after care, tender sex, first time, breast fondling, PIV sex, dominant female, submissive male, semi-public sex
You're popular. Not for having lots of friends, or being kind, or scoring at the top of the class - but because the boys in your year, and the juniors too, think you're easy. They think all it takes to get between your legs, or in your mouth, is five minutes. And are they wrong? Not entirely.
All of the guys think you're a slut, and the girls judge you even more, but you don't really care what they think. As long as you're happy with yourself, who are they to judge? As far as you're concerned, you're using the virgin losers that pine after you just as much as they're using you. It's an equal trade, so who cares what your stuck-up classmates think?
The day of the zombie outbreak begins like any other. Rumours of a girl held captive in the science lab circulate at lunch, but you were barely privy to the gossip. You're in English when shit really breaks out; staring idly out the window, watching birds drift through the sky.
Since you're a senior, on the highest floor, your classroom is one of the last to notice. About five students rush through the open door and maul your teacher, and after the seconds of stunned, collective silence, you become part of the mob sprinting madly out the back door. You and your classmates tumble down the staircase and it's a blur of blood and adrenaline. The girl who sits beside you - you wouldn't really call her a friend, or anyone else for that matter - trips in front of you, and you watch her arm get ripped off by a zombie's teeth.
Eventually you make it to one of the junior classrooms, where a small group have barricaded themselves in. You only credit your survival to luck, and the years you spent training for the sprint team. The students are all nice enough, but you can tell they know your reputation by the sidelong glances they give each other, the whispers when they think you aren't listening. And besides that, they're all classmates on (mostly) good terms with one another. You're just some slutty senior. At least your age earns you some respect, because they don't dare to comment, beyond the judgemental narrowing of eyes or almost awestruck gapes from some of the boys.
The day is too frantic with survival to pay much attention to the juniors; you only notice him, really notice him, on the first night. Your team of survivors are spread across the small room, all attempting to sleep. At first you don't bother, staring out at the moon instead. Trying to ignore the stench drifting from the recording studio, or the worse smell of decay from the hallway.
You tuck your knees up to your chest and rest your chin on your folded arms. You close your eyes, far from sleep. You try not to think, try to find peace in the persistent ticking of the clock in the corner of the room, the heavy breaths of the other students, the distant sounds of groans and yells drifting up from the grass field far below.
Eventually, some fitful rest finds you. You aren't aware that you've fallen asleep until you're jerked rudely to consciousness, heart pounding. You look wildly over the room, expecting a horde of zombies to be reaching right for you, but there's nothing. Only the absolute stillness of the room, which doesn't comfort you either. Somehow, all the juniors are fast asleep. It almost irritates you with jealousy.
"Are you okay?"
The whisper startles you further, and you break your gaze from the night sky to look at Joon-yeong. He sits a short distance away, leaning back on a cupboard with his legs stretched out in front of him. In your peripheral, you assumed he'd fallen asleep. But he sits with his glasses still on, face far from tired.
"Sorry," he whispers, reaching a hand up as you flinch, as if in apology.
You swallow around a dry throat, nod. "I'm okay. Are you?"
He lifts his shoulders up and down, a casual shrug. A smile whispers over your lips and you let out a slow breath.
"I don't get how they're all asleep," Joon-yeong whispers, jerking his chin toward the other classmates. You have to crane your neck to see them. You and him sit on the other side of a fallen cabinet, forming a short barricade. His smile is genuine, as if you're in on some joke together. Usually when boys smile at you, it's because they want something. You like the simplicity of his smile, and you like the dimples on either side of it even more.
You scooch toward him, slowly over the cool tiled floor, shivering as it brushes against the bare underside of your thighs. You stop just before your fingers brush his, but the gap is so small you swear you can feel the heat of his palm. You look up at his face and see his gaze caught on your nearly touching hands. He swallows, and in the hush of the room the sound is deliciously moist.
"Are you afraid?" you ask. You say the words for the feel more than the meaning, as they slide quietly over your tongue, catching between your teeth as you look up at his face. You expect the blustering confidence of a boy trying to get laid.
"Yes," he says plainly, and the honesty of it stuns you for a moment. Then a smile pulls over your lips and you dance your fingertips over the short distance, pressing into the warmth of his palm. You intertwine your fingers and raise your hands. He follows the movement with a careful gaze and you realise he's telling the truth. He's scared, not just of the zombies outside, but of you.
