A Rebel from the Waist Downwards: Rebound fucking with my classmate [FM]

(As usual this is a bit long, so skip to the line below if you just want the dicks and boobies. Actually just the one dick.)

I was sitting in a mazelike upper level of Senate House library one autumnal afternoon, having told myself that I was going to get some work done, but once I had negotiated my way to a dusty corner where nobody would see me, I was mostly flipping back and forth between texting my friend Hannah and idly swiping through Tinder. It wasn’t the smartest idea, really; I was already missing a [sweet, nerdy, bookish boy](https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hi1jab/summer_sun_shower_fun_fm/), who had spent half the summer with [his tongue in my ass](https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hqgr14/psalm_235_fm/) and who I would likely never see again. It’s not a good idea, if you write for a living, to condition yourself to feel horny and sad whenever you’re met with the smell of books.

Hannah asked me if I missed Ethan. I told her I did. She told me that I ought to be conspiring to get thoroughly fucked as soon as possible. I told her that plans were already underway. She volunteered the services of her long-term, go-to rebound guy, a personal trainer with a name like Rod, or Lance, or Dick, or something, whom she assured me had a large and shapely cock, but who I knew had a face like a sack of rusty gardening equipment. I told her I’d think about it.

Tinder, though, was not offering up anything better. It was one of those streaks of bad luck wherein every man with a promising-looking face turned out to have a wanton disregard for the basics of sentence structure, to say nothing of a bizarre and aggressive insistence on misspelling the word ‘fuck’. I thought instead about Ethan, and felt an oily swirly of longing which began somewhere at the top of my stomach and wormed its way down into the deeper recesses of my cunt. I missed the frankness of his tongue, the way his cock tasted, the long and messy summer afternoons we spent lying around my flat. The thoughts were becoming intrusive, and long sessions with the strongest vibration settings available to me were doing nothing to stop them.

I continued in this vein for much of the afternoon, and by the time I gave up it was grey and drizzly and already beginning to get dark outside. I angrily unmatched my way through a list of uninspiring candidates, resigned myself to not fucking that evening, and tried to engage the ice cream-and-Netflix portion of my mind. I slammed my laptop shut and a passing librarian glared at me.

I was walking down the marble steps and wishing I had brought an umbrella when my brain did an odd double-take. A man was standing on one of the landings, talking on the phone, and I felt sure I knew him from somewhere. He was wearing a corduroy jacket over a t-shirt, and for a second he looked like a very dressed-down Ethan; as I grew closer I realised that it was Charlie, a guy who I had last seen in a Master’s seminar a couple of years ago. I had always thought he was pretty cute; he looked scruffy and unshaven now, moodily handsome, but I remembered how bright-eyed and enthusiastic he had been when we were students. We had once chatted in the pub about Derrida’s essay on *Ulysses*, both of us thrilled by it, both of us clearly regarded as incorrigible nerds by the others, even though we were all supposed to be grown-ups in our twenties.

I slowed, and as luck would have it, Charlie was just ending his phone call. I caught his eye and smiled, a little nervously.

‘Lottie!’ he said, and I was deeply gratified that he remembered my name. I was even more pleased when we hugged and kissed cheeks, and talked rapidly, interrupting each other with a back-and-forth of ‘my god, how are you’ and ‘what are you up to now’ and ‘remember when’. In fact, he was the first to ask if I was doing anything this evening. Since neither of us had anything better than junk food to look forward to, we decided that each other’s company would be a marked improvement.

We sat, wet and slightly steaming, in the Northumberland Arms. I took off as many layers of damp clothing as I could, and I would have been self-conscious at how prominently my nipples were showing through the fabric of my t-shirt, but I wasn’t really in the mood to be subtle. I ascertained quickly enough that Charlie was single, and I barely waited until I was a few mouthfuls into my gin and tonic before I started telling him, not particularly obliquely, how badly I needed to get fucked. He nodded without judgement, and then we carried on reminiscing about our time as students together. It was as if we had quietly, virtually wordlessly agreed that once the time was right, we would be fucking later that evening.

It turned out that he lived just around the corner, and we waited for a break in the rain and left, trying to dodge the bigger puddles but still getting splashed up to our knees. I was slightly amazed that he could afford to live in the middle of Bloomsbury, but his studio flat, comfortable but decidedly cosy, offered something in the way of explanation. I slyly texted Hannah and told her to send a search party if I didn’t reemerge from this place by the morning.

