iPad Line Fun: Real Orgasm Erotic Story

It was about ten o'clock that night when Dylan started feeling he’d bitten off more than he could chew with this whole waiting in line overnight for the new iPad thing. He’d never done it before. As he had rocked up outside the Apple Store just after dinner that evening, around six p.m., he’d seen all the hardcore techy geeks already camping out there with their tents and sleeping bags and camping stoves, and he got the distinct impression that he was packing rather light for the night’s wait.

But it was the summer, school was out for good until they headed off to college in the autumn, so where was the need to stress about anything? He had his Kindle packed full of books he could quite happily bury his head in for hours and hours on end. It was wonderfully warm out, without a cloud in the sky. What did he need sleeping bags or tents for?

He got quite a good position in the line, considering—just around the corner from the store entrance. The speed the line was forming, in no time he could consider himself toward the front of the queue. He settled down just behind a gaggle of lively, talkative girls, and ahead of a gloomy bunch of black-haired emo types.

The girls all seemed to be close friends that had overlooked the possibility of one of them waiting in line for all of their purchasing needs when the next iPad officially went on sale. On the news that morning they’d been saying there would be limited supplies—the Apple guys would probably restrict it to one iPad per buyer.

It wasn’t the most comfortable place to hang out—sitting cross-legged with only a backpack holding a paltry few snacks and drinks to keep him comfortable. But he’d waited in airports in worse places for longer periods before. And having the gentle scent of perfume wafting past his nose every now and again from a group of undeniably attractive girls was mildly pleasant.

Gazing back on the great long line, it seemed that those waiting there were all circling into their own little cliques to wait out the night. It made Dylan feel very much on his own. He found some distraction in flicking surreptitious glances over to the girls if he started feeling solitary. There were five of them—two blondes, an Asian girl and two brunettes—all pretty and smiley and bouncy and perky. Behind, the emo crowd was less entertaining—sullen, moody, and difficult to tell even what gender many of them were. Those nearest to him turned their backs on him as they focused on their own little world of depressing iPod tracks, black clothing and random piercings.

Each to their own, however. Dylan had always been a little envious of those students who’d found their own sense of identity—he was just an average guy who really had nothing special to write home about. Perhaps college would be a chance to shine.

Sure, he did regret failing to check whether any of his friends might have wanted to come along, keep him company in the line. Isaac was never going to vacate a warm bed for even one night, of course, but Clyde and Justin were always able to find a hint of adventure in even the most unfortunate of circumstances. But they’d probably cackle at him for being a big geek, waiting all night just to get his hands on a new iPad. Why can’t you just wait until the next day, or the next week, when the rush will be over? They’d probably say something similar, anyway. Even if he told them it was his sister’s birthday the following day, and it was seriously important that he get her desperately-desired tablet before then, they probably wouldn’t understand.

For the first couple of hours he tried to focus on his book—a chunky Stephen King tome he hadn’t gotten around to reading yet, even though it had been out for a while.

“Hey, how’s it going?” his mom called at about eight o’clock, worried about her little man.

“Oh, fine, yeah. I got a good place in line.”

“Are you warm enough? Do you want me to bring some more clothing?”

“It’s sunny out.”

“It won’t be for much longer. It gets cold at night when there’s no clouds, Dylan.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He talked quietly into his iPhone, not wanting to be overheard, especially by the girls up ahead. He didn’t think they’d be listening in—they had their own constant stream of conversation about this album or that album or the latest relationship status of friends not currently present to protect themselves from gossip. Even so, he didn’t want them knowing the only person who knew he was here was his mother.

A little later, as the sun started to drop rapidly behind the other stores of this open-air mall, and the breeze took on a slight chill, he started to regret not asking his mother to bring something warm. He had a thin sweatshirt he could put on—but he’d been using that as a cushion the past couple of hours, after his butt went to sleep on that hard concrete sidewalk, and he was loath to go back to bare ground.

But seriously, when he glanced over and saw how attractive those girls were, and how much more stylishly they were dressed—and clearly more popular than him at whichever school they attended, you could tell from their bounding self-confidence levels—there was no way he could have faced a visit from his mom in front of them. How humiliating that would be. So he’d suffer in silence.

The light faded, and the light of his Kindle came on. Stephen King was always good for passing time—his conversational style had never failed to comfort Constant Reader Dylan, even if it was supposed to be horror fiction.

While he did his best to respect their privacy, some of the girls’ conversation did catch his ears from time to time.

About ten o’clock, a group of three guys turned up to say hello to the girls, and Dylan found himself trying to work out if any of them were actually dating. The girls were batting their eyelids like crazy as the guys were standing above them, hurling out gentle taunts about waiting in line all night with a bunch of tech geeks, the guys pushing out their chests like big pigeons to flaunt their athleticism, and Dylan had no doubt the three of them had been on the school football team or whatever. Probably had sports scholarships to somewhere impressive.

