Selena Kitt: Meet the Baumgartners

The guy had the most beautiful cock she had ever seen.

Not that she’d really seen that many. Carrie had seen her father’s and her brother’s, of course, but neither in a sexual way. There had been four boys, though-

two in high school and two during her freshman year in college. All of them had rather average penises-although the last one, Mike, had been very proficient in using his.

But this guy…

He was exquisite. The sight of him made her ass clench and her belly thrum with excitement.

And that just wasn’t okay.

Because she’d sworn off men during her freshman year, had even thought about switching teams-she loved women, and was attracted to them almost as equally as men. At least, that’s what she’d told herself after Mike, and for three years, she’d believed it-until she saw the guy with the gorgeous cock stroking it in the dorm bathroom.

And it was all her own damned fault.

They had co-ed dorms, each gender separated by floors. She was on the third, in a room on the end, and the bathroom was all the way at the other end of the long tiled hallway. At three in the morning, snuggled under the covers with an aching bladder full of beer and an already-throbbing head, Carrie would fight her body, listening to her roommate, Maureen, snoring softly in the darkness, until she couldn’t stand it for another minute.

By that time, the distance down the hall to the left seemed like miles. It was much faster to sprint down the short flight of stairs to her right where, just inside the door at 1

the bottom, the first floor bathroom sat empty and oh-so-accessible. If it just happened to be the men’s bathroom, well, she could always feign intoxication, apologize profusely and skedaddle-she had, on one occasion, interrupted a guy at a urinal, whose surprise had nearly caused a horrible zipper accident.

But most of the time, she simply slipped in, quickly relieved herself, and was back in her own bed before anyone spotted her. Besides, it was summer now, and only a fraction of the school’s student body was even on campus. The odds of her getting caught went down considerably during summer term.

She probably would have slipped in and out unnoticed that night, too, except she heard his low, soft moan. She sat, her bladder throbbing blissfully in relief, and listened, her breath still in her throat. At first, she assumed it was some drunk guy moaning to the porcelain god, about to toss his cookies. Then he moaned again, and she distinctly heard him whisper hoarsely, “Yeah, baby, fuck me!”

The words made her flush with heat, and when she wiped herself, her pussy was moist with more than just urine. She sat frozen, barely breathing, her whole body attuned to the sound. She couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. It wasn’t any of the six bathroom stalls-like most men’s rooms, none of them had doors, and she was in the very last. So where was he?

Carrie stood and, instead of flushing, crept out of the stall in pink stockinged feet, pulling her robe more tightly around her. The stalls were behind a wall-at least it gave them some modicum of privacy-and the sinks were on the other side of that. She’d peeked in before heading toward a stall and hadn’t seen anyone.

“Oh god, yeah! Gimme that hot little pussy!”

Carrie stopped and blinked, her own little pussy suddenly quite hot, looking at the row of sinks, which all stood empty, the mirror above the first one reflecting her smeared mascara and a disheveled blond mass of hair. Then she glanced at the row of shower stalls across from the sinks with a dawning realization.

“Oh that’s so good! Fuck me hard!” The guy made a low growl in his throat that sent shivers through her as she crept closer to the showers. The bathrooms in the building were all the same, and the showers down here were no different than they were upstairs, six stalls across with dark brown curtains you could draw for privacy. Only one of them was pulled closed, and that’s where she was sure the voice was coming from. It was the biggest shower stall, the handicapped-accessible one.

The one with the bench.

That’s when she knew she had to see him. Just the image of him stretched out on that tiled slab, cock in hand, had her gulping with lust. She could hear his breath now, fast and harsh. The shower wasn’t on and the tile under her feet was dry as she neared the curtain, listening to him moan and grunt behind it.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered-a true whisper this time, but she could hear it. He was just on the other side of the fabric barrier. Did she dare? “You like that cock? You like it up inside you like that?”

She actually had to bite her lip to keep from moaning her agreement, and without another thought, her hand slipped between the slit in her robe to cup her mound through the cotton stretch of her panties as she used just one finger of her other hand to inch the edge of the curtain aside.

That was all she needed.

It took all of her willpower not to gasp at the sight of him, like some bronzed Greek god. The bench was long enough for him to stretch out, and he was completely nude, a pair of boxers beside him on the floor, a dark-colored material-a robe-spread out beneath him over the tile’s surface. His eyes were closed-thank god-the hair on his head dark and curly, his mouth slightly open as he pumped his fist between his legs.

She took in all of this in an instant, the overhead fluorescents, which stayed on throughout the night, giving her a clear view of the lewd scene, and while she noted and appreciated the defined muscles in his arms, chest and stomach and the dark line of hair that extended from his navel downward, her real focus centered solely on his cock, thick and hard and fucking the fist wrapped around it.

She recognized him, of course-he was in her Comparative Religion class, and had been in her Psychology class two years before. She’d seen him coming and going, they’d even nodded “hi” to each other in passing. Her roommate Maureen had talked about him a few times-he was on the soccer team with Maureen’s boyfriend, James.

What was his name again? Steve…something…Brumbaugh? She couldn’t remember.

Leaning against the wall, she watched, unable to ignore the insistent pulse between her own legs. Her fingers slipped under the elastic leg of her panties, noting the wet cotton crotch, before parting the dark blonde tangle of curls that barred the way to her core. The heat of her pussy was incredible, and she slipped her fingers inside as she watched him thrust into his own fist.

She usually didn’t use any sort of penetration when she masturbated, preferring just to circle her clit to completion, but his cock made her weak with longing. He was imagining some girl fucking him, she knew, and she found herself wanting to be that girl, 4

aching to climb on top of him and go for a long, wet ride on that magnificent thing. She rocked her hand, back and forth, fingering herself, catching his rhythm, her thumb teasing her clit, and it took everything she had not to whimper in pleasure.

“Ohhh fuck! Don’t make me come yet!” He moaned, his head going back, his hips rocking up, his hand still now, squeezing so hard the tip of his cock practically turned purple. Carrie watched, trying to control her breath, as he slowly released his death grip and a thick trickle of pre-cum slid down the glorious length of his dick.

“That was close,” he whispered and she nodded in agreement, swallowing hard and leaning her hot forehead against the cool tile. He shook his cock a little from side to side and then slapped it gently against the hard muscles of his belly. Seeing him do that was both sexy and embarrassing-he thought he was completely alone, having a private fantasy, and she damned well knew she should get back to her room as fast as she could. Not only was she in danger of him seeing her, there was the added threat that anyone could walk into the bathroom at any minute.