Summer Swap 4-19 (but let's call it 5-6)

Carla’s soft, glistening lips twitched a quick smile in the agonizing moment before their mouths came together in a timid and hesitant kiss. Just like two high-schoolers sitting on a bed. They were two full-grown adults, but Carla had lured him into an authentic headspace that spurred the stark emotions of a more fraught—yet exciting—time. It was hard to picture Carla Weber (what the heck was her maiden name?) as an innocent. Yet here she was on full display, right before his very eyes, showing a peekaboo of what she might have been like when her flower began to open, maybe fifteen years ago, and all the slyness and scheming hadn’t yet flavored her psyche.

Her mouth was soft and wet, and the slick, velvety feel of her lips time-transported him to a lost date in his past, where if he were sitting on the edge of a bed with Carla Whatever-her-maiden-name was, he wouldn’t even believe it. All his buddies would say how Carla was out of his league; yet his time with her was real and true, and he would regale his friends with naughty tales of the bodily things he and Carla had done to each other—all while shielding from those kyoodling schoolboy coyotes the secret and amazing things his time with her had done to his heart and his emotions.

Their postures were erect, though he leaned into her. His angle inclined toward her in a show of who really had the power right now in this room. And that was fine by him, because of the delight this power imbalance brought him. Even if he were this roguish young prep-school boy in England, sneaking into the girls’ dorm, right up to the room of who he was sure would have been the hottest girl in that school, that young rake he portrayed would also acknowledge that it was sexy Carla who directed the play, and that his bold move proved the oft-quoted point that fortune favored the brave. In fact, that axiom would be how he introduced his recounting of this grand sexual tale to his school chums.

Carla’s erect posture wasn’t just good upbringing and manners, was it? No, it was semiotic; instructional. A presentation of the feminine feature that cemented Carla’s status as alpha female wolf of the Shoreham Academy’s fairer population. In schoolboy parlance: her great big titties.

There was a boy somewhere who had been the first to touch Carla’s breasts, had been the first to be with her, to lay with her, to put his male hardness inside her body and give her pleasure. Right now, he was that boy; that lucky, lucky boy.

When his brave hand touched Carla’s waist, she moaned into his mouth, turned toward him, exposing more of her front, her back arching, begging him to touch her chest. He felt the excitement of that long ago schoolboy even though he’d touched Carla’s breasts before. What if she stopped him? What if she called the matron? And just like his private school bad boy would do, he let his hand stroke up the cotton of her shirt, waiting to see how Carla would react, hoping upon hope she wouldn’t reject him or smack him.

And of course she didn’t.

Carla’s wet kiss pulled back as she emitted the softest gap. A boy had touched her breast for the first time and it overwhelmed her. God, this silly game had his cock aching, ready to burst, his heart pumping and thumping and jumping around inside his rib cage. His pump had already been primed: Chey and Lily shaving his privates had him close to erupting. Lily had squelched his orgasm with a pressure point under his scrotum. But now, in the mindset of a teen touching his first breast, and that breast attached to the hottest girl in school, and the breast soft and pliable, large under his palm, he felt the tingle of imminent orgasm.

Carla’s hand covered his, held it in place over her breast in case he got intimidated and removed it, her eyes closed, eyebrows raised in youthful ecstasy. Her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes, steadying her gaze on his. She whispered, “I’ve never done this before.”

“I’ll tutor you,” he said.

Carla bit the plump curl of her bottom lip, her eyes scanning his face, settling on his mouth. She kissed him again, and this time she put her hands on his body. She touched his shoulders, slipped a hand under his blazer and swept his chest and stomach. When her hand got below his ribs, he could feel a stream of precum, flexed from his tortured erection. Her hand settled at his hip and formed a weak grip on his belt, the whole while her mouth worked with his, the two of them now beginning to explore with their tongues, breaths coming quicker.

He stopped, licked his lips. “Shouldn’t we lock the door?”

She sucked her own lips, nodding. Her nipples bulged through the fabric of her shirt. The sight made him ache all over. Then he was off the bed, crossing to the door, locking it, leaning against it and listening as if there were a chance he might overhear the lurking matron who could ruin all this dirty fun they were having. He grabbed his tie’s knot and yanked it loose, returning to the bed and removing his blazer, tossing it to the nearby chair. Carla scooted up the bed, adjusting her hair, going up to the pillows and waiting for his return. He got on the bed and her eyes dropped to between his legs where he knew she would see his erection pressing out his pants. She made a face like a teen girl would: a this-is-really-happening expression that riled him up like he was out of control. His tricked brain sent off all the signals as if this weren’t roleplaying, as if it were real—a veritable klaxon’s whoop, screaming at him that this wasn’t a drill, that he was going to have sex with this bomb shell, that his sneaky entree to the girls’ dorm was going to pay off.

