That's the last thing I hear before a powerful moan escapes my throat. I'm propelled into another space-time, where I'm nothing but an expanding ball of pleasure. I can't tell how long it lasts, but I come down a bit when I feel the tip of Player's cock pressing against my lips, spreading them slightly but pausing. I'm vaguely aware that he's taken something from his nightstand, probably a condom.
My tongue licks my lips in an involuntary movement. Even though I've just experienced my first orgasm, I feel a certain impatience to feel him inside me for the first time.
Suddenly, his erection slaps against my buttock. Surprise and pleasure mix at the discovery of this new sound and sensation. Player's fingers slide into me again, and when he removes them, his hard manhood replaces them. Inch by inch, he fillsme, and just when I think I can't take any more, he starts to move, stroking in and out slowly.
The burning sensation is quickly replaced by waves of pleasure when Player reaches around me to stroke my clit.
I'm embarrassed, or maybe pleased, to find that he knows exactly what he's doing. He's mastered the art of sex to perfection, and he has a very precise idea of what he wants from me.
His hands imprison my hips to maintain his steady, powerful rhythm. My legs tremble from the effect of his cock inside me, and the efforts imposed on them as he pushes me to give back to him just as much as he’s taking.
"You're perfect."
His voice is just a whisper, and my feverish brain might have imagined it, but I moan in response. Player's fingers grip my hips even more firmly, to the point where I wonder if I'll bear the marks tomorrow. "That's it, Alabama, let yourself go."
He speeds up the pace pounding into me relentlessly. I don't know if a first time is supposed to happen like this, in fact, I couldn't care less. All that matters is this intense wave being reborn from its ashes in the pit of my stomach. It swells, grows, floods each of my nerve endings, annihilating any form of coherent thought in my head. I'm nothing but a collection of flesh pulsing and vibrating under the effect of a powerful, uncompromising pleasure.
The second orgasm that explodes within me sends my nerves into a frenzy. When Player withdraws, I collapse onto the bed, breathless. He doesn't lie down beside me. Standing next to the bed, he doesn't even look at me when he says, "You can go back to your room now."
What a complete asshole!
That's at least the thousandth time I've insulted Player in my thoughts. I haven't seen him since yesterday, since the moment he kicked me out of his room.
How can someone go from such an intimate and intense moment to such pure and simple rejection?
Tears fill my eyes. It's shame expressing itself. I feel so pathetic for having surrendered. He won the game hands down.
You got pleasure from it too.
Oh yes, I came, that's for sure! But at what cost? That of my dignity and self-respect? Player gave me incredible moments that he immediately ruined when it was over.
I knew who I was dealing with, and I should have resisted. I feel like I was weak, a poor little thing in his expert hands. Immediately, the memories bring sensations resurfacing in my body, triggering a reaction in my belly. But this can't be real! I can't be this stupid and weak!
Player turned me into his plaything, his toy, which he used however he wanted without remorse...
"Are you okay, Dixie?"
I look up at Pia. We're at the bakery workshop for our cake design club.
"You haven't seemed like yourself since this morning," she observes.
"It's nothing," I say with a wave of my hand. "I didn't sleep well."
She gives me a mischievous smile. "Well, I know someone who must have slept like a log..."
I furrow my brow, not understanding what she's getting at, and she clarifies, "Player's conquest! We could hear nothing but her last night."
Oh shit!
A wave of shame washes over me at the idea that all myneighbors and dormmates had a preview of what we did. Player made me lose touch with reality. I struggle to put the right word on what happened, but I finally conclude that "fucking" is the most appropriate term. When we were fucking, I forgot about our little game, who Player really was, and where we were.
"I didn't mean to," I stammer.
But Pia continues, not hearing me, "She definitely enjoyed herself."
Her cheeks are pink and she falls silent. I then realize that she hasn't made the connection to me, and I relax a little.
Today we're creating a mermaid-themed cake decoration, and I'm cutting scales from fondant to make a tail.