Dylan had never had particular ambitions in the field of sports, but he did find himself envious of the easy way in which the guys just walked on over here and started up a conversation with these girls. He’d been sitting here for hours, and hadn’t even introduced himself. Well, their backs were facing him. They hadn’t exactly invited it. Probably would have thought it pretty weird.

The guys weren’t going to stick around too long, however, after they discovered that nothing they could say would persuade the girls to bring their queuing ambitions to a halt and come hang out. They certainly weren’t going to join the girls and risk being mistaken for geeks—as if that could ever happen.

What made Dylan actively stop reading was the conversation after the guys withdrew.

The girls started gossiping about one of the guys having dated a girl they knew from Spanish class, and how he supposedly had the biggest cock, like, ever. Dylan was mildly shocked at how dirty the conversation went all of a sudden. He was a little surprised at how easily the girls discussed such things, that they were so apparently involved with sex, that it was so easy to talk about for them. Well, they were college girls now, pretty much.

A few of them seemed to be envious of the girl from Spanish class, but then the brunette in the turquoise top caught Dylan’s attention when she dismissed all of the guys out of hand.

“You’re insane!” her friends were of the same opinion about her.

“Are you kidding? They’re so much hard work!” she laughed. “Give me a vibrator and a pack of double-A batteries any day.”

The whole group had a good squealing laugh about that.

“Guys are so useless,” the brunette said. Dylan had already figured out from earlier conversation that she was called Noelle. There was something about her that made his heart tighten a little when he laid eyes on her, his breath catch, his pulse quicken a little.

“But they’re so nice-looking,” countered one of her friends—a blonde named Chrissy.

“Sure, but they just lie there and look nice and expect you to get all hot and sweaty until they’re ready to fuck—and then they’re in and out so quick. Where’s the reward?”

The other of her blonde friends, Sasha, added: “Yeah, and when they’re done, they really aren’t interested in anything. Except maybe sleep or a cigarette.”

“You just need to learn to get yourself going while you’re getting all hot and sweaty with them,” the Asian girl, Ellie, said.

“I guess so,” Noelle flashed her eyes. “But that kind of gets me back to the point that you’re better off with a Pocket Rocket.”

Dylan found himself gasping, blushing furiously, actually shocked at what these girls were talking about—especially Noelle. He couldn’t help but find himself heating up inside at their startling frankness, particularly when the pretty brunette in the turquoise top was talking about her own desires and experiences.

It did make him feel like a bit of a loser that he’d never really done anything with a girl before. Strange—he’d never been bothered by that before, figuring he was young, there was plenty of time at college to go looking for that kind of thing.

He found himself envious of whichever boys had been lucky enough to be with Noelle—and actually baffled that they wouldn’t want to be more careful about making sure she was satisfied in bed. God, if it was Dylan, he’d want to spend hours exploring her, finding out how to make her moan and shake and come like crazy. Putting his illicit after-dark reading into practice.

“Josie Bannister said she had an orgasm when she slept with her piano teacher,” Ellie said.

“Yeah, but he’s like 42. I mean, ewww.”

“35, she said.”

“Still. I’ve seen him—he looks like he’s 50.”

“So you’re gonna wait until you’re 35 to get an orgasm?” Sasha nudged Noelle with an elbow.

“Did you not hear me when I said I’m quite happy with my little Rocket?” Noelle replied.

Oh God, the thought of Noelle lying back in some bed, touching herself with some little piece of vibrating magic—Dylan had to change his position a little to give himself some room inside his pants.

He shook his head, knowing he was only setting himself up for disappointment by listening into their conversation. He fixed his eyes back on the continuing narrative of Stephen King, and the tale of a small town in Maine that is cut off from the outside world by a strange invisible forcefield.

But then Noelle’s words just cut through the air, “They’re all just lazy—they don’t care. They know as soon as they’re inside you, that’s it, they’ve scored another notch on their bedpost, and they don’t need to worry about anything else.”

Dylan ducked down, trying to stop himself from eavesdropping. Yet he was beginning to feel like sticking up for his gender—or at least, the members of his gender that attractive girls like these would never ever think to date.

“So you’re not going to ask Bobby Marrs out, then? You know he’s after you.” Another voice—Marie, one of the brunettes.

Noelle said: “I guess we can hang out before college. He’s probably just as pathetic as the rest of them.”

“He can bench 400 pounds apparently. You don’t want a piece of that?”

Noelle sighed. “I don’t really have any choice, huh?”

“If you don’t, people will say you’re frigid…” Ellie with a sing-song warning.

“I guess. He’s going to suck just like the rest of them.”

Dylan couldn’t take it anymore. The idea that a girl this beautiful, this sharp, this openly hungry for real pleasure was resigning herself to another half-assed fuck from some muscle-bound idiot made something hot and reckless rise in his chest. He closed the Kindle, sat up a little straighter, and cleared his throat.

