Time Stop

He got back to his seat, and clicked time back on.

"Oh!" Annika suddenly exclaimed, feeling so strangely intensely aroused again, and apparently so much so that she had almost lost control of her panties. She fell to her left knee, but managed to maintain hold of the panties. She picked up Henry's pencil with her left hand as she carefully adjusted the position of her panties as best she could with her right.

Jennie Jamerson, who was sitting just to her right, asked, "Are you okay, Professor Schilling?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine dear, just a little hot flash." As soon as she said it she regretted it. It wasn't a bad excuse for her state of confusion but it implied some other condition that would be just about as embarrassing to publicly announce to her students as an intense sexual excitement.

She carefully got back onto her feet, turned halfway toward Henry and handed him his pen. "Here, Henry," she said, her voice clearly breathless and agitated, her face flushed, "keep a firm grip on it now," advice that she recognized was even more important for herself.

Henry smiled. He had gotten the confirmation he needed. Ms. Schilling, Professor Schilling, was indeed hot to trot. Yes, this opened up quite a few more possibilities.

He watched with some amusement the distraught and confused Ms. Schilling through the rest of the test. He even stopped time again to give her another dose of arousal when it appeared that she was getting control of herself.

Toward the end of the class he noticed that Mary Sue looked distraught. She clearly felt that time was running out for her. Henry again wondered if it would be possible to share the watch with someone. It would be nice to have a partner. He wondered if he was now doomed to be alone for the rest of his life. Could he really tell a girl about this? Actually, why not? She would have to be pretty darned impressed by his ability to stop time. Not too many guys could do that!

Henry did check Mary Sue's exam before she turned it in. After she placed it on the professor's desk he stopped time to retrieve it. She had changed back a number of the answers. He fixed them for her. She would not likely discover this later. All she would be told was the grade she received and a list of items she got wrong.

He also did the same later for Doris and Mandy. He really should do something nice for them as they had done something nice for him.

He set out after class wondering how else he might use the watch. The possibilities seemed as endless as time. It hadn't been very long at all since he had vowed to be more careful with the watch, yet now he wanted to use it all the time. He didn't even know how many times he had stopped time in Professor Schilling's class.

He came to the realization that the ability to stop time was helping him to grow as a person, to become a more complete man. He really had been too absorbed with reading. There were other important things in life than just books. His parents had been telling him that time after time. Well, he now realized how right they were. One should take the time at times to stop and smell the roses.

His eyes fixed on the sight of a girl's bottom swaying left and right in front of him as they walked across the campus commons. He had never noticed before how much beauty there was in the world, even when he was just walking to and from class. His eyes would typically be buried in some dusty old tome. He now realized that all around him were such delectable visions.

He stopped time and stepped up to the girl. He lifted up the back of her skirt.

Well, here were indeed pretty flowers to admire. She was wearing pastel cotton panties with yellow daises, pink carnations, red roses, and, well, he couldn't identify the rest of them. He tucked the back of her skirt under her belt, stepped back a few feet, and started time again.

Now the swaying bottom was even more delightful! Stopping time was pretty darned cool, but existing in time did also have its charm, particularly when it involved such movements as this. Do women naturally walk with a wiggle? He didn't know, but this one sure did and she was waving such a cute perky colorful flag, swaying in the cool spring wind.

Some animals alert potential mates that they are in heat by having their rear ends sort of light up with inflamed arousal, or at least so Henry had read. He was thinking, with private amusement, that this would be a good way for human females to do it too. They could just tuck up their skirts in back to signal men that they want to be asked out on a date, or at least it sure looked that way right now.

It didn't take at all long though for the girl to realize that something was amiss. It just felt so unusually cool back there. She reached behind her to discover that her hand touched bare bottom, or at least bare panty. She looked back down over her shoulder to see that her skirt had somehow been tucked into her belt.

She quickly pulled it free and looked all around behind her, scowling at any and every guy she saw, many of whom had indeed enjoyed the very brief show. She wasn't entirely sure though if it was their fault. She had just left a restroom at the Fine Arts building. It was conceivably possible that her skirt had gotten caught in her belt, but, really? That had never happened before, and why hadn't she noticed it until now? No, some guy must have done it. But, goodness, what guy would have the nerve to do something like that!

