Catch Me If You Can

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My first Literotica submission! Comments are welcomed, but please go easy — this is the first erotica I’ve managed to complete, and been pleased with the result. I’m hoping you share in the same pleasure.


He sighed, the laptop screen blurring in his vision. He was just too tired for this. Too tired, too bored, too apathetic. Sitting in a library, surrounded by piles of class-relevant books, was not his first choice of a time consuming activity. There was a reason the word ‘studying’ was primarily composed of ‘dying’, he thought, stretching in his seat. Today was a particularly draining day; the class was necessary but boring, and the work pompous and heavy going. He rubbed his eyes gently, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. Sighing again, he bent forward to his keyboard, idly typing another few words.

He needed a break. Maybe checking his emails would help to clear his head, give him something different to focus on. But even then, there was nothing interesting in his inbox at first glance. He idly deleted some junk mail and was about to close the window when he realized that there was a new message flashing, sent only a few minutes ago, from his “flirtationship” friend.

They had met at university at the start of the last semester and become good friends. As both were single and found one another attractive (but were not interested in a relationship), they often enjoyed teasing one another via emails and texts. Their conversations had initially been relatively innocent, but had soon developed in to discussing sexual fantasies, histories, positions, outfits, and turning one another on. She had become the subject of numerous fantasies late at night, as he stroked himself to orgasm, especially after she had teasingly assured him that she did the same with him. On one particularly memorable night they had hung out together, bitter at the state of their lives at the time, and become drunk beyond belief. Their conversation had inevitably led to sexy fantasies and stories, which turned them both on immensely, and they had ended up in bed together. The next morning, hungover, the situation was awkward for a moment – but they had both agreed that it had been just what they needed, and damn fun at that. With a wink she had mentioned doing it again sometime, but since then it hadn’t happened. Just the tease of the possibility.

The mental image of her bouncing on top of him was still a favorite of his though; the way she arched her back, the swing of her breasts, the moans that slipped from her lips as she rode him hard…

The message subject read “Your Eyes Only”. Presuming it was another leading comment, maybe a fantasy that was meant to evolve into a dirty conversation, he decided to read it immediately to satisfy his curiosity and reply to it later. As a reward for studying, he could get into the spirit of it without feeling guilty for getting so distracted.

He wasn’t expecting a photo.

A photo of her, leaning provocatively against a library shelf.

A photo of her wearing black heels, white thigh-high stockings, a short — his breath couldn’t help but catch — a very short plaid skirt and a tight white blouse. The perfect not-so-innocent schoolgirl. The fantasy he had told her, that she had been teasing him with, only a few days before.

For a minute he couldn’t do anything but stare, feeling his blood rush south. Images of her in the outfit, pressed up against the library shelves, came immediately to the front of his mind. How good she would look, how good she would feel as he pressed her to the dusty shelves…

He came back to himself with a start as someone a few aisles away dropped a book. Shit, he was in a public place, he couldn’t be seen staring at…this. As stunning as it was. As he closed the window hurriedly, trying to calm down, he caught sight of the words above the picture.

Catch me if you can.

All thoughts of study forgotten he could only stare blankly at the essay he had been working on. What did she mean? Catch her? Where did she take that…

No, surely not.

It was dirty, it was risky, it was adventurous… it was very her.

Quickly, with a furtive glace around to check he was alone, he brought up the image again. This time, attempting (and partly failing) to ignore her body, he forced himself to focus on the shelves. The camera had been framed so the end of the shelves was visible — and along with it, the section number.

It was the floor above. She was on the floor above. She was wearing that on the…

In a flash his laptop was packed away, his notes shoved into an inside pocket of his bag. The books he had been using were still strewn on the table, left to be someone else’s problem.

He swung his bag slightly in front of him as he walked, trying to hide the slightly perceptible bulge in the front of his jeans. He had to get up there quickly, so he abandoned Isparta Escort the idea of using the lift and bolted up the (thankfully) abandoned stairs.