‘This is…nice,’ I said, and it came out like I was being sarcastic, but in fact I was genuinely pleased: there’s no need to worry about bringing up how urgently you want to move things to the bedroom when you’re already there. The place didn’t have much else in it, really, other than a small table and a couple of chairs, and piles of books arranged haphazardly along the walls and into the corners. But it was clean and surprisingly homey, the walls were a nice mix of plain white and exposed brick, and the sheets on the bed looked fresh.

—

Charlie took off his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, still damp from the rain earlier in the evening. He did so with such an easy grace that I was completely taken in by the natural-looking flex and bulge of the muscles of his slender arms, even though he was probably doing it deliberately. I felt a familiar rush of blood between my thighs.

‘Would you like a drink, or something?’

‘No, thank you,’ I said, and I kissed him instead. He tasted like gin.

If I had imagined that Charlie was a little too perfect a rebound, since he was not unlike Ethan in some of the ways he looked and acted, I needn’t have worried. When it came down to it, he didn’t fuck like Ethan at all. He was firm, unhesitating, assertive without being aggressive, and he was entirely un-tentative in the interest he took in my body. He kissed me back for a moment, positioning me firmly in front of him with his hands on my hips, and then he drew away and started to pull my t-shirt up over my head, as I lifted my arms for him obligingly. He looked me up and down, and a smile seemed to flicker across his features at the sight of me topless; he boldly slipped a hand into one of the cups of my bra and I shivered a little as his fingers brushed my nipple.

Almost nonchalantly, he took his own shirt off and threw it onto the chair where he had already left his jacket. I made a grab for his jeans, but he took my hands in his and gave me look of gently reprimand. He nodded at my own jeans.

‘Take those off first,’ he said.

He didn’t say it like an order, exactly. More just a suggestion which had occurred to him. But, while I still had a few butterflies fluttering around my abdomen, I was very happy to oblige. I kicked off my shoes, pulled my jeans down over my hips and thighs and—I hope—did a reasonable job of making enticing the fairly unsexy business of getting my feet out of them.

Charlie looked pleased, anyway.

‘Wow, Lottie,’ he said, if I’d have known you looked like that…’

I probably blushed at this, even though it occurs to me now that, although Charlie didn’t get around to finishing his compliment, it was probably a rather back-handed one. But I chose to take it as a positive reflection on my body, rather than a negative reflection on my boyish dress sense, and I reached again to continue undressing him. Again he stopped me.

‘Those too,’ he said, nodding now at my underwear.

I sighed and gave him a mock-exasperated look, but I was beginning to enjoy the attention. I unfastened my bra and shrugged out of it, then stuck my thumbs in the waist of my knickers and let them drop to my ankles. I watched Charlie’s eyes take in my tits, and the downward curve of my pubic bone, and glow with something that looked to me like desire.

At any rate, this time he didn’t object when I reached for him. But by now I could see that he was hard, and I paused for a moment to stroke his cock through the fabric. He breathed deeply and watched me, but he was clearly impatient for more, and he took it upon himself to unbutton his jeans and pull out his cock.

He had a nice, girthy cock—always exciting to see what an old friend has under their clothes—and I fell gratefully to my knees in front of him. I stroked him lazily for a moment and looked up at him, and he hooked his fingers into my hair with just a little pressure, guiding me toward him.

I sucked his cock eagerly, wasting little time with soft lips or delicate flickers of my tongue, grasping the base of him and taking him hungrily into my mouth, quickly leaving his cock glistening, feeling it become even thicker in my mouth. I could already tell that my jaw would be aching in the morning, but still I sucked him gleefully, applying a firm suction to the head of his cock and then taking it deep into my mouth.

Luckily for my jaw, though, Charlie was clearly keen to move things quickly; as I took another break from sucking him, he guided me to my feet with his hands around my lower ribcage, then onto my back on the bed.

‘So…do you keep in touch with anyone else?’ I asked him, as I lay naked on his bed. Fortunately Charlie thought this was as funny as I did, and he laughed and shook his head as he took out a condom. He unrolled it carefully over his cock, wandering unselfconsciously to stand over me at the foot of the bed. Again I looked with some trepidation at the thickness of him; allowing my fingers to explore between my legs, I was reassured by how wet I was, and I spread the lips of my pussy as he slid deep into me.

