Greg’s Project

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(Note to readers: This is the first sequel to “Ruth’s Experiment,” which was posted in Erotic Couplings on September 29. It should be possible to pick up on this story without reading the previous story. “Ruth’s Experiment,” however, has some hot sex, so you might want to check it out. There will be two more installments, to be posted a few days after this one: first “Ruth and Greg Go to ‘Plan R,'” then “The Trending of Greg and Ruth.” The suggestion that these stories are being posted by Ruth and Greg on this very web site is not be taken too seriously. Every person engaged in these entirely fictional sex acts is at least 18 years old, and also entirely fictional.)

***

When I got back to campus, I was fired up for the start of sophomore year. The political science curriculum would be more interesting at the 200 level. I felt more like I belonged at this school. Also…I was eager for sex.

A certain guy would become my friend with benefits. We’d have no-strings sex without expecting or wanting strings to develop. We’d just be ourselves, in my case a plain-looking broad with hair two shades darker than mousey, in his case an almost-pinhead with ears that stick out. Also, both of us were overweight. Made for each other.

I was almost bouncy as I entered the student union for our first meeting since we helped each other to simultaneous orgasms, from my breasts, at the end of our freshman year.

This was weird, because I don’t do bouncy. About as far as I’ll ever go is bubbly.

He was at a table in the food court. I joined him, but I ran out of bubbles when I saw the look on his face. It was shifty, defensive. After a few stock greeting phrases, he said, “I’d like you to read something.”

It flashed through my mind that he might have some STI or other, and that the drop or two of spunk that got into my mouth might have infected me. He hadn’t mentioned anything like that in all our messaging over the summer. I asked, “Test results?”

“What?” he asked, confused. “No, something I wrote. About us, what we did.” He pulled a stack of loose-leaf sheets out of his shirt pocket and unfolded them.

It was my turn to look confused as he handed them over. They were handwritten. He did cursive pretty well, not true of many people our age. “This hasn’t gone into anything electronic,” he said. “Right now it’s completely private.”

Which made me look up before I could start reading. “Right now?”

“Just read, please.”

So I did. It was his account of when we hooked up in my dorm room, and he got me to a nipple orgasm while I let him fuck my tits. He captured both the details and the essence, including the fact that we were really nervous beforehand. Neither of us had much experience with sex.

I had to smile. My nipples tingled. I was on the way to getting aroused. But I asked, “What are you going to do with this?”

“Nothing, if you want it to stay between us.”

With a flick of my hand, I sent the sheets back at him. “So if I say tear it up, you will?”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. But then he said “Yeah,” while putting the pages back in order.

I sat back. Damn, the tingle spread to my vulva.

We had both cum, very happily, but my undies had stayed on. It was what I’d hoped for, both partners getting to ecstasy and no fluids exchanged (except for those lousy droplets). This guy wasn’t a turn-on, but I felt safe with him, and I wondered what it’d be like if/when we screwed. An activity I had experienced all of four times.

I forced myself to stay on topic. “And if I say that I’m fine with this, what would you do with it?”

He looked away, blushing. He swallowed. I was about to press him, but then he manned up.

“I’d like to post it on line, anonymously, on a sex-positive site. I think what we did could be good for other people to try, if they haven’t figured it out for themselves.”

“Anonymously?” I said. “Is that why you called me ‘Ruth?'”

“It’s not even close to your real name,” he said. “Our real lives are nobody else’s business.”

“So now I know what to call you when I want to get you hot and bothered,” I said. Then I gave him what I thought might be bedroom eyes, and silently mouthed the name he had given himself, ‘Greg.’

“It won’t take that much,” he muttered.

“I’m okay with still calling you T-F-er,” I said, using a term we had texted to one another over the summer, declining to declare ‘titfucker’ to the entire universe. Then, because we’d already talked about this possibility, I added, “And I might be ready to do more than that.”

He looked up and said, “When?” Then he silently mouthed, ‘Ruth.’

My silent alarm lit up, as always. “I don’t know. Haven’t found out if my new roommate would be cool with it.”

“I have my room to myself,” he said. “My this-year roommate has pledged a frat.”

By that time, I had gotten past the panic. I said, “How about tomorrow night?”

“It’s good for me.”

