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Beneath The Skin(3)

By´╝ÜDaryl Banner



Also confirmed: My discarded pants are squished against the wall not five quick, booty-shakin’ paces away from me.

Do I risk it?

One of the students in the back of the class tosses her long, dark hair, which catches the attention of my eyes, widening at the sight of her. As my eyes trail down a perfect, hourglass backside, she now earns the full attention of my dick.

I’m not the timeliest fellow, but when I see a pretty girl, my mental list of priorities rearranges itself accordingly. My situation is forgotten and the shape of that bangin’ babe is all that fills my unblinking eyes.

I’m already getting hard again. I get an A+ for timing.

She squirms a bit on the stool, her tight ass filling those jeans and enticing me. Damn, girl. Her black shirt clings to her perfect, supple frame but doesn’t quite meet her jeans, giving me a wink of her smooth, creamy skin.

I already imagine myself teasing my fingers under it and slipping that thing right off.

I bet her lips taste good.

Just then, her sketching stops—pencil pressed to the paper—and she turns her head slightly, as if sensing my attention. Her eyes drop to the jeans on the floor, then narrow at the discovery of them. I see the thoughts working in her face. Then, she turns her head towards me.

I jerk my face back behind the screen, my heart hammering like a prisoner behind the bars of my ribcage. Did she just see me? I clench my fists, the sweat making my underarms feel like jelly, and control my breath. I’m fairly certain that the whole class can hear the drumming in my chest. My heart is rattling the easels as we speak.

I wait, clenching my eyes. You imagined it, I convince myself. Don’t worry, Brant. She totally didn’t see you.

But she sure as fuck saw my pants.

Every minute that passes is another minute that the professor, or a student, could notice my lovely article of clothing crumpled against that wall and … well, my little situation wouldn’t be made any better if my pants are taken away.

Not to mention that my phone is not on vibrate and could go off at any second.

My wallet’s in the pocket too, I just realized. Fuck me sideways.

Is class over yet?

The minutes tick by slowly. Plus, I’ve developed an untimely urge to pee, which is further exasperated by the fact that I’m naked and the AC just kicked on, pulling a torturously gentle breeze through the room and over my sensitive skin. I cross my arms tightly and wait, squeezing my legs together and begging the usually-merciful gods of lady luck to quit tormenting me and end the class already.

Someone gets up from their stool, then the evil footsteps approach. No, no, no. They stop just short of the privacy screen. Oh, god, no. I cup my cock and balls by instinct, bracing myself for the professor to catch me standing here and for my life to end.

Then a face emerges. I can’t even bring myself to look, clenching shut my eyes. Maybe if I don’t see them, they won’t see me.

When the presence doesn’t go away, I finally peek open an eye.

It’s her.

The hot girl from the back row.

And she’s staring at me with the intensity of some furious, feral creature. Her eyes are a rich, powerful green made all the more fierce by her thick black eyeliner. All her dark hair is pulled over a shoulder, spilling down her front and over her breasts. Good lord, she’s been amply blessed in that department, too.

She might call for the professor. She might simply call me out and watch me run. She could do any assortment of things that would bring my college career to a snappy, instant end.

So naturally, I respond to all that fear by giving her my signature cocky smirk, then nod my head upwards at her.

A look of amusement fills her striking, emerald eyes.

Then, as if I was nothing but a department store mannequin, she reaches around me and pulls something off the shelf—a brush, a pencil, a machete … I wouldn’t know, for all the care I’m giving it. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she leaves me, her footsteps fading until she’s returned to her easel.

And I’m still holding my junk … and now my breath.

The lady luck gods answer my pleas unexpectedly soon afterwards, and when the room is at last cleared, I make a dash for my pants, then slip on what remains of my shirt. And my dignity.

It’s in the courtyard outside that I catch up to her. She’s heading for the tunnel over which the School of Art sits. I have to make up for the awkward situation she caught me in at the very least. Maybe I’ll get a name out of her too, if lady luck’s still on my side.

Then tonight when I have her talked into slipping beneath my sheets, I’ll go all Picasso on that sexy ass of hers.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I sing, coming up to her side and keeping pace with her as she walks.

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