“You know,” he said, loud enough for them to hear but not so loud the whole queue turned, “not every guy is like that.”

Five heads snapped around. Four of them looked amused or mildly annoyed at the interruption. Noelle’s eyes locked on his and stayed there. Up close, even in the dim mall lighting, she was devastating—soft brown hair that fell past her shoulders, clear skin with a faint scatter of freckles across her nose, full lips, and those bright, intelligent eyes that seemed to be measuring him in real time.

“Is that so?” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re volunteering as Exhibit A?”

His heart was hammering, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m just saying some of us actually give a shit whether the girl comes or not.”

Chrissy laughed. “Oh my God, he was listening the whole time.”

Sasha grinned. “Creepy much?”

But Noelle didn’t look away. She studied him for a long moment, then shifted so she was facing him more fully, her turquoise top stretching across her chest as she leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

“Dylan.”

“I’m Noelle. And you’re either full of shit or you’re the first guy I’ve met tonight who isn’t completely useless.” She tilted her head. “Which is it?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The other girls whooped and teased, but Noelle just kept looking at him like he’d said something interesting. A few minutes later the conversation drifted, the girls started talking among themselves again, but every so often Noelle’s eyes would flick back to him. Around eleven-thirty her friends decided they needed food and disappeared toward the food court, leaving Noelle sitting alone for a moment. She didn’t move away from him.

“It’s kind of nice talking to someone different for a change,” she said eventually. “I feel like I say the same things to the same people all the time.”

He caught a hint of her fragrance on the breeze—something light and sweet mixed with clean skin—and couldn’t help but melt a little inside. She had a girl-next-door freshness, a small-town sweetness, but the confidence of someone who knew exactly how she looked and what it did to people.

Dylan felt she’d mistaken his own reckless bravado for a similar innate confidence. Women liked confidence in a guy—he’d read that often enough—and yet the irony of it was, most really confident guys their age were the kind of selfish idiots that would never bother to please anyone but themselves, even if they had a goddess like this interested in them.

Oh, he felt all weak in the knees to have Noelle sitting so close to him, but he knew he had to attempt to portray some kind of confidence if he was going to maintain this veneer that had somehow enticed this princess from the school across town to come talk to a lowly frog.

“So it sounds as though girls at Marchmont are being hard done by when it comes to the guys,” he said, trying to sound casually headstrong.

“I guess we are,” she said, smiling broadly. “So are St Josephs guys so different?”

Dylan shrugged. “I think we probably have our own fair share of idiot jocks interested in no one but themselves.”

“But there’s also guys who could… you know… out-compete a vibrator?”

Was she being flirty with him?

“I should imagine there’s a few of us,” he said, once again surprising himself at how brazen he could be.

“And wait,” she said, “are you saying that’s because you guys have read up on how to do it, or are you saying St Josephs men can actually handle a girl telling them what she wants?”

“Both, I’ve no doubt at all.”

She flashed her eyes at him. “Intriguing.” He saw her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, drawing his eyes down to the alluring sight of her thighs. “You guys must have girls queuing up for dates, huh?”

“Not especially,” Dylan said, his mind scrambling for some kind of explanation other than—well, most guys who know how the biology of the female body works are so shy and socially awkward they won’t manage to even talk to a girl until at least college graduation.

Instead, he said: “Trouble is, I think a lot of girls don’t seem to know what they want.”

There was another pause. Dylan wondered if he’d offended her by suggesting girls didn’t know what they wanted in a guy. That all their problems were their own fault.

But she broke the pause by saying: “I know what I want.”

“That’s good. I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

Jumping Jehoshaphat—where did that come from? That was flirting, wasn’t it? Class-A, triple-distilled. Where on Earth did that come from?

Noelle said: “So Dylan, do you like it when a girl tells you what she wants?”

Dylan felt all aflutter—so light, he could have floated away if there had been any kind of breeze. Doing his utmost to keep calm and collected, maintain the pretense that he had some kind of confidence going on, he answered: “I can’t think of anything better. It usually means I can give her exactly what she wants—and then everyone’s happy.”

Oh, that wasn’t good. A white lie—making her think he was actually experienced. But she wouldn’t want to keep flirting with him if she knew he was a virgin, would she?

She nodded, buying his lie. “It doesn’t damage your manly reputation?”

“Of course not. If I know what a girl wants, I can make her feel amazing, and surely that makes me more of a man?”

She gave him a mock swoon, fanning her face with a hand like a Southern lady. “Lord have mercy,” she said. “Where do I sign up for whatever college St Joseph’s boys go to?”

Dylan smiled, feeling so warm inside, he didn’t even need an extra sweater now. “This time of year? Good luck.”

She laughed.

