How I Got Here
2.
It’s easy to forget how normal my life was, before it all happened. I lived in an ordinary apartment, and I was just a regular guy with a regular job. It was a decent apartment, but I sacrificed size and amenities for price and location, relatively near my work and in a decent neighborhood.
But one of the downsides was, among my other ordinary responsibilities, I had to do laundry in the communal laundry room in the basement, with the machines powered by quarters. There were only twelve units in the building, so it wasn’t too big an inconvenience to find a free machine, but it still meant that I found myself spending a little more time that evening climbing the stairs from my apartment to the laundry room. I know what you’re probably thinking, but I did not meet an attractive neighbor in the laundry room and have hot sex on top of the dryer. In fact, I didn’t actually, at the time, realize that anything was amiss.
I shouldn’t be so harsh, because I actually did encounter an attractive neighbor, Brie, who lived on the first floor. We exchanged pleasantries as she transferred her clothes to the dryer while I loaded the washer. For a moment, I too thought we might have wild and crazy sex on the dryer, but we did not. In hindsight, she may have been unusually friendly, but I was as oblivious then as I ever was before, so I can’t say for sure.
What I can tell you is that when I finally returned to my apartment and began to fold my laundry, a few choice female undergarments had mixed their way in with mine. I didn’t even know if they were Brie’s or not, though she was the obvious candidate. They were scandalous enough that I wasn’t going to ask her directly, so I assumed they were just left behind in the washer when I loaded it, and I planned to return them to the laundry room to leave them for the proper owner to claim later.
Later, I would suspect otherwise, but at the time, I thought nothing more of it.
Another important part of my normal life that I have long since abandoned was my job. It’s strange to think that every weekday morning, I got up and went to work, with the assumption that I would do so for the rest of my adult life. But it was at work that I started to learn how different my life was about to become.
I was a manager at the academic resources office of a local college. What that means is that I taught optional classes in study habits and test preparation, I helped coordinate between students and teachers when students fell behind on homework, administered makeup and third-party tests, and things like that. But mostly, I managed student worker tutors.
This meant that I worked every day with a gaggle of college girls. The school I taught at had an enrollment that was two thirds women, so the majority of my student staff were as well. They came in all shapes and sizes, and some were quite attractive. I was only five or six years older than the eldest of them, so it wasn’t too outrageous to think that they might be attracted to me as well. Fortunately, I only dealt with undergraduates from the liberal arts programs, or I might be working with people nearly my own age.
Once or twice, I’d even had subtle or not-so-subtle hints from students that they wanted some sort of romantic relationship with me. But that was clearly out of the question. Not only was it a breach of trust, but the university was Catholic-affiliated so the penalties were harsh.
I didn’t see my employees as potential partners, so I tried not to admire them physically that much. But with Katya, her physical charms forced themselves into your perception.
She was tall, with a porcelain face and high, elegant cheekbones. I never knew her natural hair color; at the time it was midnight purple. Sometime between her sophomore and junior years, her modest chest had increased to somewhere between healthy and buxom, though of course I would never ask her if she had gotten surgery.
Katya was a bit of a goth, or maybe an emo, or whatever the kids call it. She favored extensive makeup, though she was quite skilled at applying it, and chose striking shades of lipstick that called attention to her full mouth. Her clothing was always dark, often complexly styled, and teased right up to the line of how revealing she could get away with and remain appropriate for work. But she could tutor three subjects and missed fewer days than most employees, so I let her get away with it.
Katya was Russian, and I had heard rumors that her family was very wealthy. I didn’t know why she had an on-campus job at all, she obviously had money to afford her clothing and I didn’t imagine the small amounts the school paid for work study were important to doing so.
On that day, Katya was wearing a deep purple blouse which was just the slightest bit translucent. Under it, probably chosen for just this reason, you could just make out a bright red lacy bra. Her pants were black, tight, and leather. When she came in, the blouse was done up most of the way, but one or possibly two buttons had come open and she was now showing considerable cleavage. Rather than confront her, I sent her down to our storage to fetch some blank test booklets.
She came back a few minutes later without the booklets, and said in her exotic accent, “I am sorry, but the last box is too high, I cannot reach them. Can you come down to help?” I was only a few inches taller than Katya, but I figured she didn’t want to climb the stepladder in her high-heeled boots.
We descended together on the freight elevator into the basement of the building. Our offices shared a building with the athletic department, and our storage area was a locked cage in the basement, next to the swimming pool. The space was surprisingly dry, but the shell of the pool and its supporting framework, combined with the chain-link fencing creating the various storage areas, gave it an ominous air. Once we were in the large space, Katya scampered ahead, her footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Seeing no rush, I followed at a more reasonable pace.
