Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“I want to mimic the final exactly,” he explains. I can tell it’s a lie, but I’m immediately intrigued, wondering what he has up his sleeves. He starts assigning everyone seats as we wait patiently in the front.
“Oh look at that, I seemed to have miscalculated.” It’s the worst acting I’ve ever seen, but no one else notices.
“Luci,” he all but sings my name. “I’m sorry. I guess… um… huh - why don’t you go sit at the lab counter in the back?”
I head to the very back of the classroom, my eyes landing on the stool in front of the black lab table.
I can’t help my smile.
Unlike the other tables, this one has the sink attached, so it’s more of a counter, meaning I have to straddle the stool, rather than being able to place my feet directly in front of me. He’s planned this well. But, that’s not what has me shaking my head, grinning from ear to ear, causing his face to completely light up. Taped to the stool, with a small padded cushion underneath it, is some sort of mechanism - a bunch of pieces I recognize he’s using for his robot. Mostly, they’re it’s a cluster of mismatched things, clearly thrown together - a metal apparatus with a small rubber ball attached to the middle.
I look up at him again. He clearly expects me to sit on this. What is he planning? His wildness excites me and I’m already dripping as I place my bag on the floor and straddle the stool. I’m sitting higher than the rest of the class, but not quite eye level to him when he sits at his desk on the small platform, and the ball falls directly in line with my now very wet hole.
“It’s open book,” he says, and everyone sighs in relief, getting to work immediately.
To my utter horror, and delight, five minutes into class, I feel a light vibrating movement against me down there, coming from the stool. It’s the rubber ball, now rubbing, rotating. Not quite where I want it to, but close.
My eyes dart up, his dark gaze already on me. My panties are absolutely drenched and I can feel the sticky wetness hit me each time the ball pushes my underwear into me. My eyes widen as he actually gets up and makes his way down the row towards me.
A couple of people look up, but quickly go right back to their books. I hear them, turning the pages vigorously, but too busy to look, my gaze examining him as he approaches, his hand in his pockets, attempting to hide his hard on, I’m sure.
No one seems to detect it. Then again, I’m usually the only one who stares.
I look down, as he gets closer, pretending I’m actually focusing at my paper, even though we both know I haven’t written a damn thing down. He slides around the table, whispering in my ear.
“Not like this,” he presses his bulge against my back, and I lean into him as we both stare straight ahead.
He places a small remote on the table, smirking as he presses a button that increases the speed of the ball below. I can feel the quicker pace, as the metal gyrates around the sides of my upper thighs, moving the ball up and down, forward and back, in a small circular motion.
Ensuring no one is looking, he gently moves his hand up the front of my dress, lightly hissing once he feels how I’m so damn drenched. Gently lifting me, he moves my underwear to the side, letting the ball rest directly on my skin, sinking into my vagina.
“There we go,” he coos lowly. “And don’t you dare come.” He presses his thumb on my sweet spot, which the ball just misses. I realize he made it this way on purpose, just to torture me. He pushes his hardness into my back, matching the motion of his fingers.
I’m panting by the time his fingers leave me, giving him a protesting look as he places my dress back down.
“Watch me,” he says, grabbing back the remote and taking it with him. He strolls back to his desk, his left hand in his pocket, his right in his mouth, sucking my wetness off his fingers.
As soon as he sits, he lets out a small cough, leaning back. Only, I know he’s undoing his pants. His eyes are beckoning, but here I am, restrained in place; my hands face down on the cold lab counter, my legs spread wide underneath, with the thudding against me below, driving me mad.
My mouth falls open as I see the ever so slight movement of his shoulder, realizing he’s actually stroking himself underneath his desk. I remember our thrill, up against the door with all the people in the hallway on the other side, and then when I told him I wanted to watch him again.