough to talk about. Prick? Dick? Cock? Penis? Give me a break. She grabbed my stick, okay? I stiffened immediately. Or… a little more than I already was to be honest, and moaned as she began rubbing. Not intensely, more as if she were playing with a new toy. Unhurried, her eyes still on the television. But as a man, I could barely contain myself. Every button, both physical and psychological, was being pressed and after only four or five minutes of what I can only describe as the best foreplay imaginable, I shifted, distracting her from the show, and bent down to her mouth for a passionate kiss. Her eyes sparkled immediately afterward, though she didn’t take her hand off me. Instead, her thumb began rubbing around the tip and I thought I was going to pop, right then and there.

“I want you,” I groaned. “Please?”

She laughed and nodded. Things devolved from there. She finally unhanded my prick, produced a condom, peeled off her shirt, shucked out of her shorts as I struggled to undress, and then sank to her knees in front of me. I was more than a little shocked when she opened her mouth, engulfing my prick, but the blowjob was just a precursor to putting on the prophylactic. She climbed into my lap, positioned herself above me, adjusted my tip, and then sank down with a wet groan, grinding and bucking and bouncing. 

The sex was vigorous, delicious, eager, and energetic. She smelled like vanilla and strawberries. Her lower parts were shaved clean and every part of her looked like it belonged in a pornographic shoot. I don’t want to brag here, but despite my arousal, I managed to control myself enough to bring her to the cusp (mostly thanks to the position,) pushing her into orgasm before loosening my own load. She sighed in happiness, her body twitching against mine as I softened, only to slip off my lap to the side with a grin on her face.

“That,” she declared passionately, “was awesome.” Then she got up, grabbed her clothing, and walked off. I heard the water running in the bathroom. I had to agree. I stripped off the condom, pulled on my clothes, and then cleaned up a bit. By the time she came back, dressed, I was on the couch again, the television show paused on the screen, a silly, happy look on my face.

If only I’d known then what was coming.

Stacy settled down next to me and if anything, she was more cuddly and cute than before. Leaning against me, I wrapped an arm around her and restarted the show. We sat like that for a minute and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. That’s when I felt it. Her hand. It slipped against my side, then her finger wriggled down past the waistband of my pants, under my boxers, and for the second time, literally just fifteen minutes after we’d been bouncing and fucking like bunnies, she wrapped her fingers around my cock, and began rubbing.

It wasn’t intense. I mean, it was, but from a psychological standpoint, not a physical one. She was being gentle. Little squeezes, light strokes, and she barely touched the tip. It felt amazing. In fact, it felt better than that. I’m a young man and as one of the characters in my favorite book series said, “I want sex about twenty minutes after I just had it.” She seemed like she was paying more attention to the show than my cock, but I only had the ability to focus on how and where she was touching me. It didn’t take long for me to respond to the caress. I stiffened, my cock lengthening and hardening. She didn’t stop either, even when I started to pant, making it clear that I was ready for round two. And when I finally decided to take things to the next level, twisting on the couch and pulling her shirt up, she looked at me in surprise. 

“Oh?” She asked in a teasing, but clearly astonished voice. “Again?” Her smile turned wicked. “Well, alright,” she added. She got up, disappeared for a few seconds, and brought back another condom. Then she stripped for me. Good God!

And boom. This time she was on her back, legs spread, one tiny little foot propped up on the back of the couch, the other on my shoulder. I was too aroused to really hold back this time, though I tried. She was more than wet enough though and I slid in perfectly, our disparate heights meaning nothing in that position. I pumped and plunged and pounded and eventually, popped. 

Sorry. For the consonance I mean. 

After emptying my balls for a second time. I slid out of her, face flushed, exhausted and I slumped on the couch. Stacy let out a pleased laugh, got up, and once more disappeared into the bathroom. I didn’t bother to get dressed. I felt wrung out. Two orgasms in less than an hour? My brain was pretty much non-functional, soaked in a heady mix of dopamine and endorphins. I’d just fucked the most gorgeous girl in school. Twice. In one night.

She came back in, dropped back down onto the couch, picked up the remote, started the show, and reached over. My body, and maybe my brain, twitched as her fingers slid across my bare loins, but when she took hold of limp, soft, still wet dick, I turned my head and gave her a sad look.

“Stacy, I’m sorry I didn’t satisfy you last time. I was just so…” my voice trailed off. She blinked and looked up at me. 

“What?” She said, still holding my cock. “Of course I’m satisfied!” She declared. She leaned over and gave me a kiss, but her hand didn’t move. In fact, she began squeezing again. Rubbing. Her thumb grazed the tip back and forth. “This is just chill now. Okay? No expectations.” She went back to watching the show. And touching me. 

