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krys4h · 11 days ago

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𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ◞﹒୧ .

✧ ⁝ 𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐮◞ ྀི

=͟͟͞͞✧ Oliver is a popular frat boy, the complete opposite of your reserved and shy personality. You've been working together on a joint project in your psychology major for three months, but everything changes when he invites you to his birthday party. It's time for you to know what it's like to have his stubble grazing against your inner thighs…

⋆𐙚 ─ university au, porn with plot, smut, chubby!reader, plus-size!reader, shy!reader, fratboy!oliver, whipped!oliver, work together for a school project, party, body images issues, insecurities, reassurance, mutual pining, pet names (baby), kissing, neck kisses, dirty talking, praising, fingers sucking, foreplay, oral sex, vaginal sex, clit rubbing, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, rough sex, sex on piano, floor sex, standing sex, cowgirl, minors dni.

“Sup,” a deep voice that always warmed your lower abdomen made you look up from your book.

Oliver Aiku.

Six feet three, massive muscles, and a model face. The sexiest man in the entire university, the type of man every girl wanted in her bed but couldn't keep until marriage. He was a known womanizer; you'd dubbed him ‘the promiscuous boy’ in your mind; he was the forbidden fruit. Handsome to look at but he'd wreak havoc in your life if you touched him.

He walked into the private study room, removing one earbud from his white wired headphones. His unzipped hoodie and his blue and white NFL jersey was loose-fitting, as were his dark baggy jorts; his gray Adidas Samba sneakers gave the illusion of more height because of his high white socks. He'd just come out of the shower, and his dark purple hair was slightly wavy from the humidity, the green tips curly. He slumped into the chair in front of you with a heavy breath, indicating he was probably tired from his soccer training.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice soft and shy.

Oliver and you were friends - if we ignored the way you had butterflies in your belly every time his groggy voice answered your Instagram messages in the morning -, ever since you were working on a joint project in your behaviorism class. You had the same major, psychology, and the chemistry between you was perfect, his smirk always making your insides bubble up and his intelligence astounding you every Wednesday when you saw each other for your sessions. You had been seeing each other every week for 3 months and your connexion was slowly deepening.

You weren't at all the type of girl he usually hung out with. You were reserved, focused on your studies, and your body was hidden by your shapeless clothes, a far cry from the girls dressed in miniskirts typical of the house parties he always attended. But Oliver didn't really care about popularity.

He found the way you smiled shyly every time he complimented you adorable. He was addicted to your voice and would purposely make mistakes in his notes just so you'd explain them again and he'd stare your lips move. He was whipped, and he wasn't ashamed. The girl in study room 203 was his little haven, his little crush, untainted by the superficiality of the popular people he was used to.

He took his things out of his backpack, opening his laptop. The light from his laptop illuminated his face in the shadow of the hood still on his head. As usual, when you saw his face, you held your breath. That was truly the effect Oliver had on women: breathtaking. His sharp, masculine features had a kind of sensuality, his stubble sending tingles down your spine, wanting to know what it was like to feel his coarse hairs against the skin of your thighs. His ears had a multitude of piercings and a mini hoop earring on his lobes, and on his lips, there were two piercings, one at each corner of his mouth. The silver metal highlighted his heterochromic eyes, the green left eye and the purple right eye. When he looked at you, you never knew which beautiful eye to focus on, his irises hypnotizing.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, his naturally sensual voice making it difficult not to cross your legs, to stop the pulse between your legs.

“I studied, and you?”

His lips quirked up, he glanced at you, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, I kind of thought you would say that. You’re a total nerd.”

“You're as brilliant at psychology as I am, Oliver.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at your compliment, a small smile on his face. It was the truth, even when he was making his schemes to get you to sit next to him so he could look more closely at your lips when you spoke, he was still the most intelligent man you had ever met in your life. His remarks in class were always excellent and he had astonishing and impressive thought patterns, his brain working like a computer, managing to make brilliant conclusions, without necessarily needing to recite his notes.

