This story is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. All characters are fictitious and are the property of and copyrighted by the author.
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There was a flash of light and then a crash of thunder. I tried not to whimper but I must have made a noise because Alan, my study partner, looked up from the book he was reading.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I muttered, a little embarrassed. I had a tiny fear of thunderstorms. Okay, it was a big fear. It wasn’t enough to send me screaming into the mental ward of the local hospital, but I didn’t like them, that was certain.
He looked as though he didn’t believe me, but went back to his book. We were in the tower room of the dorm we were both residents in. It was a converted mansion and housed those students who didn’t want to be disturbed with the stereotypical college partying. I had been there since my freshman year, Alan had only moved in this year.
The tower room was set aside specifically for isolated studying. You had to sign up and were only allowed two hours each session. Since there were only thirty residents in the dorm, there wasn’t a lot of jockeying for time. Another flash, another rumble and I twitched, trying not to show my fear. Alan shut his book with a sigh.
“It’s obvious something’s bothering you,” he said, turning in his seat to look at me.
“I hate storms,” I muttered again, “I have since I was a child. Whenever one would come around, my family could find me under the bed or in the closet, clutching a stuffed animal.”
Alan looked at me thoughtfully and I lifted my eyes to look at him. He had intense green eyes and dark brown hair that he kept short, completely opposite of the long hair of his fellow male students. We had been friends since we were paired together in an acting exercise our freshman year. His skin was still tanned from the summer break. I looked down at his hands. The fingers were long and strong, the palms just the right size to cup a woman’s breast…
I looked away as my face began to flush. Alan reached out and patted my hand sympathetically.
He was oblivious to the fact that I was attracted to him, had been since that first day. He was the stuff wet dreams were made of. If he only knew how I masturbated to fantasies involving us locked in a sweaty embrace, fucking our brains out. I’d already gone through a vibrator per year since meeting him. Three vibrators, all because of one guy. I’m pretty sure that’s gotta be a record, but I wasn’t planning on calling Guinness.
Another bolt of lightning, a huge crash of thunder. I looked out the window as the rain came pelting down. The tower room allowed a three hundred-sixty degree view of the campus. I shuddered as I realized the storm was practically overhead.
“Have you ever tried to conquer the fear?” Alan’s voice penetrated my thoughts and I looked at him.
I could listen to him speak for hours. I felt a familiar tingle between my legs. I have a thing for voices. I realized it when I heard James-Earl Jones say “This is CNN” on the television. I was at a friend’s house and after hearing it, I realized my panties were wet. I excused myself to the bathroom, thinking that either my period had started or I’d wet myself. I was surprised to find that it wasn’t either, but the fact that I was turned on by his voice. I got so horny I sat on the toilet and fingered myself to a quick orgasm.
“I tried hypnotherapy,” I replied, “But that proved useless. I was in regular therapy for a month for it when I was younger, but the doctor said that it was a normal fear and that I’d outgrow it eventually.”
Alan nodded and again looked thoughtful. I tried not to fidget in my seat, as the tingle between my legs became a soft throbbing. My vibrator was going to get a workout tonight.
I tried to return to my studies, ignoring the wind and rain outside. I looked down at my book and noticed that my nipples were very hard and very obvious against my T-shirt. I groaned inwardly. My breasts are fairly large, topping a D cup. Personally I’ve always found them too big, but they go with my body shape, so I can’t complain too much. I’ve never been skinny, but neither have I been fat. My grandfather says I have a body like Marilyn Monroe.
“Cassie?” Alan’s voice made me look at him.
“Yes?”
“I have a suggestion,” he looked a bit uncomfortable.
“Okay,” my mind raced as to what he could possibly suggest as throbbing from my pussy increased to a steady thrumming.
“I took a psych class last year,” he stood up and began to pace. God his body was tight and hot. He wore tight blue jeans that I wondered if he wore underwear or went au natural. The polo shirt he wore seemed to be a size too small for his broad chest and shoulders. He turned to look at me and I heard him say, “I was remembering something the professor had said about replacing a negative with a positive.”
“Huh?” I blinked and looked up at him in confusion.
“Something in your past has made you fear storms,” he explained slowly, “What you could do is do something that is so wonderful that it when the next storm comes along, you’ll remember the good experience rather than the fear of storms.”
Oh I could think of a few things that could make me forget this storm, my brain replied. My vagina convulsed in agreement. I could feel the moisture building up between my legs. I could swear I smelled my heat and desire. I stood up and walked to the window seat along the west window. I sat down, my denim miniskirt riding up high on my thighs. Alan came over and sat next to me. I looked at him and he leaned over, his lips touching mine.
My body tensed with desire as his tongue traced my lips. I opened my mouth and his tongue dove in, tangling with mine. I reached up and dove my fingers into his hair as his cupped my breasts, his thumbs flicking over my hard nipples. We both moaned and pulled apart. We sat for a moment, just looking at each other, and then we pulled off our shirts. I pulled off my sports bra at the same time.
“God you’re hot,” he muttered as his hands reached for my breasts. His fingers rolled my nipples in unison and I moaned, writhing under his touch.
