Pineapples

“Bitch.”

The answer to how she got into your dorm room remains a puzzling mystery. There’s a security guard outside that won’t allow women to access the men’s dorm. Still, any question here is thrown out of the window, with her jerking you off from behind like this, sliding her dexterous hand up and down in a languid motion. You’re shifting and shifting in her embrace on your own bed.

You were sure that the door was locked before you went out of your room this morning—tightly shut. She must’ve lock-picked her way into here. She always has a hairpin with her. You aren’t denying that it looks gorgeous on her, hot even. You could spend the whole day just staring at her with her hair tied up into a bun, topped off with the hairpin piercing through the center of the bunch.

Sure, it’s a little degrading for you to submit to her like this every time you meet. She’ll call you a bitch, a slut, a whore, anything that she could think of that day. You’ll call her by her name, on the condition that you avert her gaze. Still, there’s something to be enjoyed in this power dynamic.

It’s the thrill of submission.

She makes sure to swipe her thumb when her hand reaches the top of your cock. It’s for fun, she says. Of course, it’d be fun for her. You moan like a bitch every time she does that.

“You love having me jerking you off like this, don’t you?” she asks, her voice venomous, yet so magnetic. God, why is she so attractive?

You can only nod with a whimper, so clouded in the pleasure her hand is giving you. Indeed, it didn’t start slow. She ordered you to sit on the bed, pants off, shirt on (she said that it’d be a bit too cold for you). Your top is going to get all creased, with her pressing up against your back like this, but you couldn’t care less. You love the way she’s reducing you into her toy like this. You feel pliant. You feel obedient. You feel–comfortable.

“And don’t you dare fucking other women with this cock. It’s mine, only mine, understand?”

You nod again. Your hands are all limp from the pleasure coursing through your body. You are unable to move your body by a single inch, with her limbs placed meticulously to lock you in your place like this. Though, it’s like you’d resist, anyway.

Now, back to the beginning. You’d argue that it’s nothing short of rote. You two went over a year from being just a familiar face in your class, always walking past each other without much notice, until a fateful night at the bar.

—

“Ah!” you two exclaimed simultaneously. It seemed that you just crashed into each other. Your drink spilled from your glasses. They weren’t shattered yet, thankfully. Although, it left wet spots on your clothes.

“Sorry!” you apologized, shouting to fight the music.

“It’s fine! I’m sorry too!” she shouted back. God, the music was so loud there.

“Ruka! Right?”

“Yeah!” Ruka responded with a smile, taking a sip of whatever was left in the glass. “And you are?”

You told her your name, also taking a sip of whatever is left in the glass. She seemed to be happy about it. You two finally knew each other after a year of silence.

“So, uh, I should go back to my table now. My friends are waiting,” said Ruka, tilting her head slightly away from you.

“Oh, yeah, I should go back too. See you around, I guess?”

“See you around!”

—

The night rolled on until the bar closed. You and your friends left the bar, preparing to go back to your dorms, but not without your eyes meeting Ruka just on the outside.

“Hey!” Ruka shouted. Her walking was funny, judging from how she carried herself towards you that night. She was definitely drunk, but so did you. You could barely walk straight.

“Hi,” you said. Her friends were looking at you two, murmuring something to one another.

“Sooo~ we’re having an after-party at my placeee. Wanna joinnn?” she asked, intoxicated. Her breath was full of alcohol.

“Uhhh–” you glanced around at your friends, who seemed to have no opinion on it.

“Up to you, man,” Soobin said, shrugging. “I can go with you. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

—

“Seven minutes in heaven doesn’t seem like a bad idea,” Pharita said, tilting the empty beer bottle in her hand.

The eight of you were inside Ruka’s room, on the floor, preparing to watch the bottle spin. It was somewhat large for a dorm room. Her parents were probably rich. It was clean and tidy, no stray strands of hair could be seen.

“You’ve cleaned the bathroom, right?” Asa asked.

“Just this morning.”

—

“I don’t think I’ve ever got to properly know you,” Ruka said. Her voice was low. The guys are probably eavesdropping from the outside. “We just kinda–”

“I get it, yeah,” you cut her words off with a smile. Your posture was reserved. You remembered you were leaning against the door that day.

Ruka smiled, before asking, “You like women, right? I mean–I don’t wanna assume.” Her expression was full of anxiety—eyes on the floor, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was probably afraid to offend you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, chuckling.

The tension was thick, too thick. Your smile faded. You two kept averting each other’s eyes. There was apprehension within the situation. You gulped and gulped, playing with the hem of your shirt.

Boldly, she grabbed onto your collar, pulling your face closer to her, before she latched her lips onto yours. Her tongue invaded your mouth without any caution, and that made you melt into her embrace. Her lips tasted like alcohol, with a hint of rose on her. You were faltering.

And she pulled back.

“Never knew your lips taste this good,” Ruka said, wiping the saliva off her lips. She looked hot doing so.

You said nothing, only swallowing hard. You could feel blood rushing to the lower part of your body. It was aching. Your hands were trembling, letting out endless whimpers. You didn’t pay attention to her eyes enough to notice that they were gleaming with desire.

“Ooh~” she uttered, voice below a whisper, pressing your body against the door even harder. Her hands started to be where it shouldn’t. Her alcohol-filled breath invaded your personal space. It was uncomfortable, yet–there was something else in it. “You’re one of those guys, don’t you?”

Another whimper escaped you. You were trying to look away from her, too shy to look her in the sharp eyes. You could see her biting her lip in the corner of your eyes, so ready to take over your body. Fuck, she was so attractive doing that.

“What if I.” She grabbed your chin with her left hand softly, heightening the tension in this bathroom. Her breath remained steady, so unfazed by the whole situation. She was good at that.

Her right hand found its way onto the tent on your pants, squeezing your crotch gently. You let out a whimper under her touch. She seemed satisfied with that. She seemed satisfied with your unwavering submission.

“What a good boy for me,” she uttered, grabbing onto your collar tightly. Her voice was nothing short of dangerous. “You fucking love this, don’t you? You love being a bitch boy.”

You weren’t too sure how to answer the question, but there was probably some truth in it. You were revelling in the way she used you. You loved the way she takes control. You loved how she kisses you like that—invading your mouth like it is her property (it’s her property).

“Answer me, bitch,” she hissed, pushing you up against the door. You were tiptoeing on the ground. Fuck, she was strong. “Or I’m going to fucking edge you until you moan like one.”