The idea of ravishing her in the shadowy bookshelves — while she was dressed as a schoolgirl — made him all the more turned on. Trying to walk normally with a growing erection was difficult, but he didn’t want to arouse suspicion from anyone else in the library. He resolved to cross the floor of the library as calmly as he could, weaving between the shelves, to where the photo had been taken. Where she was waiting. Where he could get her back for the teasing, make her quiver under his touch, feel her against him…he could barely keep himself from sprinting to the shelves.

His breath was quickening as he made the last turn, and found himself face with — an empty aisle. He double-checked the classification sign on the end of the bookshelf, he was definitely in the right place. But she wasn’t here. Disappointment and annoyance descended onto him heavily.

Damn her. He’d fallen for it. She wasn’t here, probably hadn’t been here today at all. The photo could have been taken at any time, just sent today. He knocked his fist in annoyance against a shelf of books. Fuck it. Here he was, completely horny, incredibly distracted, and very riled up with nothing to compensate him.

A shrill beeping jerked him out of his thoughts. His phone had a message.

Did you find your present? Do you like it?

His present?! She wasn’t here! Was she just trying to rub salt in the wound, make him feel more idiotic? He was partway through a spiteful reply when another thought crossed his mind. He knew her pretty well. She could have just sent him the image — without the message to catch her it would have just been a (very) sexy image. But no, she wanted him to come here. If there was one thing she wasn’t, it was mean-spirited. She knew how riled up the image would get him, that he’d jump and come here straight away, she wouldn’t leave him blue-balled and laugh in his face — she enjoyed their dirty-minded friendship as much as he did, and as much as she teased him, she wasn’t going to destroy it.

So… his present. Quickly checking to make sure he was alone, he cast a glance over the shelves either side of him, approximately where she had been leaning in the picture. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place, except for a book lying on a space on the shelf, clearly out of order. He reached tentatively towards it, carefully lifting the cover with a fingertip.

Inside, careful placed, was a red lace g-string.

He snatched it from the book, afraid someone would see it, but he was still alone among the shelves. He inspected his ‘present’ eagerly. It was nearly insubstantial, the material was so thin. It was still damp, her scent rising from it, making his erection throb in his pants.

Still holding her g-string, still smelling her, he hurriedly sent a response to her earlier message. Oh my. I like it very much.

He stood in the shadows, rubbing the thin material through his fingers of one hand, his other hand rubbing himself through the rough material of his jeans. He decided to leave immediately. Try and get home with his present, try to keep himself under control, until he was in the privacy of his bedroom and could fully let himself go.

As he made to move, his phone beeped again. A reply.

Another photo appeared on his screen. She was posed against a bank of lockers, smiling seductively, one hand pulling up her skirt to show him her leg right up to her bare hip. The message was obvious — you’ve got my underwear. He sighed quietly appreciation and allowed himself a moment, rubbing himself while he drank in her image.

Exercising extreme force of will, he stopped staring at her and thinking about all she was implying, and looked at her surroundings. The main grouping of lockers was under the library, and the hand posed near her head was actually, on second look, pointing to a specific number — 42. So she wanted him to go to a specific locker, did she now? He scrolled down to the message attached to the image. It was three numbers — a combination.

Trying to hide the bulge and banish fantastical thoughts of what might be waiting for him in the locker, he quickly made his way from the floor he was on to the locker bay beneath. Even though he knew she wouldn’t be waiting, he couldn’t help but entertain the notion that she might be, and couldn’t stop the flash of disappointment when, sure enough, locker 42 was without a female beside it.

His hands were shaking in excitement as he unlocked the door with the combination she had given him. He checked to make sure he was alone before easing the door open, not wanting anyone else to see what was waiting inside just for him. Sure enough, on it’s own and lying carefully placed within the compartment was a red, lacy bra. A match to the g-string that Isparta Escort Bayan was currently in his pocket.