Then he looked up to see Noelle’s friends all returning bearing brown paper bags stuffed full of fast food, and his heart sank. Was that it? Now that her friends had returned, she wasn’t going to want to be seen talking to someone who looked like him, a guy with no puffed-out chest or anything—just unkempt black hair and old clothes that were kind of fraying at the edges.

But as the other girls approached, she didn’t move an inch, remaining sitting right where she was beside him.

“Guys, this is Dylan,” she called out. “He’s cool.”

“Hey, Dylan!” Dylan flushed a little, though he tried not to.

“And Dylan, this is Ellie, Chrissy, Sasha and Marie.”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“We had the feeling you might be joining us, Dylan,” Chrissy said, and to his utter surprise handed a brown paper bag to him. “Quarter-pounder okay? We figured if you’re man enough to stand up to Noelle here, you probably wouldn’t want anything less.”

“Seriously?” he asked, but felt overjoyed at being included in the meal.

As proper darkness came, Dylan was surprised to find people in the queue actually bedding down in sleeping bags and—a few—in tents. It seemed ripe for some unscrupulous types to find ways to jump the line, but he supposed that everyone knew well who was in front and behind them in the queue, so it would be easy to self-police the line.

Over a pleasant supper, Dylan found himself fitting into his new circle of adopted friends comfortably. They seemed to make certain social assumptions about him based on the fact that he was hanging out with them—that he liked certain bands, that he must be a regular party-goer and all-round social alpha-male at St Josephs.

He did his best not to lie, but saw no reason to correct their views of him, either.

He found out more about Noelle and her friends—they seemed so normal to him, even though they were all like minor deities to him. They didn’t seem to talk much about the whole reason they were all there—the upcoming iPad launch—and he began to suspect that only Chrissy was anything close to being an Apple geek.

They seemed quite impressed that he was queuing through the night on behalf of his sister—that got him some brownie points, and a lovely smile from the enchanting Noelle.

Conversation was easier when there were more people to share in it, and Dylan found that although he was grilled quite a bit as the newcomer to the group, he was able to leave the talking to the others when the subject came round to areas in which he was not an expert.

Compared to everyone else in the line, their group seemed to stay up much later—into the small hours. Until midnight came and went, the girls’ conversation appeared to steer clear of the kind of dirty subjects they had been talking about before Dylan came along. But as they passed into the day on which the mighty iPad would be launched, things began to loosen up a little again.

All through the evening since he’d joined them, Dylan had been given the strange sense that the other girls were trying to get him interested in Noelle. He thought at first that it was just his ego going nuts because a pretty girl had actually shown him a tiny bit of attention that night.

But as things drew on, it was hard to mistake it.

There were the unabashed attempts to impress him with something about her.

Ellie saying at one point, “You know, Noelle’s, like, one of the best swimmers in the Marchmont team?”

Chrissy telling him: “Noelle’s going to get into law school, you know that, Dylan? She’s so brainy. She’s Ivy League brainy.”

Or the fact that she’d once been on Good Morning America as a seven-year-old, or the fact that she used to be the best gymnast in middle school before she took up swimming because it was less traumatic on the joints.

There was the way that every now and then when some small detail about Dylan emerged—his passion for travel, for example, or his love of movies—they tried to point out how his interests fit so well with Noelle’s.

“Noelle drags us to the movies, like, all the time.”

“Hey, haven’t you been to Italy, Noelle?”

Noelle seemed to be good at fending off the more obvious attempts, and Dylan just found himself ignoring it in order to protect himself from blushing. What was going on?

After midnight, and a lot of the queue-goers around them seemed to be fast asleep, all bedded down and blanketed up, and the girls’ voices might have gotten a little quieter out of respect for the sleepers around them, but their conversation topic took a distinct turn for the filthy again.

Somebody had said there was a rumor that St Josephs people had regular rainbow parties, or at least that’s what Chrissy had asked Dylan about once things started getting more relaxed and there were less concerns about the queuers around them overhearing.

Dylan wasn’t entirely up to speed on what rainbow parties were, but he had five faces eagerly after information on whether he could substantiate or deny these rumors.

He was a little put out that they should assume a normal guy would know what one of these ‘rainbow parties’ was. Was he so sheltered? Did normal guys know all about this?

He assumed it was some kind of drug thing. Psychedelic drug-taking, perhaps. People seeing rainbows as they hallucinate. Or maybe it was a gay thing—wasn’t a rainbow flag a symbol for the gay community?

“Sure, I’ve heard they happen,” he said dismissively. “It’s not really for me.”

“Not for you? You ever been invited?” Chrissy pushed him.

“Sure.”

“So what, you said ‘no’?”

“It’s not really for me.”

There were a few eyebrows at that. Noelle gave him a funny look, and he couldn’t quite work out whether she was somehow impressed at him—no doubt for keeping his nose out of drugs—or baffled as to why he should pass up such an opportunity.