They got to kissing again, laying on their sides on the bed, fully clothed, fondling each other, both of them building the nerve to touch the other’s sex parts. His hand found its way to her bosom again, and now he fumbled with her buttons. Carla’s hands had lowered, touching fingertips to his stomach, playing with his belt buckle, teasing him with the notion she may undo it, unzip him, reveal that magical part of him that tingled and throbbed, that got hard sometimes just from jouncing on the bus ride from the academy into London or fucking wherever.

But now all his attention focused on the delta of exposed skin his unbuttoning had revealed. From a point just above Carla’s navel to where her clavicle met her shoulder her white dress shirt opened, and he saw the tanned skin of her chest and the lacy edge of her bra. The heft of her creamy bosom sagged against the support of the bra, displaying her flesh in a plump and sexual manner. The sight stunned him, and his hands fumbled with the next button. He’d been transformed into a lusty teenager seeing his first real-life breast.

And only a few days ago he’d been naked with Carla, touching and kissing them. Only that was a different Carla, wasn’t it? That Carla had expected a wild night from him. Invited him into her suite with plans for all-night crazy sex. Had used a freaking vibrator on him, for crying out loud. It was like that first night she had pushed and he had pulled. Tonight Carla was pulling and he was drawing close to her. The dynamic was so different. The dynamic was exciting and wild, and so amazing he couldn’t even believe it.

His hands went back into action, speeding through the two remaining buttons and flipping her shirt open. She gasped and moaned and writhed on the bed, like she was in heat. And he touched her bare shoulder, scooting her shirt away.

“Hold on,” she whispered, not a deterrent, but requesting a pause so she could aid him. She folded an arm behind her back and he watched the bra jump as it was unclasped and the heft of her breasts slumped. Then she worked an arm out of her shirt, touching his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Their bodies pressed and he could feel her bosom against his chest. Could feel her eagerness, the way she writhed against his body.

She said, “I swear I’ve never done this before.”

“It’s okay,” he said, touching her cheek. “We’re going to take our time.”

His scoundrelly tenderness made Carla smile, and he smiled, too. She bit her lip again and said, “I’ve never even shown anyone my body.”

“You’re going to show it to me?”

“Do you wanna see it?”

He chuckled and then she chuckled and he touched her naked waist, his last two fingers resting on the waistband of her woollen skirt. He said, “I didn’t risk getting kicked out of Shoreham to look at your school uniform.”

Carla showed an expression of exhilaration, her eyes widening, her pupils dilating—a thing she could not fake, and a sign she had succumbed to the role-play as much as him—her lips slimming as her fingertips dragged a bra strap over a shoulder, down to her elbow, freeing the arm from the strap. Her hand moved fast to cover her bared breast.

He touched the hand she covered up with, running fingertips over her wrist and up her forearm. Her skin went to goosebumps and her breaths deepened. “Why don’t you show me.”

“I’m shy,” she said.

“You’re not shy at all.”

“I’m not?” She bit her lower lip in an adorable way, her head tilting at a coquettish angle.

“I don’t think you’re shy at all. I think you want to show me.”

“No, I don’t,” she said a light laugh trailing afterward.

He stroked her forearm and kissed her mouth one more time, then said, “You know every single boy in school wants to be right where I am right now. And you love it.”

“Why does every boy want to be here right now?”

“Because you’re the hottest girl in school.”

“I am? No, I’m not.”

“You’re gonna move that hand and show me what every boy in school thinks about at night.”

She rolled her eyes around, thinking about it and chewing the inside of her cheek, the whole while the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Then her hand began to retract, revealing the bulb of an erect nipple popping between the knuckles of her two middle fingers. His whole body tightened with excitement, loving to see this part of her revealed in such a small and secret manner. He’d seen Carla naked—fully naked—many times but this game they were playing made her nakedness an extravagant and powerful thing.

His hand touched her ribs, coming up to her breasts, brushing the backs of his fingers over her knuckles and teasing the swollen tip of her nipple.

She whimpered, and his body buckled as a sudden thrill shivered through him from his prostate to his frontal lobe, blotting his consciousness with floating phosphorescent orbs. His stomach heaved in and out and his heart thundered.

Carla patted her own nipple, eyeing him, then saying, “Now it’s your turn.”

“My, hoo, my turn for what?”

“I showed you mine...”

“You want to see...”

“Yup,” she said, popping her “P.” Then her hands went to his belt buckle and tugged it, getting the lever unhitched.

A slippery whirlwind swirled through his core, up from the base of his rock hard member and his acorn tight scrotum. His body bucked and his cock flexed. A pool of precum spread through his briefs and stained his pants.

Excuses flooded his brain, wanting to break from character and tell Carla—Carla Weber, not Carla the prep school girl—that he had to bow out, that he had unsurvivable heartburn. What else could explain away the twisted look of torment on his face right now?

He bit his knuckle and furrowed his brow, every iota of his being fighting against a freight train of an orgasm, a real thousand-mile an hour runaway freight train, out of control and looking to spill its juicy payload over an unsuspecting village.

Cheyenne wouldn’t let him come in the bathroom. Wanted him primed. He was going to go off before he pulled his pistol out. Fucking Chey did this on purpose.