“You shouldn’t compliment a man like me too much. Only God knows what I would understand from our exchanges.”

“What do you mean?” you tilted your head, your naivety made him laugh inside.

“I’m saying it makes me hard when you compliment me like that.”

Blood rushed into your cheeks, making the tip of your ears hot.

“Um… Well…”

He watched you search for words in your embarrassment with a sly smile. He took malicious pleasure in teasing you and saying obscene things just to see your shifty eyes or your fidgeting hands. He opened the Google Doc you shared for your work together, nonchalantly as if he wasn’t making your heart race.

“I watched a documentary on our topic and took notes,” you tried to change the subject, but Oliver still kept a smirk on his face as he took the notebook you handed him.

Your work topic was on Observational Learning and Albert Bandura's theory of social learning. This theory is a psychological concept that offered valuable insight into how individuals acquire new behaviors and adapt their actions based on the observation of others. The documentary focused on Albert Bandura's test, in which a woman hit an inflatable clown in front of a child. The child was then placed in the room with toys and then taken away, leaving him alone with the inflatable clown. The test showed that the other children who had not seen the woman hit the object had not been violent once left alone with it, compared to the one who had seen the violence and reproduced it, confirming the idea of obverserational learning in children.

Oliver’s smirk faded as his eyes wandered on your notebook, a growing admiration in his eyes.

“It's very precise and detailed. You're truly my favorite nerd, this will really help us with the mini-project.”

His praise made you feel all fuzzy inside, and you weren't deaf to the longing tone he'd used. Did Oliver like you as much as you liked him? That couldn't be the case. Oliver came from a different world than you. He was handsome, rich, and popular; the only thing you shared was having a shadow.

“I thought we could also talk about autistic children in our project,” you said, staring at your laptop, avoiding meeting his gaze that made you melt. “They’re the ones who come to mind when we talk about people who copy others by observation. They don't have social clues and need to observe the worlds around them to be able to act appropriately in different contexts. However, learning by observation can be more difficult for them. We should talk about them and the methods adults use to teach behaviors to autistic children.”

“Good point,” he inclined his head in approval. “However, one of the criteria for it to work, according to Albert Bandura, is attention. It's already difficult for autistic children, and I'll let you imagine for children with comorbidities like ADHD. But I believe there are techniques like discrete trial training to help autistic children develop new skills.”

You spend the hour searching for articles to add details to your joint project on the subject of autism. As you worked, Oliver’s eyes lingered on you, your lips, your chest hidden under your loose-fitting sweatshirt, your face. He thought it was a crime for a girl as pretty as you to hide behind her clothes; for him, you should grace everyone's eyes with your beauty. Or keep it a secret, because there will be more for him. Because yeah, you didn't know, but he was planning on having you in his bed one day. And even for more than one night if it went well.

“Wait.”

He gently grabbed your arm before you left the study room, the touch of his skin on yours sending an electric feeling sparks across your skin. You blinked, your eyelashes fluttering as you cocked your head to one side, and the sight made his dick twitch. You were so pretty, so his type.

“I want to get my favorite homebody out of her dorm,” Oliver's hand moved down to yours, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your breath caught in your chest, paralyzed and unable to remove your hand from his. Tall, he towered over you, but lowered his head to be a few inches from your head, his gaze lingering.

“Get out of my dorm?” you whispered.

“It's my birthday on Saturday, I'm having a party at my uncle's house. I want you to come.”

The most popular guy on campus invited you to a party for his birthday? Internally, you were kicking your legs on your bed, screaming in your pillow, but physically, a gentle look passed acrosss your face.

“I’ve never been to a college party.”

“Never, like never?”

His grip on your hand tightened. You shook your head. His eyes bored into yours, an affection barely concealed in it.

“I'll stay with you if you're anxious.”