Or maybe she could tell he’d told a white lie hoping they’d just drop the subject.

She said: “I thought you said guys from St Josephs were above all that demeaning stuff.”

He was a little confused himself. Maybe he’d got the meaning of the term ‘rainbow party’ wrong. He said: “I didn’t say all of us, did I?”

She said, with a skeptical note: “And you’re seriously telling us you turned down a whole night of free blow jobs?”

His ears burned. A whole evening of what-what? Now he suddenly found himself wanting a quiet corner where he could consult Google via his iPhone.

“I don’t know, sounds like a weird thing to me,” he said.

She said: “Doesn’t it?”

He felt a sudden drop in tension in the air—he did not like lying to this girl. It really was not worth it. Ellie said: “Robbie Fallon and Archie Settler have been trying to talk girls in our school to throw one for ages.”

“It’s an urban myth,” Sasha said. “Nobody really does that.”

“But they do at St Josephs?”

“Well, I’ve never actually seen one,” Dylan said, feeling himself hot under the collar, really wanting them to drop this subject.

“I bet you have,” Ellie said. Were they taking the wrong interpretation of his blushing?

Noelle looked at him and gasped, putting her hands to her mouth—was she kidding around again? She said: “You have, haven’t you?”

“No, I—”

She said: “I thought you said you were all read up on, you know, how to please a girl in bed. You’re all in tune with how to make them… you know. And you’ve been to a rainbow party?”

Dylan felt sick. Maybe he had been wrong to think Noelle had ever really liked him, and that this group of girls was simply setting him up for a fall. Toying with him. He was disappointed in the revelation that he was an idiot, though.

He said, pointlessly, “Maybe some of those girls like it.”

Jesus, he was defending an urban myth now.

“Like it? A whole evening of giving guys blow jobs? And what do they get for their trouble other than a face full of jizz?” Noelle huffed again. She said: “That’s the thing, isn’t it? Girls will do that sort of thing to make guys happy, but guys won’t do it for girls.”

The conversation kept circling back to the same frustration—guys who took and never gave, who treated sex like a race to their own orgasm and then checked out. Dylan listened, nodded, and every time Noelle’s eyes met his he felt that same reckless heat climb higher in his chest. Eventually the other girls started yawning and peeling off toward their own sleeping bags and blankets. Chrissy made a pointed comment about leaving the two of them alone, and then it was just Dylan and Noelle sitting close in the dark, the long line of sleeping bodies stretching away on either side.

She shifted closer until their knees touched. “You really meant what you said earlier?”

“Which part?”

“About liking it when a girl tells you what she wants.”

His mouth went dry. “Yeah. I did.”

Noelle studied his face for a long moment, then stood up and held out her hand. “Come on. I need to stretch my legs.”

He took it. Her fingers were warm and soft and slightly damp. She led him away from the line, past the edge of the mall toward the quieter parking lot where a handful of cars sat under the sodium lights. They walked between two SUVs and she stopped, turning to face him.

“Are you still up for letting me tell you what to do?”

“Letting you?” he joked. “I don’t think you get how to do this.”

She rolled her eyes, but then she said: “Fine. Then I’ll just tell you.”

“Sure.”

“Kiss me. Now.”

Something like a small hand grenade went off inside his upper chest. He couldn’t hear it, but the burst of intense heat and shock from the blast was quite clearly detectable.

What did she just say?

But he hardly had a moment to process what she’d demanded of him as she pushed him back against the black four-by-four vehicle, launching herself at him. Complete surprise and overwhelming confusion made him putty in her hands.

“Okay…” he said as she pulled him down to her level, placing her hands on his chest.

His chest filled with her sweet perfume, and his whole body trembled with pent-up desire and shock. She was so close to him, he could see her individual freckles, even in this low light. Her eyes, highlighted by mascara and eyeliner, were astonishingly beautiful—so bright and sparkling with intelligence.

Then suddenly he felt the heat of her face on his, and her soft breath dancing on his skin, and then her lips were nudging against his, so he could feel the slight waxy texture of her lipstick.

She was kissing him. The most attractive girl he’d ever met. Kissing. Him.

It wasn’t quite his first kiss, but it might as well have been.

She sucked gently on his lips, and then he found his hands moving up to hold her head, almost checking to see if she was real, solid, not some kind of wonderful dream as he lay sleeping crumpled in a queue outside the Apple store.

More than a little insecure in his inexperience, he took his cues from her, he tried to learn from her, he mirrored her moves, gently sucking on her sweet lips, nudging his nose against hers, reveling in the velvet softness of her cheeks against his, inhaling her tantalizing scent with every fathomless breath.

Time just seemed to slow down and stop, as they entered a little world of their own.

