My research partner has been somewhat annoyed with me of late. Over the summer, without essays, exams and research projects to fake findings for (well you can work out from past research what the numbers are supposed to look like so repeating the same stuff appears a bit pointless to me) he has had me pretty much at his beckoned call. I was always available to him for late night fun and frolics. However, now uni is back in session I have fresh calls on my time. Not just in the form of essays and reading but from other friends who, I’d like to think, also enjoy my company. As a consequence of this for one arranged session with my research partner I was asleep and for another there was a complete communication breakdown so I wasn’t around for that one either, I went to the pub instead. My research partner was not impressed at my unavailability so he decided to teach me a lesson.
The scenario planned involved two sixth formers, a boy in lower sixth suggestively seduced by a sexy student from the year above. The whole thing was supposed to kick off in the common room with me, as the older more experienced student asking the less experienced lower sixth boy if he needed help with his coursework or anything else, hint, hint, for that matter. She, after all, had done the work the year before so she knew what she was doing and not just with the coursework. She felt sure she could find plenty of ways to help him, in fact she could take him back to her house where, as luck would have it, her parents were out, take him into her bedroom and if she could just bend over far enough she was sure she could dig out her old course work from the bottom of her drawers. He would find exactly what he needed there.
It should have been a straight forward session. Note the use of the word should but as I said earlier my research partner was determined to teach me a lesson. And if the man sets out to do something he does it, no ifs, buts, maybes or excuses, it gets done. I will give you an example of just how stubborn and determined he is. Years ago he was on a training exercise, the word to pay attention to here is training. He wasn’t in a warzone, his life nor anyone elses was on the line. It was just practice but when the person in charge told him to treat it like it was a warzone he took that instruction and followed it to the letter. Everything was going just tickety boo fine, nice sunny day and all that, bit of a jolly, until a dog from the other side caught a whiff of his scent. The dog was a highly trained valuable part of the other side’s team and no doubt a much loved companion of its handler. Given that it was a training exercise the sensible thing to do would have been to let the dog catch him, for my research partner to have a giggle and resign himself to the fact that you can’t win them all. Had he done that no one would have died. The dog did catch up with him but my research partner wasn’t going to be taken alive and certainly not by a fucking dog so as the dog is chomping down on his arm he is meanwhile knifing the poor sod to death for doing the job it is trained to do. He left the dog for dead, he didn’t have enough time to escape and put it out of it’s misery so it did suffer for some time.
However, he did successfully complete the exercise, not quite in one piece mind as the dog, prior to its slow painful death, had managed to take a huge chunk out of his arm and left him with nerve damage that still troubles him to this day. I know it is important to win things and I freely admit I am a competitive little sod myself, I don’t like to be beaten but there are limits. I wouldn’t sacrifice a chunk of any of my limbs to win anything. Clearly its not all about the death, pain and damage, it’s the winning that counts. Silly me. I bet there were men holding the distraught handler down when my research partner eventually rocked up at base camp. I can just imagine my research partner, pissing with blood as the handler is screaming at him, tears flowing ‘It was my fucking dog you bastard!’
So as you can see determined and stubborn are words you could reasonably use to describe my research partner. So when he set out to teach me a lesson he was pretty much going to do just that and he did that by being as difficult as he could manage. He made it tough for me to keep the scenario on track and to get it to where it needed to go, which was, as planned, the sixth formers bedroom. Here she planned to show the boy all about what girls like, how when they unbutton their school shirts they reveal firm perky tits encased and pushed up by cute little bras. How their tiny knickers can be seen as they bend over in their too short for anywhere, never mind school, skirts.All girls have worn such attire. In fact at my school the uniform for the girls was red dresses, who else thinks that wrong? 15 year old girls all wandering round school in tight red mini dresses, talk about turning us all into little lolitas. Granted some of the girls at my school didn’t need much help, there was one girl who had the most massive tits who would wear her very short red dress without a bra. I don’t think she had to do a scrap of coursework that year because there was a queue of horny little lads all too eager to do it for her as they stared down the front of her dress that concealed not very much. Nothing against the girl, her tits were ace. I looked on with envy in the showers, looking at my tits, and we are talking nipples on ribs here, and thinking grow you bastards, grow! Just do something so I can at least have something, anything to put in a wonderbra. They changed the uniform the very next year.