“I don’t want to ruin your birthday…”

“My birthday is even better if you honor me with your visit.”

Oliver had a way with words that was horribly effective on you, warmth pooling in your belly. You had to pull yourself together; Oliver was the promiscuous boy, the forbidden fruit. You remove your hand from his, your arm returning to the level of your hips.

“I'm going to see if a friend can-”

“I'm the one coming with you. Think of it as a date.”

A nervous laugh escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

“A-A date?”

“Yeah. With the kiss at the end when I walk you to your dorm like a gentleman, have you ever done that?” he leaned his back against the door frame, crossing his arms on his chest, a smug look on his handsome face.

Your stomach was all light and bubbly, as your heart raced again. A kiss? By THE Oliver Aiku? You tightened the strap of your bag and walked out the door, pushing past him, too nervous to think of anything to say. Oliver was stunned, unaccustomed to such rejection, but he turned around and caught up with your quick steps.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, walking beside you, his body brushing against yours. “I’ve had a crush on you since forever. You’ve only known me since we started working together, but I’ve noticed you since the beginning of the year, during my first child psychology class.”

You walked faster, your heart pounding in your chest and threatening to burst out of your ribcage.

“Please,” he knelt in the university library, the people at the computers looking at you curiously. Oliver didn’t care, he had a mission. “I waited all year to have a reason to invite you,” he brought his hands together in prayer, imploring you with his eyes as he was at your feet.

He was so pathetic, so whipped, the sight of him made you feel powerful, important, and for a few seconds you forgot the different financial means and social statuses that differentiated you.

“Is that real, or do you just want extra help with your studies?”

Your voice was almost a whisper, vulnerable and low. Your ex-boyfriend had pulled this trick on you, making you believe he was in love with you, only to end up making fun of your friends for how your body jiggled during sex and taking advantage of your class notes.

“I don’t give a damn about my GPA. I only come to the sessions because it’s you.”

The honesty in his voice and the desire in his eyes eased your fears. You looked away.

“Stand up, this is embarrassing.”

“Only if you specifically said, ‘Yes, Oliver, I’ll come to your birthday.’ And with conviction.”

You rolled your eyes, but your face softened.

“Yes, Oliver, I’ll come to your birthday.”

“I said with conviction.”

The library director approached us, telling us that prayers were forbidden here.

“I can’t even show my devotion to my goddess, it’s a scandal,” Oliver grumbled as he stood up, and your shoulders shook as you let out a quiet laugh. There was something surreal about hearing Oliver call you his goddess, but your gut told you that you could trust him, and that it wasn't a prank or something malicious.

“So…”

“10 p.m. Saturday at the university parking lot.”

It was like he had planned it all or waited months to say it, and it was true. He had to wait painfully all year until June to finally act on his crush, because he knew you weren't the party type so his usual pick-up techniques weren't going to work with you. It was a godsend that you were together for the school project.

You nodded and waved goodbye to him, leaving the library with a small smile on your face. Once you reached your dorm, you dove into bed and screamed into your pillow. Your crush was mutual!

𖥸

Saturday arrived quickly, and you found yourself walking between the cars in the parking lot to find Oliver’s. Your stomach in knots, you held your tiny purse in your hand. You were wearing a long, loose-fitting dress that didn't hug your body, and heels. Oliver saw you coming from a distance and didn't comment on your outfit. He was going to end up seeing you naked sooner or later. He noticed you were wearing makeup, the highlighter glowing on your skin under the artificial lights of the parking lot.

“So pretty, gorgeous even,” he muttered under his breath, the desire in his voice barely contained. He opened the passenger door for you and let you into his car. He started the car and began driving.

The drive to the party was silent. Oliver glanced at you a few times to check out the skin on your thick thighs when your dress rode up a little, or his eyes wandered to your face and admired your eyeshadow. His feet trembled against the floor of the car, his nervousness palpable. This was the first time he'd been nervous around a girl; usually, he chased his prey with confidence. But you were more reserved, a real challenge. Oliver always loved a challenge, so he wasn't going to back down from difficulty. He was going to have you, he was sure of it. He had to. He needed to, it was visceral.