I lay there, trying to sort things out. Her hand felt amazing of course. She was gentle. Easy. Light. I tried to ignore her caress, to focus on the show. But come on. Have you ever had a girl just touching you like that? I mean, my parents sometimes cuddle on the couch and my mom will rub my dad’s head. And honestly, this felt like that, from a psychological perspective, but my body certainly didn’t respond the way my dad does when Mom rubs his head. Stacy’s hand was on my rod! The minutes crept by and she didn’t let go. Even when I shifted position. And sure enough, thirty minutes later, I felt the stiffness creeping in, my body responding to the constant sexual stimulation. At first I tried to ignore it. Round three? But she didn’t stop. She was basically giving me a freaking hand job! I held my breath, the pressure building, until there was nothing I could do. Once more I turned toward her, breath ragged, fire racing through my loins, and scooped her up for ravishment.

And saw the surprised look on her face.

We made love again. On the floor of the living room, doggy-style. Not that it matters. Sorry. It was gorgeous. Passionate. Fiery. Except, once again I exploded and she didn’t. I apologized of course. Profusely. Her wrapped in my gangly arms, her bottom against my softened cock. Eventually she wormed her way out, turned, took my hands to pull me up. I was exhausted. Beyond tired. She kissed me, standing on tiptoe. Then her hand came down between my legs, her fingers wrapped around my flaccid, overworked length, and pulled me to her shower. Even there she didn’t stop. She washed my back with one hand, while the other held onto my dick. And when she asked me to wash her, she didn’t let go, standing there under the hot spray, eyes looking up at me, her hand holding my rod. I wasn’t even hard. Even when she soaped me, stroking my length, I couldn’t get it up. Finally she let go as we got out and dried off.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush. Can you stay the night?” She asked softly, hopefully, naked and beautiful and perfect. How could I refuse? I nodded and she came in for another kiss. We brushed our teeth and then she led me into her bedroom. Pink and frills and a queen sized bed. It wasn’t quite long enough for me, but when she slid between the sheets, her creamy white skin bare, pressing against mine, I didn’t care. I breathed in her scent, sighed with happiness, and then… 

I felt her hand slide across my bare hip. Slowly she took hold of my cock, and began rubbing. I lay there, confused and dismayed. We’d had sex three times. How could she possibly expect me to perform, again? I swallowed hard. Should I tell her to stop? To give me the opportunity to recharge? To let me rest? I felt my shaft throb, my brain fighting with my body. Mentally, I was being encouraged to harden, to procreate, to fuck. My body however was like “seriously? Again?” Slowly, my brain started to win the battle. 

But then her fingers slowed. The rubbing stopped, though her hand remained wrapped around my cock. Her breathing changed and I let out a tiny groan. Relief, tinged with just a faint hint of disappointment. 

I woke up the next morning, hard as a rock, her fingers stroking my cock with expertise and I opened my eyes to see her sitting up in bed next to me. She was holding her phone with one hand, literally scrolling with her thumb, all while caressing me. I let out a groan and she looked up in happiness.

“You’re awake!” She declared with a smile. Her hair was tousled, but I’ll be honest. She looked just as good as she had the night before. She leaned over to give me a kiss, still stroking my shaft. Then her boobs were in my face and I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed hold and began kissing and sucking the tips, desperate for sexual release. She let out a laugh.

“Hold on a moment, tiger!” She declared, pulling away and finally letting go of my cock. “Give me just a second!” She climbed out of bed, left the room, but came back in under a minute. She yanked the covers off me, her naked body gleaming in the sunlight that came sparking through the slanted window blinds, and laid down between my legs. She held another condom in her hand, but rather than put it on, she began licking my cock, then sucking on it. I survived that for a few more minutes, getting more frantic with each second and she finally lifted her head, only to slide the rubber on. She climbed up, mounting me eagerly and in moments she impaled herself, grinding her hips as my hands found her breasts. 

It was incredible. Perfect morning sex. Stacy was eager, passionate, nubile, and excited. For the second time I managed to hold myself back long enough for her to climax, only to flip her around and smash her against the mattress as she groaned with pleasure. I collapsed on top of her, panting and that was that. 

I made breakfast a little later, brought it to her and sat down at the kitchen table opposite her. Already the day was looking incredible, when she slid downward in her chair and put her foot up in my lap. 

Okay.

