The lecture got canceled at the last minute, some bullshit about the prof being sick. I didn’t have cash to hang out with the guys, so I just dragged my broke ass home earlier than usual. Sun was blasting through the windows, the house dead quiet except for the fan humming upstairs.

Then I saw her: Ellen.

That quiet, nerdy Chindo girl who rents the room next to mine. Twenty-one, tiny waist, killer thighs, always wearing those big black-rimmed glasses even when she naps. She was knocked out cold on the living-room couch like she owned the place, one arm flung over her head, the other dangling off the edge. Black oversized t-shirt had ridden all the way up to her ribs, and that tight little skirt she wears to campus was twisted high enough to show miles of smooth, pale leg.

Fuck me.

I stood in the doorway for a solid minute just staring. Her glasses were crooked, lips glossy and parted, chest rising slow under the shirt (no bra, obviously, those perky B-cups with the hard little nipples poking straight through the cotton). One knee was bent, the other straight, skirt barely covering her ass. I could already feel my dick swelling.

Nobody home. Perfect.

I crept closer, barefoot so the floor wouldn’t creak. Dropped to my knees beside the couch and let my hand hover over her thigh. The skin looked insane, soft, hairless, a little goosebumpy from the fan. I started at her knee and dragged my fingers up, slowly, watching her face the whole time. No reaction. Higher… inside her thigh now, that warm, silky spot that makes girls squirm when they’re awake. She just sighed in her sleep and shifted her leg wider. Invitation accepted.

I slid my palm fully up, cupping the fullest part of her thigh, thumb brushing the edge of her skirt. So fucking warm. I could feel the heat coming off her pussy from here. I pushed the skirt higher, bunching it around her waist, and there they were: pure white cotton panties, high-cut, hugging her mound like they were painted on. A tiny damp spot already in the center. The little slut was having a dirty dream.

I leaned in, breathing her in (clean skin, faint vanilla lotion, and that sweet, musky girl-smell that makes my mouth water). My other hand went straight for her tits. Slid under the hem of her shirt and cupped one soft mound, thumb flicking over the nipple. It stiffened instantly. I squeezed gently, rolled it between my fingers, watched her lips part on a silent moan. Still out cold.

Then she moved.

A lazy stretch, hips rolling, and suddenly she was on her back, one leg falling off the couch, the other bent and flopped open. The skirt flipped all the way up. Those white panties were fully exposed now, stretched tight across her pussy lips, the fabric so thin I could see the perfect outline of her slit, the little bump of her clit poking through. The wet spot had grown, dark and obvious. She was soaked in her sleep.

I lost it.

I shoved my shorts down just enough to free my cock, already dripping, and wrapped my fist around it while my other hand went straight between her legs. I traced one finger up the center of her panties, pressing the cotton into her folds. She was burning hot. I rubbed slow circles over her clit through the fabric and felt her hips twitch, just once, like her body knew exactly what it wanted.

I kept my strokes slow at first, just one finger gliding up and down her slit, spreading that slick honey everywhere. She was so fucking wet already; the cotton was plastered to her lips like a second skin, and every time I dragged my finger upward the fabric peeled away with a soft, wet sound that made my cock jerk in my fist.

I hooked the crotch of her panties to the side again and stared, couldn’t help it. Her pussy was flushed dark pink, lips swollen and parted like a flower opening for me. A bead of her juice clung to her entrance, trembling, then dropped onto the couch cushion. I caught the next one with my tongue straight from the source, just a quick flick, and her whole body shivered.

Two fingers now. I pressed them together and eased in, slow enough to feel every ridge inside her. Tight, ridiculously tight, like she hadn’t been fucked in months. Her walls fluttered around me instantly, sucking me deeper. I curled them upward, found that soft, spongy spot, and rubbed in tiny circles. Her hips answered with the tiniest roll, chasing my hand even in her sleep.

“Fuck, Ellen…” I whispered, barely air.

I started pumping, slow, deep strokes, twisting my wrist on every pull-out so my knuckles dragged against her front wall. My thumb settled on her clit, pressing the soaked cotton down hard and rubbing fast little figure-eights. The wet sounds were obscene, slick, sloppy, loud in the quiet room. Her pussy was gushing now, coating my fingers, dripping down my wrist, running over her asshole in shiny streaks.

I added a third finger, stretching her open wider, and her thighs twitched hard. A soft, broken whimper slipped out of her throat, high and needy, glasses fogging slightly from her own breath. I could feel her getting close; her walls started that rhythmic flutter, clamping down every time I curled my fingers.

I leaned in close, mouth right against the shell of her ear, and breathed, “Come for me, baby… let that tight little pussy soak my hand while you dream.”

I sped up, fucking into her hard and fast now, palm slapping softly against her mound, thumb grinding her clit mercilessly. Her whole body tensed, back arching off the couch, toes curling. Then she shattered, quiet but violent, pussy spasming around my fingers in long, milking pulses, fresh cream flooding out and drenching my hand up to the wrist. Her hips bucked once, twice, riding my fingers through it, a tiny, sleepy cry muffled against the pillow.

I kept stroking gently, drawing it out until the last tremor faded and she went completely limp again, thighs trembling, panties ruined, pussy glistening and open like I’d wrecked her.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

I leaned down, pressed my mouth right over her panty-covered pussy, and sucked. Hard. Tasted her through the cotton, sweet and salty, inhaled that perfect scent while my tongue pushed the fabric between her lips. I could feel her clit throbbing against my tongue. One more deep suck and I felt her hips buck, a soft, sleepy moan vibrating in her throat as she came quietly, soaking the panties even more, her pussy clenching around nothing now that I’d pulled my fingers out.

I stood up fast, cock in hand, ready to paint her, but then I heard it: footsteps on the stairs. Mom’s voice calling from upstairs, “Ren? You home already?”

Fuck.

I shoved my dripping cock back in my shorts, wiped my fingers on my thigh, yanked her skirt down just enough to look innocent, and bolted to my room like my life depended on it. Shut the door, leaned against it, heart pounding, still tasting her on my lips.

Ten seconds later I heard Mom walk past the living room, pause, then chuckle. “Ellen, sweetie, your skirt…”

I came in my shorts right there, biting my fist so no one would hear me groan her name. Part two’s gonna be when she “wakes up” with my cum drying on those cute white panties and wonders why she feels so fucking good.

Sweet dreams, Ellen.  

Your pussy already knows my fingers by heart.