“Do you drink alcohol?” he asked, as you got out of the car and walked toward the big house, the music already wafting into the neighborhood.

“No.”

His lips curved into a smirk. “Thought so.” You really were his favorite nerdy homebody.

He opened the door for you and you rushed into the party, immediately enveloped by the ambient heat and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. The house was crowded, filled with students from your university, most of them smoking or drinking standing up, and people were dancing in the middle to the rhythmic and energetic music of Sexyy Red.

He took your hand in his to lead you into the kitchen to get you something to drink. His hand was rough and calloused against yours. You'd been too stressed during the session to focus on the texture of his hand last time, but now it was overwhelming. Everything about him was rough and masculine, his hard, muscular body contrasting with your softness and plushness. You couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to feel his naked body against you in a more intimate setting, but you pushed the thought away, a heat simmering in the pit of your stomach.

Lots of people stopped to give Oliver a handshake, giving you curious glances because you weren't the type of girl Oliver usually hung out with. Once in the kitchen, Oliver brought out some sodas for you to choose from.

“Happy birthday,” you breathed as you brought your glass to your lips.

His eyes lit up.

“Thanks, I hope you have a present for me tonight.”

Why did everything he said have a sexual undertone? You struggled to find your words and he gazed at you with eyes that glowed with a playful and mischievous glint, knowing full well what he was doing.

The music blasted loudly from the party's big speakers, and it was too loud for you. You liked quiet places where you could work on your psychology classes, and you weren't very sociable, so you watched people dancing and laughing together in front of you with an awkward expression, feeling out of place. He noticed your fidgeting hands, his heart aching for you.

"Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?" Oliver asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You didn't know this soft side of Oliver; he was more of a laid-back, flirtatious guy, so it intimidated you a little.

"Yes, please," you uttered in a small voice, your head giving him a shy nod.

He laced your fingers with his again to lead you into a quieter room. You climbed the stairs together, arriving at the floor where people were kissing and grinding against the walls. Heat rose to your cheeks as you passed the lovers, but Oliver was indifferent to the scene. He opened the door to an empty bedroom where the television was on. You sat on the bed, finally reassured in a safe place and away from the deafening music.

"Isn't this Pretty Woman?" you asked, watching television and recognizing Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.

"Yeah," he closed the door and sat down next to you, his back against the headboard. "Do you want to watch the movie? It looks like it's just getting started." You inclined your head in acceptance, getting comfortable under the covers, your shoulders touching.

The movie was a love story between a wealthy man, Edward, and a prostitute, Vivian. Their encounter completely changed the prostitute's life, propelling her into a world of luxury and affection from the man. It was a classic romantic film.

Oliver and you watched the movie together, laughing at certain moments, the atmosphere light and comfortable between you. When they kissed on the screen, your body temperature rose, and you turned to Oliver but realized he was already staring at you, his lips parted. You focused back on the television, flustered.

“I know how to play the piano,” Oliver declared casually during a scene in the movie where the man played the piano, and then they made love on it.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Why are you looking at me like that? A frat boy like me can't play the piano?”

“I admit I’m judging you a little.”

“You’re allowed, baby. Only you can.”

His ‘baby’ made you feel hot all over, and you cleared your throat, trying to sound normal and not flustered.

“Follow me,” Oliver got up from the bed and walked out of the bedroom. You followed his steps and saw him take out keys from his pocket and unlock a room that no one had access to before. It was a mini library with a dark brown wooden piano in the middle. Oliver locked the door behind you and sat down on the small stool in front of the piano and nodded at you to come closer. You complied, placing your hand on the piano to observe him.