Henry was not the only guy in her line of vision, not even the closest guy. He had stepped back far enough to avoid being the closest guy, and he was now quite glad he made that decision.

The girl turned around and went on her way, feeling that she really couldn't identify the culprit, if there was in fact one. Still, she kept looking back over her shoulder and checking her skirt.

Henry smiled. There were so many possibilities now open before him, and he had all the time in the world to enjoy them.

Henry stopped, not time, just his movement. He suddenly wondered, did he really have all the time in the world?

No! Time was not actually stopping for him. Time was stopping for everyone else! Time for him was moving along in one continuously flowing stream, just like before, not at all affected by the watch.

He clicked the watch. Time was now stopped for everyone else but him. He was not being provided with any more time than he otherwise would have in his life. He clicked the watch and everyone began to move, picking up where they had just left off, precisely at the point in time when Henry had stopped it. Time had passed for him, but not for them. He had actually lost time, relative to them. He now had less time left in his life than they had.

If he had a girlfriend, which didn't seem likely, but if he did, and she could not join him, then someday he would eventually, with the passing of time, be much older than her. The more Henry used the watch the sooner he would die, relative to everyone else, and the longer everyone else would live, relative to him.

This actually kind of sucked.

He could delay time so that he could get things done. It provided him with more time than others had relative to some future point in time, but it was still his time that he was using up. Henry felt a shiver run down his spine. This was really no good at all. He could feel his heart sinking.

He needed a distraction. He made his way to the student lounge, where a lot of guys and girls just hung out to chat, have sodas, play some games, text each other, essentially wasting time until the next class.

It didn't take long to find a helpful distraction. The girl Henry spotted was Cynthia Lauper. Cynthia was drop-dead gorgeous. If he had to describe her he would say to imagine the model and actress, Nicole Kidman, which was of course saying a lot. Cynthia had long wavy red hair that spilled down past her shoulders. She often had to brush her hair back away from her eyes, it was so full and lush. Henry once thought that if her hair was that unmanageable perhaps she should just get it cut, but he eventually realized that the gesture was itself a way to draw attention to her hair, to her face, to her eyes. And, her eyes were stunning. They were large, blue, gay and yet also piercing. It could be difficult for a man to even speak to her when she looked him in the eye, as he could feel so paralyzed, so intimidated, so beneath her loveliness.

Her skin was immaculate, her nose was thin and perky, her teeth white and perfect, her lips a lush red. Her shape was outstanding: a true hour-glass figure. Her breasts were not at all large (34-B) but she presented them well, often within inordinately tight and revealing blouses, sweaters, or t-shirts.

She was well out of the range for someone like Henry Demis. Heck, Henry would probably have difficulty getting any girl to go out on a date. It wasn't that he was bad looking. Well, there was the thick glasses, he was certainly kind of dorky, ill-kempt, and basically not that interesting. If a girl wanted to read books, then he was most definitely the right guy, but the date would be rather quiet, with little being said, as he would prefer that they just quietly sit and read.

Cynthia was also taller than Henry, if he needed any further reason for the match not made in heaven. No girl wants to date a guy shorter than him, or at least very few do. Henry was only five feet, three inches. Cynthia was probably five-ten. She sometimes felt she was taller than she would like to be, but no cosmetic surgery could ever fix that. And, five-ten was a good height for a model, which was her career aspiration.

At the moment she was sitting on a cushion in the corner of the lounge, as usual surrounded by guys currying her favor.

Henry walked right up to her, smiling, knowing that Cynthia Lauper was about to be cut down to size, his size.

"Hello Cynthia," he announced as he arrived. "What are you guys all talking about?"

Cynthia was surprised. Henry had never been this assertive before, to say the least. Frankly, she wasn't entirely happy about it as she felt that he was really a waste of her time. But, his presence might turn out to be amusing. His thick glasses were themselves amusing. "Well, Henry Demis. How wonderful to see you!" She pretended to be pleased, even joyed, by his arrival. "Perhaps you can help us. We're discussing magicians, David Blaine in particular. Donald here," she said, gesturing to the tall handsome guy standing to her right, "says that what he does is not really magic."

