Dennis and the couch (sarissa) part 2

Discussion in 'Erotic Literature' started by Tom0808, Jun 21, 2016.

  1. Tom0808

    Tom0808 New Member

    Jun 1, 2016
    Likes Received:
    Chicago, IL
    (Continued; see Part 1)

    After the third whap she gasped as if she had been holding her breath underwater. I brought one hand up to her face and ran it over her lips. She pushed my hand in to her mouth and sucked my fingers. She took my fingers out and looking up said, suddenly serious,

    “Aaaah, baby, Aaaaahhh, let's not break this couch.”

    At that point the awkward kid in my dorm, Simon, poked his head out from his door. This was as Sarissa began making loud noises through clenched teeth, holding back the moment. I craned my head back and said;

    “Simon, go fuck yourself.” He scurried back in to his room and slammed his door.

    “Who…was that…” Sarissa asked, her hair flying her face as she craned her head to look in to my eyes.

    “Caspar the Friendly Ghost,” I said, flexed my arms and levered her hips up and down at what scientists would call Light Speed.

    Her thighs smacking my abs. Her pussy so wet I felt some dampness on my pubes that was like getting kissed by a sponge over and over. Loud, absurd female vocals overhead. It was like the middle section of Lil Kim's song about how much she likes to get her pussy eaten except louder. I didn't slow down. I heard a few doors open and close behind me.

    She tilted her head to the light, swore loudly, buckled her knees around my sides and gasped; “Baby.”

    The faces girls make when they're in a state of distended ecstasy are expressions I will never tire of. Some of them get red-cheeked and squinty eyed and look like they're trying to outlast an ordeal. Others get this expression like they want to tell you how fantastic they feel but they don't know how to say it. Others just look serene and don't stop eye contact.

    Sarissa kept her mouth open. Wide, wider, widest. It got wider than I thought was possible. I started literally flopping my ass up and down. I thought Sarissa was going to be like what the fuck, but she started screaming. Genuinely screaming. I was sure she was going to wake up the entire dorm and I was sure somebody would think this was something it wasn't. She rubbed a hand over my face so I couldn't see a blessed thing. I put a hand up to her face and put it over her mouth. I barked at her to be quiet.

    When I started cumming inside her I cried; “Sarissa!” because I'm a caring guy who remembers the names of bimbos I bang on dorm lounge couches. I also held her hips in down position on my cock and her thighs squeezed me. I took my hand off her mouth and let her sex-shriek in to my face. Her cheeks were flushed reddish-purple. The flush extended down her neck to the top of her torso. This is how it looked between her fingers. Peek a fucking boo.

    My ass flopped on to the edge of the cushion which was sliding off the couch and the spring frame caved in. My body folded over and I bumped my head in to the arm rest. Sarissa sprang off me and jerked over the side of the arm rest, facing the ugly carpet. I stared up in to the curves of her small, dangling boobs. She tried sitting down and her damp pussy grazed my chest. Embarrassed, she lifted herself back up and kept squatting while she caught her breath. I hadn't shot off everything inside her. I feltm myself dripping on the cushions.

    A door swung open and a tired, overweight female voice said. “I'm calling the fucking cops! You guys are so disrespectful.”

    At that point I knew it was time to bounce. I rolled off the couch, hit the floor and jumped up. I didn't bother putting on my clothes, I just scooped them up. Sarissa was still perched on the edge of the collapsed couch when she got really nervous and looked at me, then in the direction of the angry customer.

    “Sorry!” she replied, pointlessly. And then; “Oh shit. You came inside me. Oh shit.”

    I helped her get dressed because she was that paralyzed with fear. I threw on my underwear and pants for good measure, but for whatever reason, just let my shirt dangle over my shoulder. I led her down the hall, soothing her, telling her it's okay, everything would work out. She ran in to the nearest bathroom and I heard running water. I heard it lapping against her. I didn't have to look in to know what she was doing. People stood in the hall watching me. I waved at them.

    I walked Sarissa back to her dorm. She stood a foot behind me and constantly brushed the hair from her face. It was very awkward. So I told her this:

    “Sarissa, I'm sorry. I have this problem. I'm a young person who just had a stroke. I don't know why it happened. I was just on the bus one day and I felt weird. I was losing control of my movements. I went to the hospital and they told me I'd had a stroke. I have to get an MRI in a few days. My movements have been weird ever since it happened. I dunno what to think. It's the reason I forgot to pull out. I'm sorry.”

    She looked at me with the same expression as Mr. Jameson. In a shaky voice, she asked for my number. I gave it to her. She left very quickly without saying goodbye and I knew better than to not wave to her. I did watch her skimpy bare legs that were probably rug burned from their combo marathon with the couch and my hips, her shorts looking even shorter and tighter vanishing away from the lamppost and in to the darkness of Craig Hall.

    Back in my dorm, police lights flashing out the window, I listened to the overweight RA telling the cops the story downstairs. I lifted the pieces of the couch and tried fitting them back together. My arms sagged. I thought of how much shit I would be in. I wondered if the school might even expel me (In trouble? Yes. Expelled? Not yet. Transferred to another dorm and made to pay for the damage? Yup.) I dropped the weight of the back half of the couch and lay against the wall, sweating and breathing heavily. For whatever reason, I couldn't lift it. My arms hurt and I felt weak. I was alone. I was drunk and about to puke. But at least I'd ended my dry spell.
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