Up, down…
DJ had lost track of how long he stared. A minute? Two? He shook himself. “Sorry Dr. Restrepo. I don’t know what came over me. I’m SO sorry.” He blushed furiously.
She finally sat up; involuntarily, his eyes drank in every second of the view down her neckline until it was utterly gone. The impatient look on her face faded completely, like she hadn’t just given him a free peep show. And now it was painfully obvious that her nipples were hard, tenting out two spots in the thin tank top fabric. His eyes goggled.
“Schmidt?” She waved a hand to get his attention, and he looked back up, somehow discovering an even deeper shade of crimson. “Anyway, like I was saying while your eyes were fixated on my breasts, I’ll look this over and get it back to you next week with a grade. OK?” She still didn’t look more than annoyed.
“Sure—that’d be amazing. Thanks, Dr. Restrepo.”
She smiled, and even if it was forced, it was a smile. “I told you, call me Missy.”
He went over and over it after he left. Why the hell would she have let him ogle her like that? Was she just supremely understanding? And what was with the sudden flip-flop on his essay? None of it made sense. Still, other than a few bouts of vigorous masturbation, the incident passed, and he gave no more though to grander designs.
Then it was Saturday night, and across the college, people his age were dressing up and heading out to parties and dates and bars. Meanwhile, he was stuck on duty again with Emily. Still, he was in a good mood even so. He’d had a good end to the week—he’d had a few positive interactions with his residents, had lunch with some guys from class, and hung out with his fellow RAs on Friday night watching a couple movies. Maybe he wasn’t popular, but he’d felt included. It was nice, and he was determined that no sour looks from Emily were going to harsh his mellow.
And so far, so good. She’d made polite chit-chat with him during their first rounds, even, practically unprecedented kindness from her. Second rounds, just after midnight, were going disappointingly well until they hit the fourth floor lounge.
He’d heard stories before of RAs walking in on steamy scenes, but it was DJ’s first.
As they opened the lounge doors, he caught the sight of Ashley Vandoren straddling the hips of her boyfriend, Charlie Temple. Charlie was a second string lineman on the university’s football team who lived on DJ’s floor; Ashley he remembered from a party he’d had to bust last semester—especially since on several occasions since that incident she’d spit at him or flipped him off in passing.
Presently she was in nothing but a bra, a leopard-print number that was struggling to contain the two titanic tits within it, and with each bounce they threatened to break free, quivering and wobbling like mad. A blanket bunched around her waist was the only thing concealing the root cause of her quivering. Charlie noticed the RAs first, and began sputtering nonsensically.
“Oh don’t let us interrupt you two.” He grinned at Emily, who likewise looked fairly amused to have stumbled across the torrid scene.
Ashley squeaked, whirling to see who was there while Charlie winced at the sensation her sudden shift had on him. “Oh!” She looked hard at the two RAs, and then, unbelievably, she resumed grinding on Charlie’s lap.
DJ stared in shock—and in fascination. He’d never seen anyone have sex except on the internet, and his own meager experience with girls had never included a girl nearly as hot as Ashley. She had the whole hot-nerd-girl thing going on with just a hint of goth aesthetic, with black-rimmed glasses, creamy pale skin, a lazily groomed dark red mane of hair—and of course, those stupendous boobs of hers. Boobs which were even now resuming their wild flopping as she bounced on her boyfriend’s lap.
DJ looked to Emily, who had averted her eyes, but otherwise was making no move to intercede. Aside from some mild embarrassment, her body language said she was waiting on DJ for permission to proceed.
“Um, Ashley? Charlie?”
Charlie groaned as she rocked her hips forward, so it was Ashley who responded. “Yeah, DJ?”
He blinked. “You know my name?”
She moaned as Charlie tugged down a cup on her bra and put his mouth over one of her large pink nipples, and it was some time before she recovered enough to reply. “Sure—you’re DJ Swanson, the asshole who made me pour out $200 worth of booze last semester, you—oh FUCK YES baby, suck me, SUCK ME—you bastard.”
Charlie pulled back and murmured into her cleavage. “Quiet, babe, someone might hear and come in.”
DJ raised his hands in a wtf gesture. “Um, hello? Someone already did come in.”
Ashley silenced her boyfriend by leaning forward and burying his face in an avalanche of tits. “I thought you didn’t want to interrupt.” She looked back at him, and the expression on her face was a mix of sexual bliss and earnest curiosity.
Before he could reply, Emily interjected. “Hey, do you want to do the write-up for this, or do you want me to do it? I don’t care either way.” She was pure casual, though still not looking directly at the two.
What the fuck was going on?
DJ literally pinched himself. Ashley and Charlie fucking like his presence was no big deal, Emily patiently standing by while he ogled them. This had to be a dream.
Ashley reached behind her to undo her bra, tossing it behind the couch and increasing the tempo of her hips. Her big tits threatened to suffocate Charlie as she wrapped them around his head—or at least to batter him unconscious as they flew about unrestrained. They looked even better than they had in DJ’s imagination—which made him all the more certain that this couldn’t be real.
“DJ?” Emily spoke up again. Oh, she’d asked him a question. Still, if this was a dream… he’d read about lucid dreams, though he’d never had one. May as well enjoy it until he woke up.
He raised a finger and pushed it to Emily’s lips, shushing her. She stood by and let him without pulling back or even complaining—and if that didn’t confirm that he was dreaming, then nothing would. Emboldened, DJ walked up behind the blissful couple, and without warning reached over Ashley’s shoulders and took a breast in each hand.
They felt great—better even than his fantasies, because these felt real, not like the impossibly firm, perfect bubbles he’d imagined, but rather tender, quivering girl flesh, cool on the outside but hot where his fingers dug in. He squeezed them, then smushed them against Charlie’s face. “You don’t mind if I feel up your girlfriend, do you?”
Charlie looked up at him, mildly unhappy but in a pouty, ineffectual kind of way—which was good, since the real Charlie would surely be on his feet and kicking DJ’s ass up and down the hall. “It’s cool, man—I can’t say as I blame you.”
“And Ashley, this is all right with you, right?” He impulsively took a handful of her hair and tipped her head back, bending to kiss her. His tongue slid into her open mouth, and he felt her moan on his lips as his other hand found and tweaked her nipple.
“Sure, it’s all right,” she panted as he pulled back. She eyed him warily, like she was still displeased to be watched, but determined not to stop. His hands took liberty, caressing her neck, her smooth stomach, and of course those fantastic tits.
He was at it for some time before he heard Emily behind him. “Look, I’m gonna go finish rounds—you can take the write-up on this.”
His hard-on responded for him, emboldened by the surrealness of it all. “Nuh, uh, Emily—get that cute little ass of yours over here.” He walked away from Ashley, who seemed perfectly happy to be the focus of only one man again. It was moments before he clearly heard her climaxing, and she barely slowed as her body trembled with her orgasm.