His hands ran over the piano keys, a soft melody emerging from the instrument and filling the room with its high notes and low notes. Oliver was focused on his task, a deep crease between his brows as his eyes remained fixed on the instrument. The music was harmonious and dramatic, charged with emotion. He did it without sheet music, knowing it by heart; it was impressive to watch; you found him beautiful during it.

“What is it?”

“Romantic Homicide by D4VD. It’s a sad love song.”

“I didn’t know you had a emotional side like that.”

“There are many sides of me you don’t know, and I’d be very happy to show them to you one day.”

He turned to you, his eyes half-lidded and his voice sultry, and your fist clenched on the piano. One moment he was cute, the next he was a playboy, Oliver was multifaceted, and you desperately wanted to discover what parts of him he was hiding from the world. Watching him play the piano for you made you feel special and important, because it was something that probably few people knew about him.

“Talking about sides we don’t know, I have a personal question to ask you.”

“What is it?” you asked, your stomach knotting in anticipation.

He pressed his lips into thin line, softening his voice for you.

“You’re so beautiful so why are you hiding yourself everyday with clothes that don’t fit you? They are three times your size.”

You held your breath. The question brought out painful emotions that you had spent time burying inside. Navigating the world as a plus-size woman was difficult; people preached self-love and confidence, forgetting that it was human to be affected by people's criticism. How do you learn to accept and love yourself when the world shows time and time again that your body disgusts others, that your body type is some women's greatest fear? That some would rather starve than look like you? That your body doesn't deserve to be in popular clothing stores and you have to find clothes in your size in other brands, often fast fashion, despite your values? You didn't consider yourself insecure; you considered yourself a victim of society's cult of thinness. You loved yourself, to a degree, but preferred to hide your body to avoid criticism. It was already an act of self-love to protect your vulnerable body from judgmental eyes.

“It protects me. I go unnoticed, and I don’t get criticized if no one notices me,” you whispered, your voice shy and low.

Oliver’s eyes glowed with sympathy and empathy. He grabbed your waist and placed you in front of him, pressed against the piano, and rested his head on your stomach, like the scene in Pretty Woman.

“If you would let me, I’ll show you what it’s like to let someone show you your body and being cherished.”

Butterflies took flight in your belly, your hands dipping in his hair.

“You would?”

“I would do anything you want.”

His eyes looked up at you, a possessive and dark glint in his heterochromic eyes.

“Let me show you. I would be so good to you, baby.”

His hands moved down your bare thighs to climb up under your dress, teasing the elastic of your panties. Desire and want filled his gaze as he stared at you intensely. He stood up from the small stool to kneel in front of you, pushing you against the piano so that you sat on the keys of the instrument. An incoherent melody came out of it due to your ass on the keys.

You swallowed with difficulty, the pulse between your legs betraying your desire to discover what sex with him was like. You gave him a shy nod, giving him silent permission. His mouth split into a grin as his head got lost under your dress. He pushed your panties to the side, accessing your entrance, and buried his mouth and nose deep into your wet folds.

His mouth touched the most intimate part of your body before he even kissed you, testifying to his visceral need to have you. He swiped his tongue up and up your slick folds until he reached your clit, the warm metal ball of his piercing rolling around the throbbing bud. Electricity sparked across your body as you felt his tongue piercing, the gentle pressure of it on your clit adding to the intensity.

You rocked your hips against his face, soft pants slipping out of your mouth as the edge of his tongue traced circles on your clit. He detached his lips from your core to spit onto it, and spread it with his tongue over your center, his fingers stroking your folds. The combination of his mouth sucking on your swollen clit and his two fingers thursting into you made you moan, and you placed one hand over your mouth to keep yourself from making too much noise, reminding yourself you were at a party.

“Moan, I don’t give a damn,” he muttered against you, the vibrations of his voice, lost inside you, making you clench your thighs around his face. He placed your knees on his shoulders to better eat you out, his three-day stubble sliding against the skin of your inner thighs, his coarse hair pricking your flesh.