But she didn’t stop there. Her toes wiggled until they were pressed up against my cock and to my dismay she started stroking me. With her foot. All while carrying on a completely normal conversation about the show we’d been watching (okay, trying to watch) the night before. Distracted, it took me a minute to realize that she’d actually been paying attention to the program, while I’d been more intimately focused on her hand being wrapped around my dick. And things weren’t going any better at the breakfast table. It was almost a relief to be able to get up, her foot sliding to the floor, so that I could clean up! Except, she came to help. As I stood at the sink, hands soaked with soap, she stepped up behind me, slid one hand down my pants, and took hold of my manhood. How the hell she managed to dry dishes one handed, still baffles me. But what I do know is that I couldn’t take it. After about four or five minutes, despite waking up and screwing her brains out, I twisted toward her, seeing her delighted surprise, and dragged her to the floor of the kitchen, pulling off her clothes with abandon. 

“Condom!” She called out. “On the bar! In the brown box!” I lifted my face from her sex, where I’d been eagerly licking her clit, only to jump up. I found the box and grabbed one of the packets. She sat up, taking it from me, only to wrap her mouth around my cock as she tore it open. Then she was putting it on me and between the sink and the stove I dropped back down to her spread open flower and drove myself in. This time we came at the same moment, panting with relief. 

I didn’t stay much longer. I had some studying to do and she was more than understanding. I wrapped my arms around her, kissed her passionately, and headed out. The drive back to my dorm room was a blur and all I could remember was the sex. 

And the way her hand was always around my cock.

***

Wednesday was the next moment we had time to ourselves and Stacy and I headed over to the library for a study date. I have to admit that her outfit was intriguing, since she was wearing a rather daringly short denim skirt and a halter top that left her navel exposed beneath her massive chest. There was also an impressive cleavage and it was tough to think as we walked hand in hand through the entrance and up the stairs. I’d brought several textbooks with me, fully intending on using the time for some in depth study and she led me up to the fifth floor and to a back corner. Several rows of completely empty study cubbies made picking an adjacent set easy and I slid into my seat with every intention of spending the next two hours reading. The fact that my new girlfriend was next to me just made it nicer. At least, until her hand slid across my leg and without a word, she pushed her fingers into my pants and found my cock. 

Was I shocked? Hell yeah. I mean, wouldn’t you be surprised? Granted, I didn’t object or anything. We were pretty much alone up there and would have heard anyone coming around. But she started gently rubbing me and when I looked over, my cock already stiffening, she seemed to ignore me, just reading her own textbook as if absent-mindedly rubbing her boyfriend’s dick was as common as sipping a cup of tea. 

I managed to tolerate it for about five minutes before the pressure-cooker that my libido had become was about to cook off, and with a hoarse whisper, I groaned her name. 

“What?” She said, not even taking her eyes off her book.

I gulped. “Stacy, I’m right on the edge!”

She glanced at me, her fingers still rubbing. “What edge?”

I took a deep breath. “I want to fuck you,” I urged. Her eyebrows narrowed. 

“Here?” She asked incredulously, looking up at me in surprise, her thumb now sliding around the head of my cock. “My, aren’t you kinky!” She grinned.

“You’re driving me crazy!” I insisted. 

“Like the outfit, huh?” She said with a laugh, her fingers sliding up and down my rock hard shaft. 

“Please?” I groaned. 

She looked around sneakily and then scooted her chair back, hand still holding me. Then she half-stood, tugging my pants down, only to pull a condom from the pocket of her skirt. “I thought I might come prepared,” she said wickedly. “Just in case.” Then she slipped it on me. A moment later she was in my lap, her breasts mashed against my face, bouncing up and down. She felt incredible and I couldn’t hold back, the tension breaking almost instantly. I’m not proud of losing control, but she’d tormented me to the point where the dam was almost at a breaking point. 

She smiled with this smug look of satisfaction as I groaned in relief and she planted a soft kiss on my lips. “You can satisfy me after we study,” she said with expectation. Then she slid off my lap and I realized that she wasn’t wearing panties. At all. I glanced down. 

“Uh, I’m going to go get cleaned up,” I told her. She nodded, all smiles as she slid back into her seat and started reading again.

I got my pants up, went to the restroom, used a handful of paper towels and disposed of the condom. With a sigh of relief, I headed back to the study cubbies, saw Stacy sitting there, bare leg showing, right down to the cute cork wedges she was wearing and shook my head in wonder. How incredible? Right? I slid into my seat, picked up my book, and made it half-way through the next paragraph when I felt it.

Her hand. Moving down into my pants. 

“Stacy!” I hissed, even as her fingers encapsulated my cock.

“Hmm? What?” She said from beside me.

“I promise, I’ll return the favor after we study.”