Noelle smiled at him even while they continued kissing, and it sent his temperature skyrocketing. He felt her press against him, and to his horror realized she must be able to feel the massive erection that her incredible attention was causing. Yet she didn’t seem horrified by it—she actively pressed herself tighter against him, and suddenly as her kiss lingered, he felt her tongue delving between his lips—oh God, she was so hot.

“Oh my God…” she said, breathless like she’d just run the 100 metres in the Olympics, her eyes flickering all over his, her brow creased as though in confusion. “How did you learn to kiss like that?”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer—thankfully, since he didn’t know what exactly to say. Probably not a good idea to tell her he’d only really ever learned anything from her. She was kissing him, pressing herself up against him, her tongue sliding inside his mouth, now, not holding back.

He tried to give as good as he got, but her passionate energy was intense, and like lying under a refreshing waterfall, he just had to let the incredible power flow over him.

As she kissed him, he found he did really enjoy her taking control. Ever since his blundering fumblings in eighth grade, the few times he’d been lucky enough to find another girl interested in a little smooching, the girl had always pretty much opened her mouth and sat there.

This was electric. And now as he found himself sucking on her tongue, Noelle was grabbing his hands, and forcing them up her chest, demanding he touch her breasts.

“Just there…” she breathed as his fingers closed around the sensational shape of her cleavage.

Oh God in Heaven, he was actually holding her beautiful round breasts, and she actually wanted him to. He could feel the stiffness of her nipples, even through her bra and top.

Dylan took direction from her, and at first she seemed to find it strange, leading him. Putting his hands where she wanted them, guiding the speed and intensity of their kiss. For a moment, she looked at him, her eyes open, trying to figure him out. Perhaps check whether he was only allowing her to lead as some kind of lame follow-up to his earlier suggestions, all one long strategy to get her interested in him.

But he could see her come to believe that this was wonderful for him—he didn’t feel any sleight against his masculinity, how could he? He was entangled in the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He touched her tenderly, and she seemed to respond to his gentle coaxing of her sensationally soft breasts, writhing and emitting the sexiest moans. But with the incredible sweetness of her kiss, he found himself slipping into a strange kind of dream state, lulled into a strange calm by the exquisite dance of the senses, and somehow he was losing himself in her.

When he realized her shirt had ridden up, and her bra had slipped down, and his hands were sprawling over her smooth, soft bare flesh, grazing over her hard nipples without hindrance, he was surprised and a touch confused about how they’d got to that state. Noelle appeared ecstatic that he was touching her like that, however.

“Kiss me down here,” she said softly, almost a whisper, and he found himself kissing down her soft neck, breathing in the gentle sweet scent from her skin as he moved down.

And then he was taking her nipple inside his hot mouth, tasting her soft flesh, brushing his tongue over her sensitive bud, drawing out a deep long sigh as he began sucking on her.

“Oh, that’s it… just like that…”

Caressing her hot flesh with his lips, teasing her with his tongue, sucking with increasing intensity, her sighs turned to moans, and Dylan found that confirmation of her pleasure the hottest thing he could remember.

“Oh, don’t stop…”

Why should it somehow demean a guy’s manhood to make the girl’s pleasure his priority? Surely succeeding in achieving this genuine delight should be taken as demonstrating real and proven manhood.

After a while, her moans were almost yelps, and Noelle furiously pulled his face to hers, kissing him with wild abandon, her hands closing over his to force him to virtually crush her cleavage in his fingers.

At last, she let out a big long groan, her body seeming to shudder as he held her, as though someone had switched on an electric current to flow through her shapely frame.

“Oh my God,” she said, completely struggling for breath. “Oh. My. God.”

“Are you okay?” he asked her, a little confused at the apparent look of shock in her face. Had he hurt her somehow? Had he gone too far?

Was he in trouble for touching her breasts like that?

God, all those warnings from his teachers at St Josephs came flooding back—he heard the words of some imagined judge somewhere: inappropriate touching, forcing himself upon her, non-consensual molestation…

But then her pretty face broke out into the most enchanting smile, her big blue eyes so wide and filled with joy, and she looked at him as though he’d just given her the most amazing gift ever.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” she breathed, her voice full of wonder.

“I’m sorry…” he said, still not understanding.

She shook her head. “It’s a myth, an urban myth,” she said. “You’re not supposed to actually be able to do that.”

“I kind of got carried away, I guess…” he said, beginning to see that he wasn’t in trouble, even finding it amusing how apparently slow his brain was being after being so doped up on the extraordinary experience of kissing Noelle.

“I mean, I never did that before, not with a guy,” she said, then kissed his lips briefly again. “And you did it just by kissing me and touching me.”

He felt incredibly warm inside. And how was it that making this girl feel this way felt more of a satisfying achievement to him than getting into Stanford?

“We should get back to the line,” Noelle said, pulling up her bra and pulling down her top. “They’ll all be talking about us, I bet.”

“We haven’t been gone that long,” he said, but fishing his iPhone out of his pocket was rather startled to find they’d been gone nearly an hour.