Which bostancı escort bayan got me even more anxious, and I think he was too. But we still continued with the inevitable returning-student conversation about the courses we were taking. We were more relaxed when we parted. Neither of us tried to kiss, or even shake hands. It’s not like we were keeping a secret while out in public. But, despite our tryst and our semi-raunchy communications over the summer, physical affection in the presence of other people didn’t seem right.

***

We don’t love each other. We don’t have the same worldview. He’s a business major and sees nothing wrong with putting moneymaking ahead of improving the world. I’m poli sci and progressive, and quite happy to stop anybody’s moneymaking in order to get us to a more just society and a sustainable planet.

Then again, it’s not like we love anyone else. More to the point, nobody else loves us. On a college campus full of young people at their absolute physical peaks and maximum attraction, we probably qualify as a couple of ignorable losers. Kinda short, kinda fat, kinda acne’d, kinda meh.

But I have big breasts (E-cups, almost no sag yet), which can please both a partner and me. And he, apparently, can get at least two boners in quick succession. (I intended to discover how many.) So if we had to resort to each other, it could have been worse.

We had met by being hangers-on in an informal discussion group at a bookish bar, just off campus. In a while we started spending time together afterwards. We learned that our divergent philosophies didn’t stop us from treating each other decently, as respectful humans. Eventually, in an awkward way, he propositioned me, and I asked him to participate in what his handwritten recollection refers to as “Ruth’s Experiment.” You can find that on this site, and read all the steamy details of our success.

***

“Well, look who’s springing for a fancy dorm,” I said as he led me to his room. “Must be nice.” I smiled and winked, but yes, I was needling him.

“I’m a business major,” he said. “First thing you learn is, spend it before you’ve got it.”

I had picked up enough during our summer texts and e-mails to know that he was kidding. And touchy about being a business major. We both knew that our parents were covering most of our costs here.

My dorm floor had one large communal bathroom with several showers. Greg’s dorm room had its own bathroom. Looking in at his shower stall I said, “Your place wins. Case closed.”

I think it crossed both our minds that I could move in with him. And that this probably wasn’t a good idea.

I saw a laptop open on a desk, with a familiar stack of paper next to it. “Still entering the text?”

He nodded. “I might finish tomorrow.”

“I’d like to look it over before you upload it.”

“Sure.” He grinned. “My excuse to get you back here again.”

There were two twin-size beds, not set up to be bunks. I sat on the nearest bed, not knowing which one he used. “And is that it? You’ll post your story so people can get off to it?”

He sat next to me, with what I read as a serious, thoughtful look. “No. I’m hoping it can do some good for people our age, so we can follow our hormones without ruining our lives.”

I jumped ahead. “Because we set an example? Wild orgasms without a penis entering a vagina?”

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes seemed to light up. “Especially for people like…me, who can’t expect to hook up very much—”

“You were going to say ‘us,’ weren’t you?” I said with a stern look.

His face fell. “Look, really, I—”

I leaned in, dropped the phony scowl, and gave him a quick kiss. “Say us. It’s okay. I’m not date bait, and I won’t waste my time trying. Besides…yeah, I get lonely, and horny. It bites. But I won’t try to fuck my way to love. That’s plain stupid.”

That probably didn’t make enough sense, but he nodded.

“So,” I continued, “you want people to consider doing what we did?”

“Yes! Remember, we e-mailed about this, how it turns out lots of women can have nipple orgasms.”

“Which was why I tried for it with you.”

“Proving that even a knee-jerk liberal can have a brilliant idea.”

I reached over and tickled the man-boobs behind his t-shirt. “And even a ruling-class wannabe can please a partner.” This was fun!

“So,” he said, half-giggling, “I hope couples who date will consider this. Instead of giving in right away to penetrative sex, or denying sex altogether, they can do this for some hot body fun, and maybe learn about each other, to help them decide about heavier sex later. Titfucking and breastloving might also be less scary than oral sex. Fellatio and cunnilingus could have a yuck factor for some people, and there’s an STI risk.” This rolled out pretty easily. I wondered if he had rehearsed it.

I smirked and said, “Are you trying to make money from this?”

“No. I’m serving a community, ümraniye escort which is people who have trouble getting any kind of sex at all.”

I didn’t let up. “Couldn’t think of a way to monetize it, huh?”