She looked up. “Oh. Right. Yes. I know you will,” she replied. But her fingers didn’t stop rubbing. 

My cock twitched. “Stacy,” I said with a little more heat. “You’re distracting me.” 

She grinned. “My eyes, my freckles, or my boobs?” She asked.

I blinked. “Your hand.”

Her face got quizzical. “My hand?” 

“You’re rubbing me!” 

She glanced down. “So? Is that a problem?” Her fingers slid up and down my now semi-rigid shaft.

“Well, it’s making me hard again,” I said. 

She let out a soft chuckle. “Hard to concentrate?”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

She looked disappointed. “So don’t rub?”

I grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

She frowned. “Okay.” Her fingers stopped moving up and down. I expected her to pull her hand out of my pants. But instead I felt something different. Squeezes. She gripped my now firm cock in her palm and was giving me these little tightening clenches. Freaking hell! It was almost as bad as stroking me!

“Stacy!” I hissed. 

She looked over at me, seemingly a little frustrated. “What?” She demanded. “We’re supposed to be studying!”`

“No kidding!” I declared. “What are you doing?”

She sniffed delicately. “I am studying.” 

I sat there, mouth agape as her left hand continued throbbing in my pants. Sure enough, her eyes were back on the page, flickering left and right, clearly absorbed in what she was doing, while I endured the non-stop stimulation stroking my manhood. For a moment I didn’t know what to do. Object? Pull her hand out from between my legs? Suffer? How could I ruin this?

So I swallowed hard, opened my book, and tried to study. To no avail. She squeezed. She rubbed. She stroked. And after twenty or so minutes I gasped, hard as a rock, my balls feeling like they were ready to burst.

“I can’t!” I gasped. My leg shook and I tugged down the front of my pants, not even bothering to check if we were still alone. The surge shot through me and I erupted with a groan, white cream spilling out of the tip and slipping down to her fingers.

It was as if the wetness startled her and she finally pulled her hand away, looking at me in surprise. She glanced down at the jism on her fingers and then gave me an incredulous look. “Seriously?” She asked, as if I’d done something wrong.

“I’m sorry!” I blurted out. “I couldn’t take it!” 

Her face softened and she let out a tiny laugh. “I know my presence is intoxicating, but honestly, don’t hide it from me. I would have been more than happy to ride you again,” she whispered. She leaned over and opened her purse one handed, only to pull out a tissue. She wiped herself clean and then gave me a smile. 

“Are you okay now?” She asked. I let out a sigh and nodded. She leaned over, gave me a kiss full of promises, and then slid her hand back into my pants. 

To do it all again. 

***

The idea isn’t to give you a detailed recital of every sexual encounter we had, but I can tell you that it took me several weeks to get used to it. Any time we were sitting next to each, and in relative privacy, she put her hand down my shorts or trousers. At lunch each day in the Student Union, she moved us to a booth table and instead of sitting across from me, like a normal girlfriend, she climbed in beside me, her hand pushing down between my legs. Do you have any idea how hard it is to eat lunch when your freaking girlfriend is giving you non-stop handjobs? 

The positive was that I was getting more sex than I had ever imagined possible, and I wasn’t even living with her! If I mentioned that I was getting horny, she would do her best to take care of me, even if that meant dragging me off to some abandoned quiet corner of a university building. We made love on stairwell landings. We had sex behind a humming electrical transformer. Discovering the study rooms in the basement of my dorm was a boon. How the hell we managed to attend classes and not fail the next few exams is still beyond me. 

And yet, regardless of the circumstances, and whether I’d just popped, she wanted, no needed, to hold me. In that spot. It didn’t matter if I was flaccid, or exhausted, or had just brought her to climax. It was like I was some sort of emotional support blanket. It took me a month to realize that she didn’t even view it as sexual. Sexual stimulation for her was getting on her knees, or sucking on me, or… there were even a few times where she got out oil and gave me a hand job so freaking intense that I squirted jism two feet into the air, shooting it over her shoulder!

The rest of the time she had no idea of the effect she was having on me and I didn’t dare tell her. My first solution was to just let myself cum. She always seemed shocked I’d exploded and after the first few times she actually admonished me. “Hey, a good girlfriend takes care of her boyfriend,” she declared. “If you need sex, just say something.” So I tried that. It was another whirlwind weekend of “Netflix and chill”, which might have been Netflix and chill for her, but was a freaking sexual marathon for me. Do you have any idea what it's like to be sexually stimulated non-stop for seventy-two hours? 

I do. 

That weekend I held off until I was rock-hard each time, then made it clear that I needed to sate myself in her amazingly beautiful body. It worked the first few times, but around the fourth time she gave me an astounded look and asked “again?” 