"I'm afraid too," you say, pressing his palm flat out over your heart, your hand on top of his. His Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he swallows anxiously. Beneath his glasses his eyes widen, looking down at your chest where his hand lies. "See how fast my heart is beating?" you ask innocently, with a coy glance up into his frightened face. His eyes flutter shut and you notice how long his eyelashes are.
"Mm-hmm," he says, and the quiet noise is strained. His hand twitches, as if he wants to pull it back. You want to laugh at the colour rising in his cheeks, the visible distress pulling over his face, but you don't want to wake the others.
You slide his hand further down, guiding him to cup your breast. Its full shape sits nicely in his palm and a small, strained noise breaks free from his throat. His eyes are squeezed shut and you really have to bite back laughter.
You raise your other hand to his face, and his cheek is burning hot beneath your palm. You let out a breathy giggle and shift closer toward him, settling yourself on top of one of his thighs, your legs tucked on either side. He lets out another whimper and you grind gently downward, feeling the damp leak through your panties onto the fabric of his trousers.
"Open your eyes," you whisper and he obeys, blinking rapidly and swallowing thickly as he meets your gaze. The moonlight is reflected in his glasses, and it could just be the faint light but you think his eyes glisten wetly.
"You don't have to…" he murmurs, voice shaky.
You lean forward, pressing your chest into his and pinning his hand between them, driving his fingers deeper into the soft give of your chest as you tongue around his earlobe. "I want to," you whisper, pecking silent kisses down the side of his neck. "Do you?"
He nods before the question is even out, head jerking rapidly up and down. "P-please," he says shakily.
You chuckle lightly, just a movement in your throat that he would feel pressed into his shoulder. You draw back and swipe your thumbs over his eyes, catching their moistness. Then you lean down, catching his lips in yours.
He's a gentle kisser, clumsy with inexperience, letting your movement dictate his. You lick into his mouth and the saliva is almost refreshing, given your dehydration. His hips buck up and you draw back, slowly as to not make a damp noise as your lips break apart. You smile down at him, saliva smeared over his quivering chin and the tears caught through his thick eyelashes like dewdrops.
"Excited, are we?" you whisper, reaching down to palm his dick, straining gently into the fabric of his pants. His hips buck up again and he lets out a breathy groan, rumbling pleasantly into your ear. "Shhh," you chastise, and place your hand back over his, encouraging him to work his fingers into the soft flesh of your breasts. He squeezes slowly and softly, looking at your clothed chest with awe.
You raise his other hand up and let him explore them, his fingertips prodding gently around each shape. As he does you slowly unbutton your shirt, letting the thin white fabric, splattered with the red and pink of faded blood, slide down from your shoulders.
Joon-yeong stares at you with worship, thumb carefully mapping the curve of flesh that hangs over the top of your bra. You shiver at the warmth pressing into your bare, cold skin. It isn't anything fancy - if people think you're a whore then you're a cheap one, because you spring for practicality more than looks. And usually the guys you hook up with move too quickly to care about a lacy bra - if they feel you up it's rough and quick, like a task they're shoving aside.
But not for Joon-yeong. You take his hands around your back and unclip your bra, letting it fall onto his lap between you. You lean forward, holding the back of his head, bringing his lips into your chest. You dip your face into his hair and inhale deeply, the sweet smell of shampoo beneath the bitter tang of blood. As he kisses and licks into your chest you cast a glance over the filing cabinet, toward the rest of the room. The cabinet only goes high enough to cover you up to your necks - if anyone were awake, they'd notice you and him in a second. But everyone seems to be asleep, and you're too desperate with arousal to care.
You tug his head away and press your foreheads together, looking down into his eyes. Your hair falls down onto his face and you adore the way he looks up at you, eyes glazed with arousal and - dare you say it - adoration. The cold metal frame of his glasses presses into your face as you kiss him. It's uncomfortable, but the sharp press into your flushed face is simultaneously pleasurable.
You realise he sits fully clothed, while you're only in your short skirt and panties. No wonder you're shivering. You pull the neatly tucked edges of his sweater up and he tugs the green fabric over his head, moving quickly to reconnect your mouths. The neckline catches on his glasses and he stills, mouth pulling into a grimace. You giggle softly and pull the sweater fully off, taking his glasses from the folded fabric and repositioning them on his nose, tucking the arms behind his ears. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes cast away from you. You flinch, turning to look over your shoulder and expecting to see someone there. But there's no one. You turn back to him and put your hand under his chin, tilting it up toward you, the other rubbing over his shoulder.
"What is it?" you whisper.
He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth before replying, eyes not meeting yours. "It's… embarrassing."
