"Fuck!" Tom yelled, and I was jolted awake as he stood. After he'd fallen asleep, I'd climbed onto the sofa to lie down, resting my head on his thigh as we slept. I sat up and rubbed my eyes as he darted from the living room area and into his bedroom. The VCR under the TV indicated that it was a few minutes after 8:00, and shadows played across his rug where the morning sunlight was broken by the limbs of the trees outside his windows.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he was muttering in the bedroom. He emerged with a fresh undershirt on and a short-sleeved button-down in his hand. He was still naked from the waist down. "RA meeting started at 8," he frowned. He looked down at the floor at his rumpled khaki shorts from the previous day, then turned back in the bedroom. He hopped back into the living room, pulling on a pair of denim shorts. He grabbed his sandals and with his hand on the door he looked back at me. "Lock up when you leave, Jeff. I'll get my keys from you when I get back." With that, the door slammed behind him and he was gone.
I sat there, naked, on Tom's sofa and looked around at his living room. I could still taste faintly the cum he'd shot in my mouth the night before. I stood up and walked over to one of his windows, and saw him appear in the quad below after a few seconds. He was jogging off towards one of the academic buildings, probably the dean's office. I was alone in his apartment, and I felt a combination of pride that he trusted me enough to leave me here and mischievous curiosity about what I'd find if I poked around. Curiosity won out.
After picking up my clothes from the previous day, I got dressed. I went over to his refrigerator and cabinets and nosed through them. Imported Dutch beer in the fridge; plates, bowls, glasses and mugs in the cabinet. The little drawer in the counter beside the sink obviously held silverware, but I opened it to confirm my suspicions. There was a CD tower beside the stereo, and I fingered through the CDs in it. Mostly Top 40 stuff, but some harder stuff from a couple years ago. I slid open the drawer of the entertainment center to look over his tape collection. He had a pretty eclectic assortment, and only one thing stood out: no porn.
I walked into the bedroom. Against the far wall, the bed was unmade and to one side of it was a small table with his alarm clock. At the foot of the bed stood a desk and chair set, much like the two in my own room, and two doors opened off the wall of the adjacent room. One was a closet, where his shirts were hung neatly on hangers and his shorts, pants, and underwear were folded neatly on the shelves. The other was a small bathroom, with shower, toilet, and sink. I folded back the shower curtain, glanced over his toiletries, then peaked into the medicine cabinet over the sink. Again, nothing telling.
Disappointed, I turned to leave and walked over to the stereo in the living room. I picked up his keys and eyed the wallet he'd left behind. After only a moment's pause, I flipped it open and began thumbing through the cards. Driver's license. He was from South Carolina, a fact that surprised me because he had no discernible accent. Registration to a late-model Jetta. Two credit cards. Student ID. About $50 in cash. Was this guy boring or what? I put the wallet back on the stereo, took the keys and left, locking the door behind me.
I'd been in my room about a half an hour when Tom popped in through the open door. I was bent over the desk I'd claimed hooking up my computer monitor to the base unit on the floor when I felt his hands on my hips, catching me by surprise. "This feels about right," he taunted as he ground his crotch into my ass. I tried to stand and felt him place a hand between my shoulder blades and lean over, using his weight to pin me down. I could have shrugged him off, but I felt his other hand reach around and slide into my jeans. He continued grinding against me as I felt his fingers groping for the fly of my boxers, then slip through the opening and pinch the head of my rising cock. With his thumb and forefinger, he began a rapid milking motion of my glans. The mild discomfort made me grind my ass back against his groin, and I could feel a hardness pressing into my cheeks.
"I could fuck you right here, you know," he whispered as he leaned over my ear. "I could drop your jeans and open my fly and just fuck my cock into you. Fuck you right on top of your desk. And you'd want me to, wouldn't you?" I groaned as I felt the action on my cock feel less abrasive as my precum began to ooze and lubricate Tom's fingers. "Wouldn't you, Jeff?" he repeated.
"Fuck," I grunted, as the friction on my cockhead, the sensation of him humping my ass, and the memory of the incredible fuck the day before played in my mind.
