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With the strength of the almost visceral chorus of Carmina Burana he lifted her in his arms, bedded her on the satin sheets, covered her body with his. He wanted her to feel the side of his body against her skin, feel the harder planes, the rougher texture as a counterpoint to her own sweetness. Her breasts were full and heavy against his hands. His fingers and mouth playing an intricate duet over them, the calluses of his fingers catching on the satin of her skin before the heat of his mouth soothed away the aggravation. Her hips began to move in rhythm with melody and sensation, and it was hard not to answer the silent plea. But he wanted her pleasure in a homage, a gift presented by her hand. He spread her wide for him, opened her for his own pleasure and she understood the unspoken command, a plea of his own. Her hand found its way to her folds, stroking and teasing them both. Moisture glistened over her labia, was collected by her fingers and spread. Her clitoris, swollen and. “But don’t you love the idea that your writing will be resting directly on the soft skin of my tits all day?” Sarcasm dripped from her words, tears threatened to pool in my eyes, but visions of her perfect little breasts, small but firm halves of an apple, danced in my mind. When I finally managed to squash them back into a dark corner of my soul, I knew that I had taken too long. My hesitancy in answering was all the confirmation she had been waiting for. The clattering of footsteps right outside the door broke the tension. Allie sat down on her chair as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and I quickly put my things back into my bag and took my seat too. The three lessons until morning break went by with agonizing slowness, and I embarrassed myself a few times when I was called on and had no idea what the class had been talking about. I earned three reprimands that day, which meant I’d end up in the principal’s office later that week. I was unable to look over at Allie. My.
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