A date with Jeanne at the Word Bowl

The intercollegiate Word Bowl strikes you as a very odd kind of place to have a date, but as you walk into the auditorium, you find a number of couples scattered throughout the seats.

“Hey, you made it!” Jeanne exclaims in a hushed voice, catching you by the top of the stairs. “They’re about to start!”

Your date is dressed in a tight little green dress that hugs her nubile form, and you spend a good five seconds drinking in her body, appreciating the curves of her perky tits and ass. She, too, seems to enjoy your attire, even though it’s the very same one that Jack was ripping apart this morning.

“You look dashing,” she says.

“And you look stunning,” you reply.

You link up arms with her, descending down the steps of the auditorium, until you find a suitably secluded pair of seats to watch the Word Bowl from.

“So, how does this activity work?” you ask, watching the two teams on the stage by their respective tables, whispering quietly to one another. A large buzzer sits on each table, while a moderator’s podium occupies center stage.

“The answer to each round is a single word,” Jeanne says, cozying up to you. “The moderator reads off a number of clues that make it progressively easier to figure out what the word is. The team that hits the buzzer first gets to answer the question for a point, but if they get it wrong, they lose a point instead.”

“Sounds fun,” you say, genuinely (sort of) meaning it. “But why are there so many other couples watching?”

“I hear it’s a Stonewall tradition,” Jeanne giggles. “Though I only know about it because I’m on the team. But I took the day off because of our date tonight! Tonight’s a big night for the team. King’s College is really strong, but I thought it would be worth it to spend the night with you.”

“Wow,” you say, impressed by her commitment to you. “You really didn’t have to bail on them… we could have rescheduled.”

“No, no, it’s not a big deal at all,” Jeanne says, clinging on to your arm. “I’d rather spend the time with you anyways.”

She shoots you a dazzling smile. You do your best to respond in kind, though it is a bit disconcerting that she’s this invested in you.

The moderator emerges from backstage and takes the podium, looking out at the two teams displayed before her.

“Welcome to the Stonewall—King Word Bowl, the fourth match of the season. You know the rules and so do I, so without further ado, let’s begin this session,” she pronounces, speaking with a clear, enunciated accent. “Round one. This word is an anagram of the two word phrase ‘the classroom.’ This word—”

The buzzer flashes as a guy in Stonewall grey slams down on it, a split second before someone from King’s does.

“Schoolmaster,” the Stonewall guy says, leaning over into the mic, just as Jeanne whispers the word in your ear.

“Damn,” you whisper back to her. “How’d you get it so fast?”

“Easy clue,” Jeanne smiles. “Anybody worth their salt would know it.”

“Round two,” the moderator says, reading the next set of clues off her tablet. “Also known as Aubaine or Beaunois, this variety of wine—”

It’s King’s that hits the buzzer first this time.

“Chardonnay,” the girl in royal blue says, right as Jeanne is muttering the word herself. She shoots a dastardly look at the King’s college girl.

“That is correct,” the moderator nods.

You give Jeanne an admiring look, and she responds by leaning over and planting a kiss on your face. The move catches you off guard, her lips pressing against your open ones, and then before you can kiss her back, properly, she’s pulled away from you, a mortified look on her face.

“Was that too much? Did I go too far? I’m sorry, that was probably too much—” Jeanne is saying.

You respond by stroking her cheek, turning her face back towards you, and you lean in to give her a proper kiss. Where the first one was abrupt, awkward, all teeth against lips, this one is slow and sensual, her cheek burning against yours as your tongue finds hers. You kiss her through the next round (“A word with Greek roots that rhymes with angst. A human bone—”, “Phalanx”), though you swear you hear Jeanne whisper the answer into your mouth, before the two of you break away.

“Oh, my, oh...” she whispers, her face flushed, out of breath. “I never thought… that was good…”

You grin at her, and wink.

“I might not be as good at words as you are,” you whisper, “but give me a chance, and I’ll leave you speechless.”

You place a hand on her inner thighs, inching upwards, making clear what you intend.

“In here?” Jeanne gasps, a hand fluttering up to her mouth. She tugs your arm. “Oh, please, it would be a dream come true…”

And so with a flick of your wrist, you slip under her dress, your fingers finding the linings of her panties. It takes a spot of manoeuvring, but you make your way past those, too, to feel the already immensely slick juices by her pussy. You insert a finger into her, earning another gasp as she mouths the word ‘peripatetic’, and you work your way through her channel, getting a feel of her hot pussy.

“I should return the favour,” Jeanne says, watching you with a gooey-eyed smile, and her hands fumble with your pants, fishing out your cock, beginning to stroke it.

You congratulate yourself for your forward-thinking choice to find some out-of-the-way seats. As you get each other off, Jeanne calls out the answers under her breath—”capriccioso”, “gouge”, “tenable”, “boustrophedon”—and then she begins to softly moan, too, a second finger of yours now plunging into her depths, exploring her, worming your way through her, each curl of your fingers, each brush against her clit causing her hand to squeeze your cock that much tighter.

Jeanne’s small hands fit like a charm around your cock, and she jacks you off with enthusiasm, looking down at your stiff rod in wonder as precum begins to leak out of it.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you mutter as she gets the pace just right.

“No, it’s ‘benevolent,’” Jeanne says, just as King’s buzzes in the answer.

“It’s orgasmic,” you reply, hitting her g-spot just so, and true to your words, there she goes, her body quivering in the auditorium seat, the smell of sex thick in the air as her juices have soaked into the seat and leaked onto the ground.

Jeanne’s hand grips your cock deathly tight, bringing you dangerously close to the brink as well.

“Oh, are you going to cum?” she asks you, and as you nod, she lowers her head, taking your cock into her mouth.

“Fuck yes,” you hiss under your breath, feeling her mouth take in your shuddering cock.

You release your cum into her, her eager mouth hot and ready, and she gulps down your semen with a gusto that you’ve never seen before.

“Mmm, yes,” Jeanne murmurs, a dreamy look writ on her face.

“Round nineteen,” the moderator calls out, the time having somehow flown so far away. “Coined by John Milton as the capital of the underworld in Paradise Lost, this word—”

“Pandemonium,” your date whispers, giggling as she looks at the mess that’s been made around her.

“—a scene of confusion, sounds like a bamboo-eating animal wailing—”

King’s college hits the buzzer and scores the point, and Jeanne sighs in disappointment.

“Regretting not helping your team tonight?” you ask, looking down at the scoreboard. At twelve to seven for King’s college, things aren’t looking great for the home team tonight.

“No,” Jeanne smiles at you, giving your free-hanging cock a loose little tug. “I had a great time.”

Jeanne +30