Fun with Nerdy Girls 41

“What are you looking for. Move, we have a lot of studying to do,” Carrie ordered sharply as she caught my gaze. Or, more accurately, she did her best to deliver those lines in a sharp order, yet the beautiful tremble that underlined her tone showed her unfamiliarity with the role. 

Amusing that she was much more capable of acting dominant when pushing her best friends into my arms than we were alone. 

Though, I had to admit, that contradiction in action was one of the things that boosted her personality even further. 

“As you wish, ma’am,” I answered her, accepting her demand of dominance despite having the ability to shatter it easily in less than a second. 

Why ruin the fun.

Before I could say anything, she took the lead and started walking. She was already aware of the location of the room as we already studied there — along with some other interesting activities. Though, as she walked, her hips swayed with a beautiful exaggeration, enough to make my shorts uncomfortable. 

An incredible achievement, considering I was wearing loose basketball shorts. 

Then, the impact elevated even further when she arrived at the stairs, and started climbing slowly, her hand grabbing the rails hesitantly, clearly not feeling comfortable with her stilettos. I had more important things to focus on, such as the glimpse I managed to catch into her beautiful inner thighs as she took a large step, compromising her skirt’s ability to keep things hidden, revealing an important little secret. 

The bra wasn’t the only piece of underwear she neglected to put on. 

“What are you waiting for?” she asked once she arrived at the middle of the stair. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” I said, doing my best to sound serious as I started climbing up, but lingering behind her. The way her hips danced despite her unsteady steps suggested that she was not only aware of where my gaze was, but rather satisfied with it. 

Understandable with all the effort she put into her amazing clothing. 

Soon, we arrived at my room, once again filled with an incredible mess of football-related items despite my best efforts to make it more conducive to studying anything but football tactics. 

Carrie’s disappointed gaze — one that was far too real to be a part of the role — showed she wasn’t entirely happy with the state of my working space. “No wonder you keep delaying your homework,” she commented. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” I answered as I took a seat, neglecting to mention her role in the delay. 

“Let’s start with algebra,” she said, and I couldn’t help but sigh. I couldn’t say that math was my favorite topic, but I didn’t have in my heart to disappoint Carrie. Not to mention, having a genius of her level helping me whenever I stumbled was a good reason for starting my least favorite topic. 

I pulled out my notebook and started working on the questions, turning my attention fully on the questions. Another girl might have found my focus insulting after all the effort she had put into it, but Carrie was different. Even now, my focus on the questions gained an approving murmur from her. 

Admittedly, concentrating on the questions wasn’t easy, especially when she pulled a chair behind me, her beautiful breath inches away from me, close enough that, whenever I looked down I caught the bright presence of her red stilettos, and the beautiful legs that they were connected to. 

I had to admit, as she said nothing, just letting out deep breaths, it was getting harder to maintain my focus. She was beautiful, which wasn’t a surprise, but the aloofness she was displaying as I studied despite her sexy attire really elevated the mood to the next level. 

Her aloofness lasted until I was stuck in a question for five minutes, the answer insistent on staying away despite the pressure of the moment. “Let’s see if I can help you find the answer,” she murmured as she scuttled closer, and put her finger under the question. 

She asked me a question. I knew that, because I noticed her mouth move, but I doubt that, even under the threat of torture, I could repeat that, not with the little surprise she had prepared for me. 

Apparently, while I was doing my best to solve the questions, she had made a couple of adjustments to her clothing. One of those changes was her skirt, which was ridden up as she sat down, a touch more than it would have normally done by seating, revealing the red straps of the garter belt she was wearing directly, which hardly helped my hard-on. 

But the real blow came with the trick she had pulled with her blouse. The view of it was already dead with its relative tightness combined with her — very apparent — lack of a bra, but Carrie seemed to work on the buttons of her blouse while I was studying. Three of them were unbuttoned, creating a deep valley that was worth dying for. 

And the way she leaned forward certainly didn’t help her moderate the view any. 

I had seen Carrie naked, many times, but that was irrelevant to the alluring magic of her beauty, captivating my attention. 

Enough to force her to repeat the question three times before I managed to extract myself, and even then, I doubted I would have been successful without her poking my side, hard enough to leave a lingering pain. 

“Attention, mister,” she ordered, though it might have been more effective without the smug smirk she displayed, her ruby red lips stretching beautifully under my gaze, twisting the corners to create a beautiful picture. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” I whispered back exaggeratedly. “I’ll focus.” 

“Better,” she said as she put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, looking at me intently. But, with her large breasts delightfully pressing against her forearms as she leaned forward exaggeratedly, it hardly helped me to focus, her attempt to repeat the question turning to waste. 

Her head twisted to the side softly, conveying her amusement for a long moment before she stood up. “It seems that you can’t focus with me in front of you,” she whispered seductively as she stood up. 

When my head tried to follow her movement, she prevented it by grabbing my hair, keeping me in place. “Focus, mister,” she whispered, which, unfortunately, worked at the exact opposite of the meaning of the words. Admittedly, it might be about the seductive gasp in her words, or the fact that she whispered it with her lips close enough to caress my earlobe… 

“Let’s try again,” she whispered, her voice no less gaspy, her hand still grabbing my hair, but she had pulled back slightly, which was a win. “Try to follow that explanation, and maybe, there will be a reward.” 

I said nothing, though I had to bite my lips to contain some of the select words that arrived at the exit, begging for freedom. Instead, I did my best to focus as she explained the best way to solve that type of question. 

One advantage of the challenging position that we were sharing, was that it was enough to sear her explanation on my mind. I doubted that I would ever fail to solve a similar question. 

“Better,” she whispered as her hands slid on my shoulder, rubbing them softly, just an excuse to touch rather than an actual massage. It certainly made it harder for me to focus on the next question. 

Yet, the distraction coming from her hands couldn’t be compared to her next move, when I finally completed the algebra assignment and moved to English. As I did my best to create a coherent essay, she started whispering suggestions. 

Her suggestions were certainly welcome, and even her whispers were manageable, but the sudden warmth around my neck, the touch far too soft to be her hands was a different matter. It felt like a pair of pillows pressing on my neck, if those pillows had a heavenly softness and warmth, and came with a rhythmic thumping. 

Feeling the pressure of her breasts, I didn’t need to see her blouse flying forward to land on my desk to have an accurate guess about her current condition. 

“Try to focus more,” she whispered mercilessly as she pulled my hair without a warning. “You made a typo.

“I’ll do better,” I whispered as I quickly corrected the mistake and focused on following her clues. 

“Good,” she said as she moved slightly, her breasts bouncing against my back and neck. She moved lower, my t-shirt hardly enough to completely block the sensation of her glorious breasts, but even the slightest reduction enough to disappoint. 

“Why are you sighing?” she whispered. “Are you feeling hot?” 

“Yes, it’s a bit warm in here, and my t-shirt is rather stuffy.”  

“Good point,” she whispered as she slipped her hands under my shirt, and started dragging up. “It’s important to maintain an ideal working environment regardless of the circumstances” she added as she pulled off my shirt before pressing her breasts against my back once more, the hardness of her nipples unmistakable. 

Who knew studying could be this fun?