For a long time you stare at that door, torn between willing it to open and wishing it had never opened in the first place. Your tongue pokes out and slowly licks your lips, now swollen a little from the rough treatment. You can still feel his hands in your hair and the salty taste of his cock on your lips.
The opening of a door somewhere makes you whirl around and dash into your own apartment where you rush to the bedroom to stare at yourself in the mirror.
"What's wrong with me?" you think as your hands creep down your sides, scooping up your sensitive breasts.
"Why did that turn me on?" you wonder, pinching and pulling your nipples.
'Go to the Blue Eel and you might get what you want,' he'd said, and as your hands trail down your stomach - not as flat as it used to be in school, but still trim - you lick your lips again, tasting the juices on his skin, feeling the hardness of him on your tongue and rushing past your lips.
You moan as your fingers reach your trimmed bush, but just as you're about to touch your aching sex for the relief you so desperately need you muster your will and freeze your hand.
"I won't masturbate," you vow. |