Meet the Baumgartners

“Suck me off, baby, while I lick your sweet little cunt.”

Oh yes. That was her other favorite thing. It was no wonder she’d decided batting for the other team wasn’t such a bad idea, given how much oral sex she’d shared with 5

girlfriends in high school and college. She loved the taste of pussy almost as much as she loved sucking cock. Maybe more. God, it was so hard to choose.

“That’s it, alllll around the tip,” he urged, and her eyes widened as he licked his hand and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, easing it over the already slick head of his cock. He began to stroke it that way, no fist this time, just the circle of his finger and thumb moving over the head.

Right where I want my mouth, she thought, her fingers busy again, this time back at her clit instead of inside. She’d stopped worrying about him seeing her-he was too focused on what he was doing to notice or probably care- and hell, so was she.

“Oh god, I love the taste of your pussy,” he murmured, and Carrie flushed as she quickly tasted herself, musky and pungent, before slipping her fingers back into her panties. They were soaked now, and she didn’t dare rub herself too hard, or he would hear the wet sound of her pussy. “Yeah, baby, come all over my face!”

Oh god. She rocked her hips, biting her lip hard as she did as she was told, imagining his tongue, his hands gripping her hips. Her clit throbbed with her climax, her pussy clamping down hard, and she wished, for the first time in a long time, that she had a cock inside of her as she came- his cock.

“Ahhhhhh god, I’m gonna come in your mouth!” he growled, bucking up, his fist taking over, pumping so fast it was all a blur. “Take it! Swallow it!”

Carrie did, lifting her wet fingers to her mouth again and sucking deep, watching a hot flood of cum spill over his knuckles. His belly clenched and rolled as he moaned with pleasure, his cum frothing over the head of his dick as he thrust hard into his hand.

“Oh fuck,” he murmured, his other arm thrown over his eyes. He was panting now, catching his breath, and she was glad, because so was she, and she didn’t want him to hear her. When he sat up quickly, she nearly ran, but then he was standing, tossing his boxers onto the bench, his back to her as he quickly washed off in the shower.

She dared to linger, knowing she shouldn’t, appreciating this new view, his ass cheeks clenching as he lathered his cum-covered cock with the soap from the dispenser on the wall. I could use a shower, she thought, watching the water bead on his tanned skin. The sight of him was mesmerizing, and she blamed her slow response on her fixation when he quickly twisted the knob to turn off the water, twisting to grab his robe.

The sudden motion startled her, and it would have been fine if the tile beneath her feet hadn’t been wet and soapy from his quick shower, the second drain behind her designed to capture the runoff. She didn’t just step back, she leapt back, and slipped, going down hard on the tile-so hard her teeth rattled.

“What the hell?”

The curtain flew open and he stood there in his robe, his boxers in hand, gaping down at her.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized meekly from the floor, her whole body burning with embarrassment. It was horribly awkward, but she scrambled to her feet, making a bee-line to the exit.

“Hey!” he called after her, but she straight-armed the door, tearing up the stairs and into her room.

She stood there, panting harshly in the darkness, waiting for Maureen to wake up and ask what in the hell was going on. When she didn’t, Carrie slid out of her robe and stripped off her wet socks, shoving them shamefully under the bed before climbing into it and hiding under the covers, hoping morning would never come.

* * * *

Carrie hated working in the cafeteria. Nothing screamed “I’m poor!” more than serving her classmates food every day. But she was poor. And they all had wealthy parents. Hell, they all had parents. That was more than she had.

“Where’s Juliana?” Carrie poked her head out of the kitchen to see her staff sitting at a table together eating Frosted Flakes and scrambled eggs. She’d been the student manager since her freshman year.

“Sick,” was the reply someone mumbled through a mouthful of granola and Carrie rolled her eyes. Sick, translated in college-speak, meant hungover. Great. She was going to have to work the register.

It wasn’t that it was a hard job-it was actually the easiest job description in the world. You just had to sit there and run cards through the machine. Still, she hated it.

She hated the way they looked at her. Maybe she imagined the looks of pity, but it was the glassy not-there looks that bothered her the most. She was invisible, other, not a part of them.

At least it was mindless. She opened the doors when her staff had cleared their dishes and moved off to their stations. There was a power in that, seeing her hungry classmates lined up outside the locked glass doors, waiting to be let in. Still, it felt hollow, and it was.

Carrie sat and ran the first glut of cards as quickly as she could, the line backing up behind her, the chatter inane. And still, she envied them. She wanted to stand in line, too, oblivious to the concerns of the service worker sliding her I.D. through the card reader as she talked with her friends and worried about her finals.

Well, she was worried about her finals-but she was always worried about her grades. She’d lose her scholarship if she didn’t, and in spite of Maureen’s urging, she often turned down invitations to go out with the gang on a Friday or Saturday night because she had to study.

Two more weeks, she told herself, running another card through the reader and handing it back without even looking. At least the summer semester was slower than most. There would be a two week break between the end of the summer and the beginning of fall term, and she usually dreaded that brief break, with nowhere to go, no home to go to, but this year Maureen had talked her into coming with her to Key West.

She’d been saving all year for the trip. And it was just one more year of school after that and she’d be free.

She reached for the next card-the line had thinned out now, and students were coming in sporadically-but it stuck fast in the hand holding it. Carrie looked up in surprise and felt her stomach drop when she saw was whose card it was. Her eyes moved up to meet his. He was smiling.

“Hi, Carrie.”

Stephen J. Baumgartner. That’s what it said on his card, she could see it printed next to the picture his thumb was half-covering.

“Uh, hi,” Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Last night was a dream. That’s what she told herself when she’d turned off her alarm this morning and Maureen had pulled a pillow over her head as Carrie started getting ready to work the breakfast shift.

It was all a fuzzy dream through the haze of Friday night drinking-she hadn’t really slipped into the men’s bathroom downstairs and watched a guy jerking off in the shower.

Except here he was, and just seeing him standing next to her, wearing the unofficial campus uniform-jeans, a preppy Polo shirt and loafers-brought it all back in a rush. She’d seen him out of those clothes, and the image of him sprawled on the shower bench, his cock in hand, was burned into her memory like a brand.

“So…” He let the word dangle and she flushed, willing someone to come in the door behind him. He’d finally let his card go and she ran it through the machine, handing it back when the indicator light went from red to green. The picture on it was a good one-he was photogenic, apparently, his dark hair a curly mop, a mischievous, lop-sided grin on his tanned face. Who took a good school I.D. picture, for pete’s sake? No one! She had her eyes half-closed in hers, her honey-colored hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.

“There’s gonna be a frat party tonight in our dorm.” He took his card back, slipping it into his wallet.

So they were going to pretend nothing had happened. Okay, she could do that. It was a relief to at least have a direction. But why was he telling her about it?

“Yeah, I’m sure Maureen will be there.” That was all she could figure-he was interested in her roommate. Maureen never missed a frat party, finals be damned, 10

especially one so close to home. Of course, Maureen didn’t have to worry about her grades, either. Her parents hadn’t sent her to a small, prestigious New England school to get good grades-they’d sent her to find a suitable husband. And she’d already practically done that. As long as James and frat parties never crossed paths, Maureen was golden.

“What about you?” His smile was infectious and she had to fight the urge to smile back.

Instead, she shook her head. “Finals coming up.”