He reached out and caressed the lace between his fingers. She was walking around campus without any underwear. While the logical side of him suspected she also had a long coat or something similar to assist her moving around the university without notice, the smaller brain between his legs relished the mental image of her walking around with only a plaid skirt and a tight white blouse covering her nudity… He moaned to himself and readjusted his sensitive groin.

He gently removed the bra from its prison and closed it, leaning against the lockers as he rubbed the lace gently as thoughts ran through his mind. This tease was intense and well planned. How long would it continue? Where was she now? What was he going to do when he saw her…

…where was next?

She had to know he was here to send the next location, but he was too eager to follow the next clue that he didn’t want to wait for her. His desire was growing, his mind continuously dreaming of all the things he would do to her. He needed to get to the next place now, and keep going until he found her. Then finally he could release all the pent-up energy that was building.

He sent her a text. I seem to have a matching set of yours in my possession.

He paced slightly, the bra now hidden in his bag, waiting for the reply. His imagination was in overdrive, trying to guess where the next image would be, how she would be posed, what she would leave behind for him to find…how long it would be until he found her rather than just her clothing.

He didn’t need to wait long for a reply.

The image showed her sitting, leaning forward towards the camera. Her bare breasts peeked out between the material of her open blouse, one stiffened nipple visible. The skirt was pulled right up, but the angle of her legs hid what was between them. It was another mind-blowing image.

His erection was getting uncomfortable now, and he could feel his blood boiling. She knew just how to push his buttons, and he’d bet anything that she was enjoying the thought of him getting so excited over her pictures. And when he found her, he was going to make her pay for every minute of his torture. He’d make her pay again and again until she begged for his cum.

The mere thought threatened to make him loose his head. He had to keep in control until he found her, otherwise half the fun would be gone. In the image she was sitting in what looked like a corner, in the last of a row of identical seats. A lecture hall? No, it didn’t look like one; the seats were dark red and cushioned, the wooden wall beside her far too classy for a lecture hall. It had to be the auditorium.

Walking from the locker bank to the auditorium, which was over the other side of campus, was more difficult than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t get the images of her out of his head, and the tightness in his jeans meant constant irritation. Even though he strategically angled his bag to cover his groin as he walked, he couldn’t help his odd breathing patterns or impatiently twitching his neck. Other students must have thought he was high or paranoid — if only they knew the truth…

The auditorium was, predictably, deserted. His present was visible from the back entrance he came though — a smudge of white in the corner where she had been posing. Sure enough, it was her white blouse, draped over the back of the chair she had been behind. He could smell her perfume on it.

His desire was threatening to take him over. It was so tempting to run to a nearby bathroom and stroke himself to ecstasy thinking about her — but he was sure that seeing this through to the end was going to be far more fun. He slipped the blouse into his bag and pulled out his phone.

I think you’re breaking the uniform rules.

He didn’t want to give her an indication of how turned on he was. Let her try and guess, make his responses fairly neutral and then let her see the real level of his arousal for herself. When he found her.

He sat in the same chair she had been in, and could help noticing a tiny stain. There was no way of knowing if it truly was from her arousal, but entertained the notion for a few pleasant minutes. He was sure it was a possibility — the seductive images, especially when she was slowly losing clothing and in locations where she could be caught, would be a huge turn on for her. She’d mentioned something similar to him once.

The familiar beep of his phone made him bite his lip in apprehension. This time, she was lying on a mat, in front of a wall-sized mirror. Her bare breasts were unashamedly on display, her skirt open and covering nothing. One hand was between her legs, the fingers teasing her clit, as she grinned at him from the image.

He sighed to himself in both irritation and arousal. These pictures were Escort Isparta doing nothing to help his stamina. And they were getting better (or was it worse?) each time. He tore his eyes away from the fingers dancing on her clit. The only place on campus that had mirrors like that had to be the gym, in the big studio that was mostly used for dance and yoga.