“I wish we could, but I will never live it down if those guys knew you just made me come, and we haven’t even had a first date yet.”

Oh wow. He felt himself blush all the shades of scarlet as she took his hand and showed him over to where her car was parked. The undeniable confirmation he’d made her come seemed to set off fireworks inside his whole body—and her use of the word ‘yet’, suggesting that they would be having a first date at some point in the near future, that just made him fizz all over.

He was vaguely disappointed that they couldn’t just abandon the whole idea of waiting in line for an iPad. Go off and try a little more kissing, a little more touching. Only his mother knew he was there at the Apple store anyway—he’d just tell her the competition for iPads had been so intense, there hadn’t even been enough for all the people in the queue.

He’d think of an alternative present for his sister—sure it wouldn’t be as great, but hey.

He knew that was a selfish feeling, and his head was able to override his heart even before Noelle grabbed his hand and led him on to a tiny little beaten-up Volkswagen that seemed like a very down-to-earth car for a girl as hot as Noelle to drive.

“It’s my baby,” she said, proudly patting the roof. “Say ‘hi’ to Rowena.”

“Hi, Rowena,” he said, and made her giggle.

“The others tease me about her,” she said. “But she’s the most reliable old girl you’ve ever seen.”

They stood there a moment longer, the night air cool against their flushed skin, then she tugged him back toward the line. By the time they slipped back into their places most of the surrounding people were deeply asleep. Noelle had a double sleeping bag she’d brought; she unzipped it and spread it out, then looked at him with a quiet intensity that made his stomach drop.

“Get in,” she whispered.

He did. She climbed in after him, zipped it most of the way, and then the two of them were pressed together in the dark, the thin fabric the only barrier between their bodies and the entire sleeping queue. Her hand found his and guided it under her top again. He cupped her bare breast, felt the nipple harden instantly against his palm. She made a soft sound and shifted closer, throwing one leg over his hip so that the heat of her pussy pressed against his thigh through her thin cotton panties.

“You still want me to tell you what to do?” she breathed against his ear.

“Yes.”

“Then get down there and make me come with your mouth. And don’t stop until I say.”

His cock throbbed so hard it hurt. He slid down inside the sleeping bag, the air growing warmer and thicker with every inch. Her turquoise top rode up as she settled on her back. He kissed the soft plane of her stomach, tasted the faint salt of her skin, then reached the edge of her pink panties. The scent of her arousal hit him like a drug—spicy, musky, sweet. He pressed his face against the damp cotton and inhaled, then licked along the soaked fabric, tasting her through it.

Noelle’s hips twitched. She lifted the edge of the bag just enough to look down at him, her eyes dark and hungry. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and peeled the panties down her legs. She kicked them off somewhere into the bottom of the bag. And then there she was—bare, smooth, glistening in the faint light that filtered through the fabric. Her outer lips were plump and flushed, her inner folds shiny with juice, her clit already swollen and peeking out.

Dylan settled between her thighs and dragged his tongue slowly from the bottom of her slit all the way up to her clit. The taste flooded his mouth—tangy, rich, addictive. He moaned against her and she answered with a choked little gasp, her hands flying to his hair. He licked again, slower, spreading her open with his thumbs so he could see every glistening fold. Then he sealed his mouth over her and sucked, tongue working in tight circles around her clit while two fingers slid easily into her soaking cunt.

She was so wet the sounds were filthy even muffled by the sleeping bag—wet squelches every time he pumped his fingers. He curled them, searching, and when he found the slightly rougher spot inside her she bucked hard, nearly smothering him. He didn’t stop. He licked and sucked and fucked her with his fingers, learning the rhythm of her hips, the way her thighs trembled when he hit the right pace. When she started grinding against his face he let her, pressing his tongue flat and hard so she could use it. Her juices coated his chin, his nose, his cheeks. He was drowning in her and he never wanted to come up for air.

Noelle’s breathing turned ragged. She clamped a hand over her own mouth, but the muffled cries still leaked out. Her other hand fisted in his hair, holding him exactly where she needed him. He sucked harder on her clit, flicked it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, and drove his fingers deeper, faster. Her cunt clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, then tightened like a fist. She came hard—hips jerking, thighs locking around his head, a flood of fresh wetness pouring over his tongue and chin. He kept licking through it, gentler now, drawing every last tremor out of her until she finally pushed his head away with shaking hands.

He crawled back up. She pulled him into a deep, filthy kiss, tasting herself on his mouth, and whispered, “Your turn. Pants off. Now.”

He fumbled with his belt and zipper. She helped, shoving his jeans and boxers down his legs in one impatient motion. His cock sprang free, thick and rigid, the head already shiny with precum. Noelle stared at it for a second, then looked up at him with a wicked little smile.

“Nice,” she murmured. Then she disappeared back down into the bag.

