After a year of pornographic movie-making at her father’s upstate New York studio, Vixen had a fat bank account, a used convertible, bruised thighs, stretched nipples and a sore anus and flabby vagina. She was disappointed.
She had thought making porn movies would be exciting,. It was not. She had dreamed that some Hollywood agent would see her work and offer her a test. None did. She had met some interesting women and a lot of sad dolts, mostly male. The work had become a bore.
She decided to go to college and dug out her cobbled-up high school transcript, that she had paid for with a blow-job, and had some copies made. She created several letters from fictitious teachers that praised her as a dutiful student and included an unglamorous headshot in each admission request form. She applied to five small colleges in the Northeast and mid-Atlantic. Three schools granted her admission. She chose Seaside College in New Jersey which was known for its liberal arts program, environmental studies department and its swimming team. She picked Seaside it because it was closest to her home, only five hours away at 75 mph.
The girl packed all her jeans and sweaters, her Nikes and her boots, her dildoes and thongs along with her black lace teddies and drove there in her three-year-old Mustang, wrote a check for the first semester’s tuition plus room and board and felt very proud of herself. There were not many 17-year-olds who could do what she had just done she was sure.
She registered for the basic freshman load of sixteen credit hours and headed toward the bookstore with a long list, drawing admiring stares along the way. Vixen jiggled when she walked and did nothing to try to control the wonderful movements enjoyed by various parts of her incredible anatomy. By the time she emerged a fistfight in the parking lot had decided who would help her with her load of books and see her to her dorm.
Ralph Stimson, six-two and 210, senior captain of the lacrosse team and an economics major, had kicked one eager freshman out of the way and threatened a geek junior with castration before Vixen finished paying the cashier. He met her at the door, grinned, took her heavy bag, and followed her to her bright red car admiring the incredible movement of her firm buttocks and feeling his arousal begin.
“Where are you sleeping?” he asked, sure there was not a better set of boobs on campus nor a wider patch of skin between sweater and low-hanging jeans.
In fact, the way her cotton sweater stood out, three or four inches from her ribs, there was an open passage for exploration the way he saw it. His palms itched and his balls trembled. The trench of her spine was even exciting. And most of it was on view down to her coccyx.
“Ha ha, that an invitation?” Vixen asked. “I’m signed up for the freshman dorm.”
“That smelly place. What a shame. I’ve got big bed at the Delta Beta house. Like to see my room?”
“Maybe later,” Vixen said with a grin and a wiggle that stirred his guts.
“Okay, Okay,” he said quickly. “I’ll pick you up out front at six, show you the local sights, take you to dinner, right? That cafeteria is certain death.”
“Get in,” she said with a sigh of resignation, well aware of his desires and his swollen groin. “You can help me haul stuff into the dorm.”
The young man settled into the leather seat, did up his seat belt and was mashed back to the cushions as Vixen floored it and scorched away from the curb. The 4.6 liter V-8 screamed through second as Vixen negotiated a couple of turns that left Ralph gasping and did a four-wheel slide into a small parking space having used only three of the Ford’s six gears. She popped open the trunk, and said, “I’ll go check in.”
A half hour later, after the boy’s fifth trip down to the car and back up three flights of stairs, all of Vixen’s boxes, bags, suitcases, computer, printer and books were in her room, and she had met her roommate, a skinny girl from Texas called Cal. They had chatted while Ralph labored. Cal was a swimmer on a scholarship and had a boyfriend making money on the bull riding circuit.
The young Texan popped the caps off bottles of Shiner’s Blonde, and the three of them sat on Vixen’s bed and drank while Ralph got his breath and collected his wits. He used his elbow to keep his cock down.
When she drained her beer, Vixen stood up, loosened her belt, unsnapped her jeans, displayed her tiny panties and said, “Cal, can you do me a small favor and give us a half-hour or so? We just met.”
“Sure,” said the girl as she watched her roommate skin out of her faded Levis and flip off her shoes with her toes. Her thong had just about disappeared into her pink flesh, and her thighs were surprisingly muscular.
By the time Cal closed the door behind her, Vixen was out of her short sweater and on Ralph’s lap, her mouth mashed to his. “Thanks for the help,” she said as she pulled his sweatshirt over his head. She kissed him again as his big hands grasped her here and there, kneading both a breast and her buttocks.
Vixen jumped free of Ralph’s paws, finished undressing and watched her new friend strip off his chinos and jockey shorts. His prick was not fully hard but it was, she was happy to see, long enough and thick enough to do what she needed. She had not enjoyed a man since she quit making porn movies a month before, and she was more than ready to make up for lost time and get back to what she did so well.
She spread herself on the narrow bed, grinned and lifted her knees. Ralph climbed on her eagerly, licking her nipples as he went past, and sank his now-rigid prong up into her as she raised her pelvis to make it easier. In he went, inch by inch, tightly sheathed all the way to the balls. She clasped him firmly with her long legs and began to quiver on his hot and throbbing rod, bouncing up and down until she was sure he was fully inserted and ready for action. She didn’t want to buck him off as she had some of her well-hung co-stars.
“Oh, that’s good,” she told him as she pressed her heels into his buttocks and rippled along his rigid, eight-inch love muscle. “Now there’s no hurry. Cal wont be back for a half an hour, right?”
Ralph nodded, never having felt a girl massage his cock the way this luscious freshman was. “Right,” he gasped as he got braced on his elbows and moved his whole body up along hers as he thrust hard and deeply, hoping to excite her clit and bring her off. They both were grunting with effort.
Most of the females he had known complained about the size of his manhood, but this little girl seemed to hardly notice how well-equipped he was. Well, he decided, gritting his teeth as she squeezed him again and writhed beneath him, by the time he was done, she would be begging for him to stop.
Five minutes later, his face dripping sweat, he was the one doing the begging. “Please, Vixen, please. I need to rest, to recover. Give me a break.” She smiled and tightened the grip of her legs about his waist, enjoying the rapid flexing of his deep but sated manhood as she arched under him.
“Roll over,” Vixen said, and once he was on his back, she rose, got comfortable in the saddle and then looked down between her jutting breasts at the stricken boy who had already come twice and seemed to think he was done for the day. “Now we’re going to do a hundred strokes and I’ll count. All you’ve got to do it keep it upright.”
“No, no,” he sobbed. “Come on. I can’t. You’ll tear it off.”
Vixen eased back and took a deep breath. She patted the boy’s hard stomach muscles, pinched his nipples gently and then leaned forward to let herself down on his almost-hairless body. “Hug me,” she said, disappointed but not wanting to lose such a good cocksman. Vaginal orgasms were hard to come by, and she had enjoyed a full-fledged one that shook her fillings.
He managed to hug and kiss her, and she rolled off of his big body, tossed him his clothes and got herself dressed, aware of fluids oozing down the inside her thighs. “Did you say six o’clock?” she asked sweetly, trying not to notice that Ralph was whimpering or that his prick looked desiccated and his wrinkled scrotum was hanging loosely.
He nodded again, and she held the door open for him. Cal was leaning against the opposite wall, her finger stuck in the neck of her empty beer bottle. She licked her lips and watched the big, young man stumble toward the steps.
“You’re a mean bitch, aren’t you?” she asked as she got out two more pale beers.
“Yep,” said Vixen, feeling a lot better.
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