Your hands still. "I'm embarrassing?" you ask, and you try to keep the quiver from your voice. Suddenly your power fades, and red-hot shame burns in your gut. Of course you'd be embarrassing to him, he's the second top student in the entire school and you're just some slut-
"No!" he hisses, a bit too loudly, eyes widening and finally meeting yours again. He swallows and his eyebrows twitch up. "I… felt embarrassed getting my glasses stuck."
Your frozen posture remains, then your shoulders slump down as you let out a soft, relieved laugh, leaning back down into him. You run your thumb over the bottom of his lip. "You're such a virgin," you say teasingly, placing a long, soft kiss on his mouth. "It's adorable."
He lets out a relieved breath and the tension in his shoulders drops. You plant a sloppy kiss on his nose and work to unbutton his shirt, smoothing your hands over his soft layers of skin and fat. You lean back to admire him.
You shift sideways so your legs sit on either side of his, your cunt right over his dick. He groans and his hips twitch upward, fully hard by now.
"Shhh," you giggle into his mouth as you undo his belt together, wincing at the loud clank of metal and noise of the zipper. He wiggles his hips upward as you drag his pants downward, thumbing around the elastic waistband of his boxers. They're stripey blue and it's so endearingly lame you leave them on and lean in for another deep kiss, scratching gently into the side of his scalp. He whines into the touch and you draw back, tapping a finger against his lips in a 'quiet' gesture. His eyebrows are pinched together again, not from embarrassment again but from delicious distress.
You slide downward, moving off his legs to crouch in front of his groin, leaning your chest into his thighs and arching your back. You're looking up at him, now, smiling coyly as you finally work his boxers downward. It's not of notable length, but the girth makes your eyes widen with pleased anticipation.
You cup his balls with one hand and slide the other slowly down his length, relishing in the way his face pinches together. He presses the back of his hand into his mouth, soft groans escaping. You pull your hair into a loose ponytail, not having a hair elastic, and guide his other hand to hold it back.
You lick slowly up the underside of his shaft, then around the tip. You take the tip in your mouth and suck gently. Then, without warning, you dive down, rapidly taking the entire length between your hollowed cheeks. His hips jerk up again, his tip pressing into the back of your throat, and just as quickly you draw back, leaving the salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue. You slide two fingers around the tip, damp with saliva, then crawl back up, positioning yourself so only the fabric of your skirt separates his dick from your pussy.
"Do you want me to…?" he barely manages to choke the question out, face damp and flushed with arousal. You smile and take his hand, letting your hair fall loose again. You guide his hand beneath the fabric of your skirt and shift your panties to the side, letting out a soft gasp at the friction against your throbbing clit. You let yourself sink down onto his hand, easing the pressure off your knees and guiding his thumb and forefinger to rub over your clit. Once he's got a decent rhythm you move your hand away and kiss him again, rocking into the movement of his fingers.
"Put them inside of me," you whisper, choked with pleasure, into his ear. You kiss around his earlobe as he feels around, adorably amateur, blindly discovering your anatomy. He finally sinks one finger into your damp hole and you let out a groan of approval, sinking further down. "Another," you moan.
Under your guidance, he keeps his thumb rubbing firmly over your clit, while sinking three other fingers into you. You bob up and down with the movement, groaning approvingly into his ear. He's the one to shush you, capturing your lips between his. The cautious move makes you smile.
You raise yourself from his fingers, letting them slide smoothly out of you. With his hand still on your clit, you reach down and take his glistening dick, rubbing a hand smoothly over its damp length before lining it up with your vagina. You lower yourself slowly, slowly, muffling your moans in his shoulder while he takes deep, shaking breaths. You ache with pleasant pain as his width fits into you, and before long you sit flush with his entire length inside.
He keeps one hand beneath your skirt, rubbing slowly over your clit, and places the other on the small of your back. You hold his hips, hands pressing into the soft give of his stomach, and slowly move your hips upward again. The friction makes you both quiver, goosebumps raising over your bare arms. In an effort to muffle your moans you nibble on his bottom lip, shifting slowly up and down, up and down, along his cock. His thumb moves with the rhythm and you know you won't last long, your cunt throbbing and aching with the desire for release.
You keep your movement slow, dragging yourself up and down his length, groaning into each other's mouths at the slow friction, the overwhelming heat. His thumb presses harder against you and you twitch with pleasure, bouncing harder down onto him.
Saliva drips between your mouths, making your lips slide slick over one another. You groan into his mouth and you can't stand your own tease anymore. Interrupting your slow pattern, you settle your weight onto his legs and dig your hands into his hips, then start moving faster.