The first touch of her tongue made him bite back a groan. She licked a long, slow stripe from base to tip, then swirled around the head, tasting the precum that kept leaking out. When she took him into her mouth it was wet, hot, perfect. She sank down until her lips stretched wide around his shaft, then pulled back with a long suck that made his toes curl. Her hand wrapped around the base and stroked in time with her mouth. She hummed around him, the vibration traveling straight to his balls.

Dylan lifted the edge of the bag just enough to watch. The sight of Noelle’s pretty face between his thighs, lips stretched around his cock, eyes half-lidded with concentration, almost finished him. She caught him looking and smiled around his shaft, then deliberately took him deeper, gagging softly when he nudged the back of her throat. Spit ran down his cock and over her fingers. She didn’t care. She kept sucking, messy and eager, one hand rolling his balls while the other pumped the base.

He was close too fast. “Noelle—”

She pulled off with a wet pop. “Not yet.” She reached somewhere into the bottom of the bag, produced a condom, tore it open with her teeth, and rolled it down his length with practiced fingers. Then she straddled him, the sleeping bag tenting over both of them, and guided the head of his cock to her dripping entrance.

She sank down in one slow, continuous motion. The heat of her cunt closed around him like a fist—tight, silky, impossibly wet. He groaned into her neck. She didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, her ass resting against his thighs. For a moment she just sat there, breathing hard, adjusting. Then she started to move.

She rode him with deliberate rolls of her hips, rising until only the head remained inside her, then dropping back down with a wet slap. The sleeping bag trapped the sound, but every time she bottomed out he felt the impact all the way through his body. Her tits swayed under the turquoise top. He pushed it up and sucked one nipple into his mouth while she fucked herself on his cock. She moaned softly and ground harder, her clit dragging against his pubic bone with every downward stroke.

“Harder,” she whispered. “Fuck me harder.”

He gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her, driving deep. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier. Her juices soaked his balls and the tops of his thighs. She braced her hands on his chest and bounced faster, her cunt gripping and releasing him in a perfect rhythm. When she leaned forward and kissed him he tasted her earlier orgasm still on his own tongue. She bit his lower lip and came again, this time quieter but deeper—her whole body shuddering, inner walls fluttering wildly around his cock.

He flipped them without pulling out. Now she was on her back and he was between her legs, driving into her with long, hard strokes. The sleeping bag restricted his movement just enough to make every thrust deliberate and deep. He hooked one of her legs higher, opening her wider, and pounded into that same spot that had made her come on his fingers earlier. She buried her face against his shoulder to muffle the sounds she couldn’t stop making. Her nails dug into his back.

“Don’t stop—fuck, Dylan, right there—don’t you fucking stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked her through a third orgasm, feeling her soak him all over again, and still kept going. Sweat slicked both their bodies. The air inside the bag was thick with the smell of sex—pussy, precum, sweat, the faint latex of the condom. When he finally felt his own climax building he slowed, wanting to last, but Noelle wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

“Come,” she ordered against his ear. “Fill the condom. I want to feel you lose it.”

That was all it took. He drove in hard one last time and came with a muffled groan, cock pulsing in thick, endless spurts. She held him through it, squeezing around him, milking every drop. When the last aftershock faded he collapsed half on top of her, careful not to crush her, both of them panting.

They stayed locked together for a long time, listening to the quiet night and the distant sounds of the mall. Eventually she reached between them, pinched the base of the condom, and eased him out. She tied it off and tucked it somewhere discreet, then pulled her panties back on and snuggled against his chest.

“You’re staying right here until morning,” she whispered. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He wasn’t done either. An hour later, when the line around them was still deeply asleep, she woke him with her mouth on his cock again—slow, deliberate sucks that brought him back to full hardness. This time she didn’t bother with a condom. She straddled him facing away, guided him into her bare cunt, and rode him reverse-cowgirl style, the sleeping bag covering everything except the wet slap of skin and the soft, broken sounds she made every time he bottomed out. He reached around and rubbed her clit while she fucked him, and she came again with a silent, full-body shudder that milked another orgasm out of him. He flooded her, hot and thick, and she kept moving until every last drop was pushed deep inside.

Near dawn she climbed on top once more, this time slow and tender, kissing him the whole time while she rocked herself to one last quiet climax on his spent cock. When the sky finally began to lighten they straightened their clothes as best they could, shared a thermos of lukewarm coffee someone had passed down the line, and waited for the store to open.

Dylan got his sister’s iPad. Noelle got one too. They exchanged numbers right there on the sidewalk while the morning sun warmed their faces. She kissed him one more time—slow, thorough, full of promise—and whispered, “Next time we do this somewhere with a real bed. And I get to tell you what to do for hours.”

He walked home still tasting her on his tongue, the imprint of her body burned into his skin, already counting the hours until he could see her again.