"Wouldn't you, Jeff?" he asked a third time. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me right here, on top of my desk."
"Yeah, I thought you did," he replied softly. I felt the hand on my back sliding down as he rested his chest on me. I could feel my cock throbbing as he continued to massage and manipulate its swollen head. I felt his other hand slide under the waistband of my shorts and boxers, and a fingertip sliding into my crack in front of his still grinding package. The fingertip found my hole and began rubbing around it in time to the corkscrew motions of Tom's hips behind me.
"Please fuck me," I moaned. I felt his hips pull back as his finger curled. He closed his lips on my earlobe just as he rammed his hips forward, and as his pubic bone hit the back of his hand inside of my clothes, he forced the finger into me up to the first knuckle. I yelped at the dry penetration and jerked up slightly. He bit my earlobe gently, and then repeated his short fucking stab, forcing more of his finger inside my ass, using his crotch as a hammer, nailing me with his finger about three-quarters of an inch at a time. He kept going until his finger struck home at my prostate and I cried out and arched my back against him.
He stopped ramming with his hips and started rubbing his finger over my gland, back and forth, slipping about an inch of his finger in and out of my ass lips in the process. The friction between them, coupled with the milking of my cockhead and the massage of my prostate, brought me to the edge very quickly. I began to whimper and rock my hips, trying to work my ass onto his finger when I felt him release my ear and move his mouth down inside the collar of my polo shirt to the place where my shoulder joined my neck at my collarbone. When he started sucking, I lost all control, and my balls drew up tight against my cock. As my knees spasmed, my asshole twitched around his finger and I began to fire my load into my jeans. I whined incoherently as Tom unrelentingly sucked, fucked and milked me, squeezing out shot after shot, right into my lap.
As my muscles unclenched, Tom slowed his milking, released my neck, and slowly pulled his finger from my ass. He withdrew both his hands, presented the one covered in cum to my mouth, and without any direction from him I lowered my face to it and licked it clean. He took hold of my shoulders and stood me up on my wobbly legs as he backed away. "I'm ready for breakfast," he announced. "Let's go to the D-Hall and see what the slop of the day is." I turned to face him, sexually spent but surprised he didn't want to fuck me after all. I looked down at his crotch to see no noticeable erection, and my eyes were drawn to my own package. My spunk had left a huge, dark oval of wetness.
His eyes followed mine, and he smiled wickedly. "No, I'm not really in the mood for D-Hall food. Let's go to Mickey Dee's or something." He looked up at me and brushed his bangs off his forehead, then reached down to the desk where his keys lay. "I'll go get my wallet; meet me in the parking lot."
As he started for the door, I moved to my closet. "No need to change," Tom said in a voice that reflected more than suggestion. His eyes sparkled as my mouth dropped and I looked down at my crotch again. I looked up to see him biting his lower lip in what I'd already come to recognize as a sign of his lust and my impending humiliation.
"Come on!" I pleaded. "You've got to..." I began, when he interrupted me by loudly snapping his fingers, then pointing to a spot on the floor inches in front of his feet. I grew instantly defiant. Sure, he'd just gotten me off, but damned if I was going to go out in public with my own load all over my clothes. Even when it dried, it would still be obvious against the light denim as it grew stiff, and I'm sure the smell of cum would remove any trace of doubt. His eyes narrowed and burned into mine as we stared each other down for a few seconds. His face was like stone. Suddenly his stern expression dissolved, he shrugged nonchalantly, and turned to leave. In an inexplicable second of panic, my determination vanished and I stepped towards him. "Tom! Wait!"
He kept moving into the hall, and I quickly moved towards him. When I'd cleared the door, he stopped and whirled around towards me. He reached around me and pulled the door shut behind me. I heard the click and knew my keys were locked inside. His eyes were cold as they met mine again, and his hand slipped inside my waist again. He withdrew his finger, smeared with cum he'd wiped from inside the cloth, and rubbed it down the bridge of my nose and across each cheekbone. "Outside," he said with an icy softness, and started down the hall to his room.
I felt the now cool slime on my face and, knowing I had lost all control of the situation, I turned and made my way down the stairs.