Donald spoke up in his defense, albeit risking being on the wrong end of a disagreement with Cynthia. His normative intention was to say what Cynthia would find most pleasing. But, he did feel that she would ultimately be impressed by his knowledge of the tricks of the magician trade. "No magician, of course, performs magic. What I was saying was that Blaine cheats as a magician because many of his tricks involve actors, confederates, and television editing, rather than sleight-of-hand."

"Oh please," Cynthia responded. "You just don't know how he does it, so you just make something up."

"No, no, really. I'm not talking about the card tricks, the levitation, or stuff like that. I'm talking about when he reveals the name of someone you were thinking about that you, for instance, wrote on something. He has a confederate involved. The girl is in on it."

"That's not true!" Cynthia turned to Henry. "Henry, what do you think?"

Henry's original plans for Cynthia suddenly changed. He now had a much better idea. "Oh, I can in fact do that trick," Henry calmly, confidently, proclaimed.

"What?!" "No way!" "Fuck off!" Henry's proclamation was met with considerable skepticism by Cynthia and her male admirers. There was no way that Henry Demis could do that trick.

"Show us!" They exclaimed.

Cynthia agreed, "Yes, please, Henry. Can you do it now?"

"Alright," he responded. "Donald, can I borrow a pen and a tablet?"

Donald, with a big grin on his face, handed Henry his pen and notebook. "I'll need them back...In one piece," he warned him.

Henry ignored the remark. He tore out an empty page, set the tablet down, handed the paper and pen to Cynthia, and instructed, "Print the name of the person you find most impressive on the paper, and then fold it up many, many times. I'll turn my back so that I can't see what you're writing." Henry turned around to face in the other direction.

He was definitely getting everyone's attention. They all felt there was really no way Henry would be able to do this. Of course, they weren't entirely sure what he was going to do. Eyes scanned the room for mirrors that Henry might be using as Cynthia printed a name on the paper in very small letters, her other hand hiding from view what she was writing.

"Let at least one person see the name you have written," Henry instructed.

Cynthia showed it to Donald, as well as a couple of other guys.

"Now fold it up many, many times. Make it as small as you can."

She did so.

"Place it in the palm of your hand, making sure that everyone can see you doing it, and then squeeze your hand into a tight fist."

All eyes were focused on the now little folded-up paper as Cynthia squeezed it tightly into her fist.

Henry turned around and wrapped his own hands around Cynthia's closed fist.

Cynthia giggled at the touch of Henry's fingers. His hands felt so small for a man, so soft.

Henry asked, "Do you still feel the paper in your hand?"

"Yes, yes I do."

Henry fixed his eyes on hers and said, with exaggerated seriousness, "Now slip it down into your brassiere, where it will be safe."

"Henry Demis! My goodness, what did you have for breakfast this morning!" But, she wasn't offended. On the contrary, she enjoyed calling attention to her breasts, as long as it was duly respectful. She smiled as she pulled her blouse a bit away from her chest to slip the paper within her brassiere, against her right breast.

A few guys leaned over and tilted their heads to try to get a peek to be sure that the paper was indeed being placed within Cynthia's brassiere. Of course, if they also managed to get a peek at Cynthia's breast or brassiere, that was kind of nice as well.

Henry though kept his eyes firmly fixed on Cynthia's, who now found his steady, piercing gaze to be a bit disconcerting.

Once the paper was safely in place Henry instructed, "Now rest your hands on your knees."

She did so.

Henry then slowly, very slowly, glided his hands over Cynthia's body, like sort of magic wands, never touching her, just feeling the space, the air, around her. "I must warn you, Cynthia," he said as he did so, "my magic can have strange effects on a young woman. Very strange effects, indeed."

That drew some derisive chuckling from the crowd, as well as from Cynthia. It was a bit corny and silly, particularly coming from someone like Henry.

Henry paused when his hands were over Cynthia's perky breasts. His fingers were poised as if to clutch them, but he did not. He just kept them there a good three inches away.

Cynthia smiled and giggled. A few of the guys felt jealous.

Henry pulled back, stood up straight and slipped his hands into his pockets. He stopped time.