He splutters into it, then his hands catch up. He squeezes the arm wrapped around you, pulling the warmth of your bodies close together, as his fingers twitch rapdily over your clit. You bounce up and down on his length, stifling your own moans and feeling the tight pressure of release gather in your core.
His body spasms as he cums, warm pleasure filling you up as he twitches beneath you. He groans into your mouth and you sink down onto his warmth, onto him, as your orgasm pulls through you.
You feel yourself tighten around him and you let him swallow your moan. Your head spins with a rush of pleasure, warmth rushing through your body as you continue to move slowly up and down through pleasant overstimulation.
As the wave of your orgasm subsides you still, your lips breaking apart as you pant into his neck. He rubs his hand slowly over your back and you move up and down with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The haze of pleasure begins to weaken and you're aware of the clock ticking, beneath his panting breaths.
You freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of the other people metres from you. Joon-yeong's body twitches as your pussy clenches around him again. You go silent, head resting against his chest. You can hear his heart pattering beneath one ear. Otherwise, the room seems as silent as it was before. You let out a relieved sigh, then move to slowly pull yourself off of him with a wet noise of separation.
Joon-yeong's hand slides out from your panties and you sit on your knees, panting and leaning forward. Your body is coated in a thin layer of sweat but you're beginning to shiver, and your underwear is beyond damp. His cum dribbles out of you and you rub your hand over your forehead, eyes squeezing shut.
You cross one arm over your chest, as if that would shield you at all. You look down at the moon gleaming over the tile, suddenly too ashamed to look at him. Sure, you've got the power when he's whimpering beneath you, but as soon as he's come you're over and done with. Your only claim to respect is being one year his senior. Otherwise?
You can't help but sigh, shifting your unpleasantly damp panties back on straight. The tender intimacy felt nice while it lasted, but now that's it. A cheap fuck, and he'll go back to ignoring you.
"Hey," he says softly, a hand hesitantly brushing over your jaw. "Are… you okay?"
You swallow and slowly look up at his face. His face is still flushed, his neatly combed hair all dishevelled. He's damp with sweat and drool, tears beginning to crust over his cheeks. You finally meet his eyes, and see how he looks into you with such deep concern.
You blink, and take his other hand in yours, interlocking your fingers. "Yeah," you whisper, and he smiles, showing off his dimples for you. "Just… my panties are really damp," you laugh softly, as if that's all there is to it.
"Oh," he says, then wiggles his pants off entirely. "You can… um… if you want. They're clean… or clean-ish." He grimaces, and you can tell it's at himself.
You smile and wiggle your panties off, pulling the mostly dry fabric over you. They hang loose, but the elastic band is tight enough to sit on your waist.
"You're not wearing these, are you?" you dangle your panties up by one finger, a smile twitching over your face. He laughs and pulls his pants on, slowly so as to avoid the loud clink of his zipper and belt.
He takes your bra from the floor beside you and slides the armbands over your shoulders. You position it to sit snugly and turn around, brushing your hair out of the way. "C'mon," you say, feigning impatience as he reaches for the clasp.
He fumbles and struggles, spluttering out an apology, then you giggle and reach behind, clasping it slowly. You turn back to face him as you button your shirt up, fighting to keep the fondness out of your expression. But it's hard, because he looks up at you with those gleaming eyes and adorable dimples.
You don't feel much warmer once you're fully clothed, rubbing a hand over the goosebumps along your bare arms. Joon-yeong pauses with his sweater, holding it out to you instead. You tilt your head to the side, questioningly, but he nods and looks up at you that love drunk glaze over his eyes. You settle gratefully into the warmth of the fabric and pull your knees up to your chest, settling your chin on your folded arms and blinking at him.
His gaze flits down, and you know you look stupid with his boxers beneath your skirt, but he doesn't look disgusted, or judgemental in any form. The shy smile doesn't fade from his face.
Cautiously, you shift closer toward him. You're so unused to this, this proximity and care after hooking up. Even the shy, kind guys turn into a whole different person post-nut. The meekness fades from their demeanour and their eyes harden, casting you aside as something conquered, something over and done with. You've never had this before, you realise, as he reaches an arm to hesitantly wrap over your shoulders.
You shiver from the cool metal of the filing cabinet behind, and his hand gives you a comforting squeeze. You stare up into the night sky, but it doesn't seem so dark anymore, moon shining brightly above. Wherever this night sprung from, the desperate hope for survival or crave for affection, you lean into the warmth of the man beside you and hope, in some quiet part of you, it'll last more than one night.
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