You go back to your apartment for some R&R(eagan)

As you leave the freshmen dorm and start walking across campus towards your apartment, you can't shake the feeling of being watched. You glance over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of a group of girls quickly ducking behind the corner of a building, whispering and giggling to each other furtively. You furrow your brow, wondering what's gotten into everyone today. First Katherine and the blonde in the Greasy Spoon, then Jennifer, and now these girls.

You hear snippets of conversations as you walk:

"Who ~is~ that guy? Have you seen him before?"

"Did you see his arms?"

"Girl, are you like… drooling?"

“Am not!”

You try to ignore them, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as you navigate the busy campus sidewalks. But then, something falls out of your pant leg and lands on the ground with a soft plop. You look down behind you and freeze, your blood running cold.

It's a used condom, broken and wrinkled, lying there on the concrete like an accusation. You can hear a girl behind you gasp and start whispering frantically, their shock and scandalized tone making your face burn with just a little bit of embarrassment.

You quicken your pace, more than a little **** to get away from the judging eyes and the little broken piece of evidence of your recent debauchery apparently having caught a ride into your pants while you were getting dressed in Jennifer’s dorm. The walk back to your apartment is filled with more bemusing stares and whispers from passersby, seemingly all female. But only some women, you notice. And it’s not consistent in the slightest. Some are older and some are younger. Some seem to eye you with a mundane disinterest while others stop everything they are doing to give you hungry stares. You pick up the pace, eager to get home and away from the strange looks you keep feeling falling upon you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you reach your apartment building. As you approach your building, you see Mark's car parked out front, and you remember that he was supposed to be back from his camping trip with Ben today.

You climb the stairs two at a time to your apartment, fishing your keys out of your pocket. As you step inside, you're greeted by the sight of Mark and Ben unloading their pile of camping gear in the middle of the living room. Mark looks up, his sharp chin and short blonde hair as striking as ever, and grins when he sees you.

"Hey man, how's it hanging?" he asks, coming over to clap you on the shoulder. "Have a good weekend? I’m seeing a noticeable lack of bunnysuits in the closet."

You shrug, thinking back to your strange encounters over the last few days. Fuck, a bunnysuit party would probably be easier to explain then the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. "It was... interesting… to say the least. How was your trip?"

Mark's grin widens, and he starts gushing about the hikes they went on. Ben, his opposite in looks with a short stature, rounded face, dark hair, and olive skin, joins in; he goes through his phone showing you picture after picture of various feathered creatures that they saw. You nod along, not really understanding his excitement but happy that they had a good time.

“...and I know that the pileated woodpecker isn’t particularly rare or unusual in those parts, but I’m not one to complain about catching one this time of year, you know?” Ben rambles to a finish, having gone through all the pictures of birds that he had gathered over the weekend.

Your eyes are glazed over, completely birded out. “Sure, dude,” you nod along.

“Benny, let the poor man go, the dude’s clearly tired.” Mark chuckles. “And come help me unpack, won't you?”

“Whoops,” Ben sighs, “sorry for talking your ear off.”

“You’re good,” you say, blinking back to your senses.

After a while, Mark and Ben finish unpacking and settle down on the couch to watch TV. You take the opportunity to head to your room and finally get some much-needed rest and relaxation.

You strip out of your dirty clothes, crumpled and stained in inglourious places from last night, making a mental note to do laundry later, and head to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

You're standing in your bathroom, hot water running and starting to steam up the mirror with your towel over your shoulder, when suddenly it hits you: Reagan. Ovulation. Now or never. Your heart starts racing as you realize what you have to do, and fast.

"Fuck!" You hiss as you walk out into your bedroom, water still running, wrapping your towel around your waist to provide a modicum of modesty, grab your phone, and quickly start texting Jennifer, hoping she'll respond quickly. You need Reagan's number, and you need it now.

You: Hey, it's me. Do you have Reagan's number? I need to talk to her ASAP

You hit send and wait, impatiently pacing back and forth across the carpeted floor in a little oval. After what feels like an eternity, your phone dings with a response.

Jennifer: OMG, already horny again?

You: Haha, no. Do you think you could give me Reagan's number?

Jennifer: And why is that?

You narrow your eyes, then start typing.

You: It's personal.

Jennifer: Hmm...

You: Please?

Jennifer: I don't know if I should give out her number without knowing why you want it. She's my friend, after all.

You: I promise it's nothing bad. I just really need to talk to her.

Jennifer: Sure...

Jennifer: Oh, and by the way, I asked my roomie if she'd be down to get an "apology" from you tomorrow night for kicking her out like you gave to me, and she just blushed, grabbed her books, and ran out of the room saying that she would be busy tomorrow. So I'd say chances are looking good that she's DTF if you’re man enough to do it to her lol

You let out a whistle.

“Oh my” you say to no one in particular with the corners of your mouth up in a grin. You didn’t get a good look at Jennifer’s mousy little blonde roommate, but if she would be down to fuck, who are you to deny her? Images of her riding you just as hard as Jennifer had merely an hour ago play across your mind’s eye. The idea that you could get Jennifer and her roommate under you at the same time dances across your imagination pleasantly.