Over the other side of campus, again.

Oh, she was going to pay for the effort and self-restraint he had exhibited to play along with this little game. And he knew she’d love paying for it as much as he’d enjoy giving it. Each time he stepped on his cross-campus journey, his stiffness rubbed more against his jeans. Oh yes, she was going to pay with a good hard…

He pressed his ear to the studio door to make sure it was empty. Last thing he needed was to be suspected of spying on the working-out girls. The room was silent, but he still opened the door slowly just in case. The pile of yoga mats in the corner was the only real colour in the room and he was immediately drawn to the pile — she had been lying on one in the photo. He grabbed the one on the top of the pile and unrolled it. As he did, the plaid skirt rolled into it fell to the floor.

He snatched it up. She was naked, aside from stockings and heels? His fingers flew across his phone. Aren’t you cold by now?

Checking he was still alone, he slipped the edge of the skirt under his waistband and let the soft material rub gently across his erection. It was hard not to make any noise as the skirt — her skirt — caressed him. It took a monumental effort of willpower to stop the pleasuring sensation as his phone beeped with a new message received.

As soon as he saw the image his jaw dropped. She was facing away from the camera, her bared body bent slightly over a desk in front of her. She was still wearing the white stockings and high heels, which added to it all the more. He could just see a hint of her pussy lips between her legs.

When he had gathered some vague sense of control back, he realised that this was a fantasy she had once told him about. To be fucked on a desk from behind, wearing only heels and stockings. His heart rate increased again as he realised that this was likely to be where we would find her. This was one of her fantasies, just as the schoolgirl had been one of his.

It had to be the final picture. This had to be where he would find her, finally. But where was she? The desk wasn’t special, the room was pretty much bare — so it was an empty office? There must be hundreds of unused offices across the campus. He’d have to be smarter. She must have faith in him working it out, or she would have given him more clues.

He looked at the image again. She was just so… He just wanted to fuck her. Damn it, how did she do this to him? He had to cover her body with his hand to focus on her surroundings. The office was a corner one, he thought, with no other visible buildings from the windows. It had to be on the edge of campus. The hills were visible form the view, too — and suddenly, he knew where she was.

Top floor of the arts department building, corner office. But he had to be sure.

Arts building, 11th floor. Corner office. 1108?

He was already walking towards the building when her reply came through. 1114.

So, she didn’t want him to be wrong then. What an excellent sign.

The 11th floor was in mostly darkness. The offices of lecturers and department heads stood locked and unoccupied — he suspected they had all gone home for the day. And she would of course choose somewhere where they could be vocal without getting caught. She liked to be vocal, and he loved to hear her.

The carpet muffled his footsteps to 1114. He was desperate to run into the room and find her there — he didn’t want to think about how he would feel if she wasn’t there. She had to be. Waiting for him, nearly naked, over the desk. He hesitated for only a second before opening the door.

The room was the same one, he was sure of it. Some view, bare surroundings, desk… but no her. He stepped further in, disbelieving.

“Took you long enough.”

The voice came from behind him. He spun around to see her pushing the door shut with one elegantly outstretched arm. The white stockings shone slightly in the dim light, her black high heels giving her a seductive poise. Other than that, she was totally naked. He dimly registered that sure enough, there was a long black coat on the floor behind her.

Standing before her, he drank in the sight, casting aside his bag and jacket as he did so, and not quite believing that she was real. She was leaning against the door, naughtiness in her eyes. He crossed the distance between them and kissed her forcefully, pressing his clothed body against her naked one. One hand instinctively pulled her wrists above her head, making her body arch into him as they kissed deeply.

His other hand gently cupped one of her warm breasts, teasing the stiffening nipple in his fingers. She sighed in pleasure and bit him on the lip in return, making him moan in surprise and enjoyment. She sharp pain was a sudden contrast with the warmth and softness of her body against him, and he loved it.

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