He fucked me with long, deep strokes, varying his pace at first between achingly slow and suddenly, shockingly fast, and then gradually settled into a rhythm. The angle was perfect, hitting a spot that made me gasp noisily with each thrust, and he gradually added force until some of the stacks of books near the bed were beginning to teeter over. I’ve said before that I’m not always the most vocal, but here the mood just took me; each time his cock sank into me, I yelped an encouragement which only made him fuck me harder. He fucked me like this until I came, groaning past his ear and twisting my hands into the sheets as though, without them, I would float away.

He let up for a moment, then, switching to slow and lingering strokes, and I lay back and regained control over my voice and my breathing.

‘You can put it in my ass,’ I said, ‘if you’re careful.’

This isn’t something I’m in the habit of saying to strange men—and I suppose it could have backfired horribly—but Charlie wasn’t such a strange man, really. And to his credit, he was quite careful, although he was so eager to do so that, the moment I said it, he pulled his cock out of my pussy with a wet slap and went back to his bedside drawer to search for lube, which thankfully he found. I got on my hands and knees on the bed, then arched my back and tugged at one of my nipples.

He was almost-surprisingly attentive for a while; his fingers were slow and careful as he slicked lube around the outside of my asshole, and, while it made me gasp a little, he carefully penetrated me with one finger before adding a second and (I think) a third. I reached back to play with my clit, and felt my ass start to relax around his fingers. But it had been a long time since it had been fucked, and as he braced the tip of his cock against me, I wondered if I had been a little too adventurous.

But he said ‘take your time’, and let me slowly push backward onto his cock. It hurt a little bit for a moment, but any pain that had been there started to melt away, and soon I was letting him fill me steadily more, realising that I had been missing these sensations for a long time. I couldn’t tell quite how much of his cock he had inside me—he was only moving a little bit while he spread the cheeks of my ass, and I felt like he was probably enjoying the view as much as anything else—but it felt as though he was hitting places deep inside me. I circled my clit and soaked my fingers down to the palm.

‘You can fuck me harder,’ I said, the words already catching a little bit in my throat. ‘If you want.’

I almost regretted it; he had clearly been keeping a lot in reserve, and as he took a firm grasp on one of my hips and rocked into me, it felt for a moment like my ass was going to split in half. But again, the pain seemed to disappear after a moment, and his strokes became slow, short but very deep. He was, I suspected, rather well-practiced at fucking women in the ass: he was firm but cautious, and he seemed to know exactly what kind of stimulation I wanted. The feelings of his cock deep in my ass and my fingers on my clit mingled into spirals of pleasure which seemed to come from way down inside me. Charlie fucked me just the same way until another orgasm welled up inside me, and it was so intense that I practically shrieked into his pillow.

‘You can cum wherever you want,’ I told him, and again he took this as an instruction to be carried out immediately.

‘Turn over,’ he said, pulling his cock out of me and throwing the condom aside.

I think he might have intended to cum on my face, but as he took his cock in his hand and looked down at me, my skin flushed and glistening, my nipples hard, my pussy shiny and pink just inches from him, things progressed rather rapidly. He gasped, and his warm cum coated my stomach, then my tits, and then—perhaps this was the plan all along—a little of my face, salty against my lips and running down my cheek.

I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes, feeling the hot little rivers of cum run down me. I heard Charlie breathe deeply for a little while longer and then step into the bathroom.

‘Here,’ he said, a moment later. He handed me a towel, and I cleaned myself up as best I could.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I think I said, as I kept finding new sticky patches to wipe away, and he laughed, sounding very pleased with himself.

Ever the gentleman, Charlie told me I’d be welcome to spend the night. But it was still earlyish in the evening, and the thought of stretching my limbs into all four corners of my own bed while I watched old episodes of *Peep Show* was a little bit too appealing. I kissed Charlie on the cheek, told him it had been lovely to see him, and asked him to text me sometime. He told me that he would, and I walked back down the stairs and toward the Tube station alone, the ankles of my jeans still a little bit wet, the crotch of my knickers still very wet indeed.

I opened my phone to text Hannah.

‘I’m alive,’ I think I said, ‘and very much improved.’

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hvxrl3/a_rebel_from_the_waist_downwards_rebound_fucking