You: What? Really? That's... unexpected.

Jennifer: Yeah, I know, right? She's usually so shy and quiet. But I guess there's just something about you that brings it out in girls.

Then you remember where that ‘something’ came from and what you know that you have to do. You swallow hard. Reagan. Ovulating. Clock is ticking. You type out your messages only to erase them, trying to strategize how to tease Reagan’s digits out of Jennifer’s tight hands.

You: I don't know about that.

You: So anyways, what about Reagan’s number?

Jennifer: Oh, I see. So you're actually not interested in my cute little roommate, then? I’ll have to let her know

You: Sure. Whatever. Anyways, what’s Reagan’s number?

Jennifer: So are you gonna try and bone Reagan or what?

“Well shit,” you sigh, you can tell she is definitely on to you and the game that you are playing.

You: I don't know, I mean, she's cute and all

Jennifer: Oh, come off it

Jennifer: I saw the way you were looking at her last night right? I know you totally want to fuck her brains out don’t you.

You groan, close your eyes, and pinch the bridge of your nose. No point in hiding it, you figure.

You: Alright, fine. Yeah, I think she's hot. Is that what you want to hear?

Jennifer: Well, well, well... Look at you, Mr. Horn Dog.

Jennifer: So, if I do give you her number, you're just gonna call her up and try to get in her pants, huh?

You: Why does it matter? Will you give me her number if I promise that I won’t?

You shoot off another hurried text. Not that you’re sure that you’d “respect” such an agreement with a fertile egg so close within your reach.

Jennifer: Hmm... I mean, Reagan's my friend, and I don't want to see her get hurt.

You: I'm not gonna hurt her. I just wanna get to know her better.

Jennifer: Riiiight.

Jennifer: And by "get to know her better," you mean "bang her brains out" don’t you

You: Look. She seems cool. I wanna hang out with her, see where things go. Is that such a crime?

Jennifer: And where exactly do you want things to "go" with my dear Reagan?

The thought of that cute little geeky ginger with glasses under you, getting her tight pussy pounded over and over again flash across your mind. Ovulation. Then the idea of her rubbing a big, pregnant tummy makes you audibly gulp and lick your lips. Impregnation. Her breasts swelling up into fat little cones on her chest filled with creamy milk. You feel your cock throb hard, ready to meet the challenge once more.

You: I don't know.

You lie, knowing full well exactly what you and more importantly Vernius wants and expects you to do with such a sweet young woman. You actually feel a pang of doubt cross your mind. What if she doesn’t want you to knock her up? What then are you supposed to do? Would you have the heart to actually **** her?

You: Wherever. I'm not gonna pressure her into anything.

Except maybe motherhood, but that’s just between you and Vernius for now.

Jennifer: Mmmhmm. So, what's in it for me?

You frown, sitting down on your bed, staring hard at the screen for a second, reading and rereading the question again and again before you finally, and slowly, reply.

You: What do you mean?

Jennifer: If I'm gonna hook you up with my friend, I expect something in return.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Quid pro quo, of course,” you chuckle.

You: Like what?

Jennifer: Well, for starters, you're gonna keep fucking me like you did earlier. My legs are still shaking.

You: Ok. Deal. What’s her number?

Jennifer: Also…

You: Also?

Jennifer: You're gonna get tested, so we can ditch the condoms next time. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from feeling that big cock raw. Like, idk, it just did something for me.

You: Alright, sure, I can do that.

Jennifer: And you're gonna be available whenever I might need a booty call. I might get horny at 3 AM, and I expect you to be there for me.

You: Sure. Fine. I can definitely do that.

Jennifer: And on Tuesday night, you're gonna come over and give my roommate an "apology" for kicking her out. I want to see if you can get her to fucking loosen up and stop being such a killjoy all the time. You got any booze to bring?

You’re halfway through typing up a message agreeing to her latest demand, getting impatient, when you remember that you already have plans for Tuesday with Tatiana. You certainly don’t want to skip your very real chance of pounding goth pussy after the taste you got last night. You quickly delete the message and write up a new one.

You: Actually, I can't Tuesday.

Jennifer: Fine, Wednesday then. But you better make it good.

You: Sure. So, are we good?

Jennifer: Fine. But if you do hurt Reagan, I'll fuck you up, kay?

You: Noted. So, about that hooking me up with Reagan. Where and when?

Jennifer: I'll set it up, lemme ask her when she’s off.

You breathe out, tapping your foot. Seconds stretch into what feel like hours. You stare at your phone, waiting, waiting, waiting. Eventually, you put your phone down in frustration, face down, on your desk making up your mind that you’re just gonna leave it there until Jennifer gets back to you, glaring at the evil thing. As you walk back into the bathroom through a cloud of steam, just to hear that evil phone ding as you are about to finally get in the shower.