He hummed against you, tasting you, feasting on you. The vibrations of his humming sent waves of pleasure through you, soft moans escaping your mouth as your hips were grinding against his face. His tongue was expert in your pussy, thursting deeper, exploring all of your cunt; it was the best oral sex experience you had ever had, with the combination of his fingers moving back and forth.

“You feel me, baby? It feels good, doesn’t it? Continue these pretty moans f’me.”

His lips closed around your clit, sucking greedily while his digits curled inside you, his fingers rubbing against that spongey spot in your cunt that made your legs tremble. Your toes curled as your orgasm washed over you. He stood up, wrapping his lips around his sticky fingers, sucking and swirling his tongue down to the knuckle, while staring at you with a greedy gaze. You were speechless in front of him, your breathing catching in your throat.

He pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough to release his length, which was already leaking, his tip reddening. He spat on his dick, spreading saliva over his length, stroking himself before grabbing your thighs to wrap them around his waist. He took a condom from his pocket, ripping it with his teeth in a quick snap, and slipped it on himself.

He dragged your dress over your head, and the coldness of the room didn't affect the burning heat of your body. In your panties and bra in front of him, you felt vulnerable, the sitting position on the piano accentuating your belly rolls, and your stretch marks were visible on your stomach and hips. You looked away, but with one hand, he held your chin and brought your face back to him.

“Nah, you’re going to look at me when I take you, baby. You know how long I’ve wanted to do this? Have you strip naked in front of me? It’s even hotter than a soccer final, I swear. I want to fuck you until everyone in this house falls asleep,” he murmured, his voice dripping with want. He pushed your panties to the side again, and with his other hand, he gripped your thighs wrapped around your waist.

He brought his head close to yours until your breaths mingled, his eyes boring into yours. You saw neither disgust nor disappointment in his gaze, only a deep affection and intense craving. He lined up his length to your entrance and pressed his lips against yours, his tongue slithering into your mouth at the same time as his cock plunged into you.

The stretch were immediate, his cock veiny and girthy, he stretched you to his size, your walls molding around his veins. He let out a soft sigh into your mouth when he was overwhelmed by your tight heat. He made you feel so full that you had trouble breathing.

“Slow, fast or rough? I’m your man now, I will do anything you want.”

His first trust were gentle, his hips moving with a slowness that drive wild and begging for more.

“Fast and rough,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, panting softly against his lips.

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound rough and low.

“Naughty girl,” he smiled against your mouth, deepening the kiss, his hand on your chin, moving to the back of your head as he picked up the speed. His hips slamming against yours, he swallowed all your moans. The effect was immediate; he angled his hips perfectly to rub his tip against your G-spot each time he bottomed out, making you moan against his lips. Your tongues danced together, sliding against each other in a messy, sloppy kiss. The wet slap of skin filled the room as he drove his dick inside you.

Accompanied by the lewd squelching of your union, the piano keys made jumbled notes due to your movements, making the act messy, domestic, and intense.

“I’m going to ruin this pussy for other men, you hear me?” he panted against you, his lips molding against yours, his mouth ravishing yours. “I’m made for this shit.”

Usually, he didn't feel anything when he kissed girls, but with you, he felt a warmth blooming in his belly, a tingling sensation, like butterflies. He wanted you so badly, and he was never going to let you go now that he had you in his arms.

His lips left your mouth to press soft kiss along your jaw and continue to your neck, trailing open-mouthed kissed on your heated skin. The brutal pace increased in intensity, his thrusts harder and harder as he thrust into you. The duality of his gentle kisses on your neck and the aggressiveness of the rolls of his hips made you shiver.

Your ass against the hard piano keys made you uncomfortable, and he noticed your expression. He pulled away from you, his erection glistening with your slickness.

He lay on the floor, on his back, and patted his thighs to make you come. You looked at him apprehensively, approaching him. He removed his t-shirt, revealing a ripped torso with muscles, abs, and a defined V-line. He was so muscular but so much thinner than your plus-size body that you hesitated to sit on him for fear of suffocating him.