As soon as he did so he ripped out another piece of paper from the pad and wrote another name down. He then reached down into Cynthia's brassiere to retrieve her paper. He kept his hand there for a little while though, enjoying the feel of that lovely soft breast. He even played a bit with her nipple. His cock grew within his pants. He could do so much more. He could do just about anything. His power was so impressive, as was the feel of his swelling cock. The feel of a hard cock can make a man feel so strong, so virile, so manly, so powerful. And, Henry was indeed truly powerful.

He took the paper from Cynthia's brassiere and opened it up. It read, "Heidi Klum." He had no idea who that was.

He folded up his paper in a manner that closely approximated hers. He put his folded paper into her brassiere, where she had placed her paper, and then placed hers in his pocket.

He got down onto his knees in front of Cynthia. He felt like he was kneeling at a great altar, the sanctum of Cynthia Lauper.

He slowly raised her loose, feminine, flowered-print yellow summer skirt.

Cynthia was wearing beneath her skirt white thigh high nylons, held up by a white garter belt, over which she was wearing pastel lace bikini panties. Cynthia would never be caught wearing anything but the finest of undies. Who knew when someone might be looking under her skirt. Of course, she wasn't expecting it to be in the manner that Henry was now partaking, but it wasn't at all unusual for Cynthia to provide some guy access to her so very coveted treasure.

Henry spread apart her deliciously white womanly thighs and inched in closer, and closer, and closer, until his face was but inches from her panties, and her cunt. He breathed in the wonderfully scented aroma of Cynthia Lauper. She even smelled beautiful. He wondered if she used some sort of scented spray. Most likely she did.

He used the fingers of his right hand to pull away the front of her panties to open to his eyes the sight of Cynthia Lauper's cunt.

He was not disappointed. He smiled as it came into view. It was mostly cleanly shaved, albeit with a v-shaped landing strip above it, pointing the way, directing the eye, and anything else that wished to land, toward the thick, wavy feminine lips. He wasted no time in planting his lips on hers, once again engorging himself on the delightful feel and taste of a woman's fleshy cunt.

This was perhaps the best cunt he had tasted so far, even better than Professor Schilling's. But, of course, he was biased by the fact that this was the cunt of Cynthia Lauper. Few men had perhaps even seen it. Well, that probably wasn't really true. In fact, quite a few had probably placed their lips here before. But, even many, many more men coveted this opportunity, this delight, this honor, and Henry savored this moment in time.

When he felt sufficiently satisfied he carefully pulled her panties back into place, brought her legs back together, pulled her skirt back down, wiped his lips, stood back up and, with a smile on his face, took Donald's watch off his wrist. He got back into the position he was standing before: his hands in his pockets. He started time again.

A careful eye would have noticed a minor shift in Henry's position, but the change was so trivial and quick that it went largely unnoticed, or at least it was immediately dismissed by the mind.

In fact, Donald asked, "Well, what's the trick?"

Henry looked over at Donald and smiled, then turned back to Cynthia. "Was the person's name Heidi Klumm?" He mispronounced her last name, which caused a few smiles and chuckles, but everyone who knew the correct answer was nevertheless duly impressed, as well they should be.

"Oh my gosh, Henry," Cynthia exclaimed, feeling surprisingly excited, and not just about the trick. She had somehow become sexually excited? "How did you do that?" she managed to ask, squeezing her warm, moist thighs together, her face becoming a little flushed. Yes, she realized, she had indeed become so aroused, so moist. She looked at Henry with confused, glazed, and as usual so very, very pretty eyes.

"Mirrors," suggested Donald, or there was someone standing behind him, signaling him, somehow. He looked around, staring intently into everyone's eyes, trying to discern the confederate.

"But," Henry added. "It really wasn't Heidi, was it, Cynthia."

"What?" She felt so agitated, her heart racing, her breasts rising and falling with her accelerated breathing.

"Check your answer."

Cynthia reached down into her brassiere, curious and excited as to what he was suggesting, although also noticing that her nipple was now quite stiff and aroused. She pulled out the paper, opened it up, and, her jaw dropping, her mouth opening, her eyes wide with shock and wonder, read out loud, "Henry Demis?"