I reached our storage area, back in a corner half obscured by a tower of gymnastic crash mats. Katya had taken the padlock off, but wasn’t immediately visible. I approached the cage to look for her among the shelves inside, when I heard her speak my name from behind me.
I turned around to see Katya standing next to the mats. She was naked from the waist up except for her lace choker. Her breasts were large, full, round and perky. They were too buoyant and lifted to be real, but blended naturally with her chest and did not have that fake air-bag look so common in pornography.
More importantly, she was showing them to me, and was visibly pleased that I was studying them so carefully.
“Do you like?” Katya asked, striding forward.
My mind was racing, but I had temporarily lost the power of speech. This was not happening again. This could not be happening again. Why was this happening again?
Katya took advantage of my temporary incapacity and closed the distance between us. She walked right up to me and kissed me, full on the lips. Her tongue invaded my mouth, and I could feel her tits against my chest.
I needed to stop this. But when Katya broke the kiss, instead of cooling things off, she hopped up on one of the lower stacks of mats, about four feet high, and sat on the edge. She began to undo her pants. The leather was tight against her skin, and she wiggled seductively as she slowly worked her hips, then her thighs, then the rest of her legs free.
Her panties matched her bra, and it was skimpy and lacy enough that I had no difficulty telling how neatly she kept herself trimmed. She knelt on the mats, her crotch at eye level, and swayed her hips. I don’t remember making a conscious decision, but I found myself climbing the mats up to join her.
I was willing and limp as she rolled me over and straddled my chest. She leaned down over me and dragged her wonderful breasts across my face, her nipple teasing across my lips. Somewhere a voice said that my job was at stake, and somewhere else, another voice said something was happening in my life that I didn’t understand, but I could barely hear either over the blood rushing in my head.
So instead of listening to those voices, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations. I felt Katya’s weight settling just above my hips. I felt her lips brush across my forehead. When I felt her nipple on my face again, I reached out with my lips and tongue and kissed it. I felt her slide her hips back and lower her torso, her breast squashing flatter into my mouth and face. I could smell her perfume, always a subtle thing when she was in the office, but powerful and overwhelming when she was this close.
Her crotch was now in direct contact with mine, though I was still clothed, and she must have been acutely aware of my intense arousal. Her hand slid in between us, rubbing against us both. Then, she was kissing me again, and pulling at my pants.
I was utterly passive, eyes still closed, lost in the absolute intensity and incredulity of the moment. I had heard of people being lost in passion, but it had never happened to me before. I don’t know how much time passed, but I didn’t open them until, with a shock, I realized that I wasn’t being kissed and that my stiff cock was being engulfed.
When I looked up again, I saw that Katya was straddling me, her underwear pushed aside, and she was sinking slowly down onto my erection. This was going to far. Disease, pregnancy, complications that would be bad for both of us. It came rushing back to me that she was a student, and I reached up to push her off.
She caught my wrists and laid my hands on her gorgeous breasts, and I forgot my plans and kneaded them for a little. She, meanwhile, had sunk down so that I was all the way inside her, and began to rock back and forth, very gently at first, but with increasing fervor as I tried to buck my hips in time with her.
I think this lasted a while, but I’m not really sure. I think Katya came several times astride me, but her moaning and thrashing seemed so over the top that I couldn’t help but suspect her of faking it for my benefit. I do know that at some point, I came inside her. The experience was so intense that my orgasm was almost an afterthought. A very pleasant afterthought, but just an afterthought.
The calm after my climax was soothing. Katya lay beside me, cuddling for a few moments, and I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, she and her scattered clothes were gone, and mine were neatly collected on the crash mat. I dressed and tentatively ascended back up to my office, unsure of what I would find.
It turns out, I’d slept for close to an hour. Katya was gone, her shift ended. My absence was noted, and I spent the rest of my shift terrified that someone would put together our departure together with my disappearance and complications would arise. However, by the end of the day, it was clear that nothing of the sort had happened. I had no direct supervisor to chastise me, and the other student employees accepted my explanation that something had suddenly come up without comment or whisper. It probably helped that, rather than happy and excited about my new activity, I was quiet and brooding.
What was going on? What were the chances that two hot women would randomly jump my bones in three days? I had no answers. I really wanted to talk to one of them again. If I could talk to one of them, maybe they could explain what happened. And maybe, just maybe, they would do it again. But Katya wasn’t on the schedule again for a few days, and I certainly wasn’t going to track her down on campus.
My best bet was to talk to Carrie at the next trivia night, if she showed. So that is what I resolved to do.