“Crush me,” he commanded, his voice deep with urge.

“But what if-”

“I wanna die with this pretty body suffocating me, that’s my kink. Put all your weigh, I can take it. I’m made for you, you remember?”

His words reassured the insecure part of you, and you removed the rest of your underwear to be completely naked. You knelt, placed your legs next to each hip, and slowly sank down his cock. You winced at the big stretch again, your ass pressed against his pelvis as you sat completely on him. He gripped your belly rolls, his hands digging into the soft, ample flesh, his fingers sinking into the generous padding. He felt your weight on him, your fat thighs on either side of his waist, and he wanted to be enveloped in your plushness until he suffocated.

“So soft,” he kneaded the fat flesh of your sides in his hands, his eyes shining with appreciation, not a hint of disgust in his gaze. You bounced up and down against him, your clit rubbing his pelvis with each movement, causing soft pants to escape your mouth. He met your movements, planting his feet against the ground as he lifted his hips to match your pace, each roll of his hips sending waves of pleasure into you.

He took you roughly, his strokes precise and deep. His mouth was half-open, his eyes dilated as he watched your body jiggling with each of his thrusts with a lazy smile on his face. It was the best sight ever, better than seeing an 0-4 in his matches. His cock twitched every time your breasts bounced in a heavy gesture, your belly rippling as you undulated your hips against him.

He let you set the pace for a moment before grabbing your love handles and starting to fuck you into oblivion, drilling into your shit as he hated your gut. His hips lifted higher, slamming against you harder and harder, chasing his orgasm as his body was covered in a trickle of sweat. His muscles tensed at each of his strokes, his abs beneath you sore from the contractions. One of his hands moved away from your side so that his thumb came to tease your clit, tracing circles.

You were a moaning mess, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as his downward strokes were driving you wild. The pressure inside you increased more and more until it reached its maximum, an explosion in your lower abdomen as your legs spasmed and waves of electricity ran throughout your body.

“Shiiiit,” he hissed, his voice rapsy and his face screwed on pleasure as your walls were clenching around him.

The contractions in your legs were tiring you out, and you stopped gyrating your hips against him, trying to catch your breath.

“Nah, keep bouncin’ on me, baby. Feels so good,” he gripped your hips to force you to move, his dick deep in your abused cunt, your walls fluttering around him because you were hypersensitive. You were so wet, your arousal dripping down his thighs, he was in heaven in your slippery tight heat.

He continued to rock his hips against you, his frantic pace never stopping as his labored breathing filled the room, the smell of sex and sweat enveloping your senses. Obscene noises drew from him as his grunts and shaky breaths echoed through the room. His gut twisted with arousal at the sight of you arching, your head thrown back. He looked at you with eyes filled with affection, happy that you let go, and continued to undulate his hips on his dick, your belly rolls rippling.

His hips lost their rhythm, and with one last hard and deep thrust, he uttered your name in a raspy tone as his cock twitched and emptied himself. He stood for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, his chest rising and falling.

Your panting finally subsided and your heart managed to beat at a normal rate. You relaxed, getting up from him. You got dressed in silence while Oliver watched you with a smile, sitting up, his eyes dilated.

“You know I’m never going to leave you alone after this? Givin’ me butterflies and shit, are you a witch or what?”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. He removed the condom and tied it in a knot, standing up and putting his clothes back on. He threw the object in the trash can next to the piano, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders as you headed for the exit.

“Let’s go to my frat house, everyone’s out partying tonight. We’ll be alone and comfortable.”

“Do you still have any energy?”

“Who said anything about sex? I just want to spend time with my girlfriend outside of class, that’s all.”

The word ‘girlfriend’ made your stomach flip. You finally had ‘the promiscuous boy’, you bite the forbidden fruit. And maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

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