He sneered. “Maybe that’ll be my term paper in Entrepreneurship. Once I become a world-leading authority on breast sex, I’ll hold seminars on cruise ships.” Less archly: “And this was your brilliant idea, so it’s not like I own it.”

“Your community service might be a good thing,” I said, “as long as your followers respect a stop sign blocking heavier sex.”

“I expect to write a lot about that in response to site user comments.”

It occurred to me that this discussion could continue well past the time I was allowing for this shackup. “And now maybe we could violate the spirit of your project by moving on, um, to heavier sex.” On the last few words I got my silent alarm, but also some tingling.

His alarm might have gone off also. He tried to lower my expectations. “We may need a few tries to get it right.”

I nodded. “Can we agree not to kick each other out of bed if everything isn’t perfect?”

Jeez, we are such worrywarts. Now I was in a total fret, hoping to be a good fuck, and for him to feel good about himself. It was top priority to get acceptable results from his penis entering my vagina, so afterwards we could go back to having fun. I also had to stop thinking about how my older sister got knocked up and was now raising an unplanned child. I had gone on the pill, and I still worried.

Smoothly, he put an arm around my waist and brought me towards him. I felt better. Shit, at least one of us shouldn’t be a nervous wreck.

“What do you like?” he asked, in a low voice.

“What you do for my boobs.”

He put a hand on one of them and squeezed gently, but said, “Anything else?”

I got an arm around him, leaned in, and gave him a slow kiss. Then I admitted, “I don’t know. I’m mostly a noob too, you know that.”

Which took him past his script, and he had to search for wording. “Well, when you, uh, for yourself—”

I didn’t want him to use the M-word, thinking it might ruin the mood, so quickly I said, “Fingers, on and a little ways in. That always feels good.” I let go of him long enough to ditch my jeans and undies, moving decisively and scaring myself.

My crotch was warm and moist when his hand settled there. He may have been forcing himself not to be tentative. I had said this was okay, and when his fingers moved through my bush and found labia, I got a little rush and managed not to flinch away.

I don’t know, maybe I’d like some of what’s both scary and offensive, hair pulling and strangulation and spanking, but isn’t it okay for me to start with the less intense stuff? We could take our time. I don’t think Greg yearns to act like a he-man and throw me around. And he probably can’t.

He circled and stroked my cleft, while with his free hand he undid his pants. I wasn’t at a good angle to help with that. Doggedly he pulled and shifted and got his prick free without losing contact with me. I was really liking his plain and simple groping. Parts of my groin flexed and tightened, while other parts eased, to welcome more contact.

Would I like it if he went down on me? What if, despite our supposed maturity and sophistication, it grossed him out?

Once his lower body was fully exposed I gave him another long kiss, then said, “Ready whenever you are. Or would it be better to get you off outside, and wait for the next boner?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe go for it now.”

“Then come on and Greg me. Greg me ’til I Ruth.” That got a big laugh from him.

We arranged ourselves for missionary. I was as self-lubed as I could ever recall being, so I didn’t have to prep my arena while he rolled on the condom. (Hey, suspenders and a belt. The pill does nothing against STIs.) I started to raise my t-shirt, but he said, “No, let’s stay this way.”

“You sure?”

“I might last longer, uh, without, them being out.”

Hmm. I smiled and said, “If you want ’em, you know where to find ’em.”

He smiled. It looked now like he was enjoying himself a little, and wasn’t only worried.

If what I wanted was for an Adonis to gaze at me lovingly and pleasure every square inch of me while doing his piston drive, I didn’t get it. Greg held his shaft in one hand and pushed the head past my labia. Then he propped himself on his straightened arms, to each side of my torso, and started advancing and receding. He made no other contact with me. His blue Aeropostale t-shirt was loose and rumpled, and his eyes and mouth were clenched shut. An image that will never be on the cover of an erotic novel.

Still, what I got was a nice, long, enjoyable fuck that felt good, then better, then spiked several times into much better. Sometimes his passage from my shallows to my depths was smooth and warm. Sometimes it launched thrills when it shoved kartal escort aside suddenly-tightened muscles. My heart pounded, my toes curled. Every part of me seemed wet except my rasping throat.