The sixth former also planned to show this young boy how girls like to play with boys, making them hard and eager, wrapping their fingertips firmly and tightly around their cock as they move their hands up and down over and over again, applying cream so the experience is slippery, slick and oh so satisfying. She also planned to go into quite some detail about what girls do to please themselves sexually, think show and tell with the aid of a vibrator. She planned to describe vividly for the young school boy just how hard and how rough she liked to fuck herself with said vibrator. As you can see I had mapped the whole thing out, I had put some thought into it, not least because I did feel bad that I hadn’t been around previously when my research partner had called. The problem was my research partner, excuse the pun, wasn’t playing ball. I will give some examples.
When the scenario began I approached the young inexperienced boy my research partner was playing and asked him if he would like some help with his coursework? No was the reply, no reason, just no. Alrighty then (Ace Ventura Style), why don’t you want any help? I don’t like girls. I responded ‘ Do you like boys then?’ Fine I thought, if it’s that time of the month and he wants a homoerotic experience we can go there if we must (Game of Top Gun Volleyball anyone? A homoerotic film with a heterosexual subtext if ever there was one). But no, he didn’t like boys either, he didn’t like anyone. Okay dokey then, doesn’t it get lonely I asked? No, was the answer, I have pet snails. Ah ha I thought, so you like pets, I have a pussy that would love to meet you. All he had to do was come back to my place where she will be waiting to say hello. In the end my research partner relented, he went back to the girls place as part of the role play. This is because while he is a stubborn man he is also a very horny man. This is why it is important for girls to make friends with a man’s cock. That’s because even if its owner is annoyed with you he is still your friend. And why wouldn’t the cock still be your friend? No other girl has ever paid him so much attention, really thought about his needs, really got to know him for him, no bullshit, no games, just really taken the time to understand him, made him feel loved and cared for. So while his owner is annoyed with you the cock is thinking, fuck you mate, I am off to see MY best friend, got a problem with that? No, didn’t think so. Besides by the time the cock has cum a few times the owner’s brain has been flooded with that many happy chemicals, the desire to drift off to a contented sleep becoming oh so strong the owner’s brain has completely forgotten what it was in a tis about in the first place. Important life lesson here. Make friends with the person in charge. If you want to achieve anything you need the organ grinder in your corner, not the monkey
On this subject I was seeing a rugby player on and off for about a year. It was on and off because I was going through a difficult spell so I cut off contact with him for a while. When I got my shit together I decided to surprise this rugby lad and announce my return by turning up at his club on a day I thought he would be practicing. However he wasn’t practicing, he was off at another club playing a match. I rang him up, told him where I was. His instructions were very clear. I was not to talk to any of the remaining lads who were there, under no circumstances let them buy me a drink. He was on his way, in fact he did say if the guy driving the coach didn’t start driving a mite bit fucking faster he was going to kick the guy off and drive the thing himself. And why didn’t he want me talking to the lads there? Because he said, he knew what they were like. I was laughing my head off, could it be because he knew what he was like I asked? ‘Precisely’ he said. This is a clear example of how a man’s cock does the thinking from time to time. He should have been mad at me for disappearing from his life, told me to fuck off. Did he hell because his cock was in charge at that particular moment. In fact he never said a word on the subject, except to say he was glad I was back.