“Stacy, you’ve had your hand on my cock for the last hour!”

“So?” 

“Well, it’s arousing!” 

She gave me a skeptical look. “You need to learn some control,” she said, looking away, except guess where her freaking hand was? Want to know what it was doing? 

My mouth fell open. “Control?” I asked, dumbfounded. 

She sighed. “Look, I think you’re hot. You’re funny and thoughtful. And I really enjoy the sex. And I get it. You think I’m hot. I know. But it's like all you ever think about. There are other pleasures in life, you know, besides sex.” Her hand pulsed around my dick and I didn’t know what to say. My balls tightened almost painfully as I struggled not to unload into her palm again. That went about as well as you might think.

The next weekend I decided on a different strategy. As we settled down onto the couch, again binge-watching another show on the agenda, I felt her hand slide down into my pants. I let her touch me and then, slowly and carefully, I slid my fingers through the waistband of her shorts, past her panties, and down between her legs. I barely touched her sex, the softness of her folds, when she squeezed her legs together and gave me a shocked look.

“Really?” She demanded, “We’re watching television!” 

“But… but…” I spluttered, already starting to struggle with the incessant pleasure streaming up from my own rod as her fingers twirled and swirled and danced up and down. Her frown turned into a smile. 

“I know you’re raring to go, but do you think you can hold off until at least the first episode is done?” Her thumb grazed and then circled the top of my shaft. I gulped, hips rolling, my cock thrusting upward.

“I… I don’t think so,” I whispered. Stacy bit her lip, then picked up the remote and paused the show. 

“Well, let’s get you satisfied then,” she said. “And then we can focus.” Then she fell on me like a hungry tigress. 

Afterward I lay there in the seat next to hers on the couch, both of us naked, sated and relaxed. She picked up the remote, started the show again, and just as I expected, reached over, grabbed my stick shift, and tried to move me from park to drive. She wasn’t even trying to turn me on. She just wanted to hold my junk! I let her, the pleasure of it driving me crazy. I made it the entire rest of the episode, and even half of the next before my body responded. I stiffened, then hardened, then groaned as the sexual pressure doubled, tripled, and quadrupled. I couldn’t help it. I slipped my hand down between her legs again, only to once again get rebuffed. 

“Hey!” She declared, grabbing my hand and moving it away. “Keep your fingers out of the cookie jar. At least, not without asking.” The hypocrisy of the situation was alarming, considering what she was doing in my pants.

“Stacy,” I croaked, my cock throbbing with need. “Please! You’re driving me crazy! I can’t take it! I’m on edge again! Please!” 

She let out a slightly exasperated sigh. “Can we at least try to do it between episodes?” She asked. “I mean, you might be able to get it up over and over again, but I’ve got limits. You feel good, but a girl gets sensitive if she has too much sex.”

I stared at her in astonishment. “Stacy, you’re rubbing me. It’s making me hard. I can’t help it!” 

“You,” she said teasingly, “need to learn control.” She straightened up and peeled off her shirt, baring her huge and perfect tits. The next thing I knew there was a condom and a girl on my cock. 

Four times that Friday evening and by the time we hit the sack, even Stacy’s hand wasn’t enough to power me up. I remember climbing into the bed with her, my head hitting the pillow, my eyes closing slowly, and Stacy’s soft, wriggling fingers finding my cock. 

***

Yesterday Stacy asked me to move in with her and… I’m not sure I can. Right now there is a place to escape, a place I can study without distraction, time to step back from the edge, to rest, to relax without being on the cusp of cumming. She sensed my hesitancy and I think I hurt her feelings. But she doesn’t understand. She has never understood what she’s doing to me. She wants to hold my cock in her hand all the time. At breakfast. At lunch. At school. At dinner. On the couch. In the shower. In the bed. Sure, she’s always open to having sex, but there is never any moment where I’m not enduring stimulation of some kind. Whether she’s squeezing me, or rubbing me, or stroking me, it's as if her true goal was to make me constantly hard, like some sort of feminine Viagra. 

I played it off. Told her that I didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave my dorm until the end of the Spring Semester. I needed a place to study without her “intoxicating presence”. I needed to be able to focus. She wasn’t happy with me. She was hurt. And so I have to ask.

Am I the asshole?

Let me know because she just called. She’s coming over. Bringing me cake. To help me study. I know what will happen. She’ll stay for a bit. We will undoubtedly have sex. And then… then she’ll slip her hand down into my shorts, her fingers will wrap around my shaft, and she’ll start rubbing me. Again.