My nipples pushed hard into the bra, perhaps alarmed by their neglect, demanding attention. My hands started to reach for them—

—but right then my vagina decided to constrict around his prick and send out pulsing flashes to far-distant nerves, and I bucked at least twice and grabbed his butt. The heat! The sensation that I was surging skyward! Another flash sent my head back, and I let out a yell like the one when I’d sprained my ankle last March while trying to jog.

“I just Ruthed!” I said with a laugh. “Feel free to Greg!”

He laughed so much his prick almost fell out, but he steadied himself and pumped faster. This got me another rush, and another gush of my fluids. (Has there really been that much in there all this time? Have I failed to do justice to this feminine bounty?)

His mouth opened and made the sound of an air-raid siren, rising steadily in volume. I felt his prick spasm as my cunt started to relax (and then clamped again). His arms shivered but hung tough. Five, six of those bursts, stretching me, as I wondered about the strength of a certain piece of latex. Then he leaned back, exiting my vagina with a sound I recall as shmoik, and he flopped on his back to my left.

I looked over at him. With my earlier start towards normal breathing, I said, “You going to sleep now?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” he said, either from shortness of breath or to add emphasis. “That’s the theme of the day.”

I leaned up enough to lift off my shirt, then further to get both hands on the bra hooks. “You were right about yourself. Limited stimuli made you a stallion, galloping long distance and delivering your passenger to her goal.” I slingshot the removed bra at his crotch, where it wrapped around the off-white bulge that was still erect. “But my ladies felt deprived. You’d better make it up to them.”

His hands closed on the sides of the breasts just as I got the nipples into contact with his face. Simultaneously, we moaned.

This was just for fun. Or so I thought. Once he was kissing and fondling, I wanted more. I was hot and wet and gasping, and reliving all of his wonderful breast worship from last May. Greg was now officially my fuck buddy, but he was still my T-F-er (or T-F-ee), and I wanted his boob love even as I was still buzzing from whatever that orgasm was, clitoral or vaginal or both.

Best I could do for him was grab at his groin and pump what I found there. “Please more please I’m gonna cum again,” I babbled, “I’ll make it up to you, mouth or ass or whatever you want.” A tiny batch of my brain cells went: Ass? WTF?

He’s willing to become a stooge for corporate America, and his perspective on gender issues doesn’t go far past that of a straight cis male, and he’s not much to look at. But Greg responded to my condition with eager passion, glomming and slobbering on my sweaty tits.

I was wild and greedy and out of control, and I knew that we couldn’t get into titfuck position fast enough, because I was about to zoom off the rails into another orgasm. He hurtled me there, squeezing hot titflesh, suckling like a giant mutant newborn.

The meat joy made me writhe like a salamander. My vision blurred, and my hand was barely able to cause and feel his wrapped prick spasming as he fucked my bra. I kissed the top of his head, barely making contact, drool spilling onto his crown.

He wrapped his arms around me as my own arms went slack. We stayed that way, his face in my cleavage, for I don’t know how long. Maybe we both went to sleep. But there was a point when we were face to face, and I said to him, “I meant it. If you want to do me someplace else, be my guest.” At this point, I didn’t think my anus would put up a barricade.

This guy, whom I barely knew, smiled. I had the temerity to interpret that smile to mean that he still had plenty in the tank. What he said, however, was, “I think what I want next is a shower.”

We stayed as we were a little longer, hugging. He finally got rid of his shirt, so more of our doughy surfaces could meet and compress. I liked the feel of him in my arms, even the contact of my thigh over his.

As we got up I found that the relaxation of his putz had allowed the condom to loosen. Some of his double cum load had glopped onto my bra. His brow furrowed and he said, “Oh shit I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who put it there,” I said. Annoyed, I nonetheless added, “No worries, you get to keep me braless until I get home. And my boobies obviously want you to have free access.”

As we showered, I asked, “Isn’t there titfuck porn with bras?”

“That’s with the breasts still in the bra,” he said, maybe defensive about knowing this. “Fucking a bra by itself would just be lingerie fetish stuff. And a condom probably wouldn’t be involved.”

We soaped and rinsed our not-to-be-seen-in-public body parts, past the point of cleanliness. We could do this all we wanted, we were over eighteen and consenting. I got drunk with freedom, if not power.

I was getting tired. I think he was too, though our showering had given him another boner.

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