And you have got to love rugby lads. I worked as a barmaid for a time in a pub where big groups of them would come in on a Friday and Saturday night. So it would generally be just me on my own with them as my boss would make the excuse he had paperwork to do. You can manage can’t you? He always used to ask not waiting for a reply. It was just me and them, one of me, lots of them. I felt like prey, all the other girls who worked there refused point blank to work a shift with these lads on their own.The other girls wanted danger money, a bouncer at the very least. I don’t know what on earth they thought that would achieve. One solitary bouncer on his own against a large group of big, burly, built like a brickshit house rugby lads who each and every week get routinely hurt on a pitch, you know, for fun. The bouncer would have had more reason to be worried than we did. However, manage I did because I quickly started to understand how groups of rugby players function. There is always a leader. Always. So if you can take him out with a few sarcastic comments which the rest of the group think are hysterical he is no longer their leader. Take this guy out I had to, he was the ringleader of a group of horny little wolves who saw me as nothing more than a tasty bit of meat. So while said leader goes off into a corner before the big bad mean 9 stone size 8 GIRL makes him cry into his Stella the rest of the group make you their defacto leader for the night. And once you have this position you can make the whole group do anything and I mean absolutely anything. Sit, stand, bark, fetch, chase a ball. Absolutely anything. I am not a bitch and I have no desire to make any man my bitch. In fact I could not think of anything I would like less. I do like men and enjoy their company. These guys as individuals were often lovely. I knew this because sometimes they would come in for a beer and chat on their own on day shifts I did on a Sunday afternoon. However when they are in a big group, fuelled by 15 pints of stella and god knows how many shots a little girl like me on her own needs to watch her back and her arse and her tits. I did what I had to survive my shift. It was me or them and it wasn’t going to be me.
On one such night my boss, who was ex-Navy so we got on, made an appearance. He saw that despite how many of them there were I had the thing well and truly in hand. He was pissing himself, asked how far I thought I could take things. I laughed back, and said ‘All the way, baby!’ He asked for a rum and this meant the bottle, settled himself down and declared watching this was better than the match anyway! This experience taught me that you don’t have to be big and hard to be a leader you just have to be funny. That and wear a low cut top. These rugby lads were so busy laughing and drooling that I could maintain some sort of order. One of the group told me as he ordered a round, ‘I wank about you’ I thought I am sure you do mate, I am sure you do, now could you pretty please collect some glasses for me, I can’t keep up with the way you lot drink. Make no mistake, tits and arse really do sell beer and if your funny, well it’s a dead cert profits are going to be up. In this respect my dad has trained me well, to compete with him when he is on form you have to be at the level of a stand up comedian.
Back to what I was talking about, by the time my research partner and I have reached the part of the fantasy where the school girl was doing a strip tease for the young school boy my normal research partner had been returned to me by what ever aliens had temporarily abducted him for tests. Everything needless to say went great from this point. He enjoyed it as the sixth former slowly undressed him and applied cream to his cock, that was chaffed through over zealous teenage boy wanking. He was more than happy for the teenage girl to take off her cardigan to reveal a very tight white shirt which barely caged her bulging cleavage, happier still as she undid buttons so he could see still more of those perky tits and nipples that showed evidence of becoming hard. As the bra came off, the groan he let escape made that young girl just that bit wetter so, pulling her knickers to one side she lightly ran her fingers over her pussy so she could offer him her finger and let him taste her excitement. She used her pussy juice so that her fingers would be slippery when she next wrapped them around his cock, firmly wanking him up and down to his delight.
However, his delight was about to become somewhat more intense from the sheer pleasure of being sucked hard and rhythmically by an older girl who knew exactly what she was doing as she took him deep into her mouth. She let the boy shoot his load into her mouth, planning to show him next how she liked to slam her tight wet cunt hard with her toy in anticipation of round two when he got hard again and ready to fuck her pussy in much the same savage animalistic raw horny manner she was using with her toy. As the scenario moved to talk of grinding and fucking, with the girls legs wrapped firmly around the boys waist it became clear my research partner was cuming again. The young girl encouraged this by telling him she wanted to feel his cum shoot deep inside her, tipping him over the edge into an explosive orgasm. So explosive he was asleep five minutes after but at least he did manage to clean up the bucket load of cum he shot out before he drifted quickly to the land of nod. The teenage children were no longer children in need. A post about a school girl and a school boy was the closest thing I could come up with to mark the event of children in need.
Let’s hit it ….. I mean the books silly.
All this studying has made me hot.
That’s better. Are you better?
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