I never planned on telling anyone about that night, but here I am, confessing every filthy detail like it just happened yesterday. I was twenty-one, a junior at state college, sharing a cramped two-person dorm with my roommate who was gone for the weekend. The place smelled like cheap vanilla candles and laundry detergent, and I was alone, scrolling through my phone in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties when the knock came.
It was Jake, the guy from my lit seminar who’d been eye-fucking me all semester. Tall, broad shoulders, that cocky smirk. He said he’d forgotten his notes, but we both knew why he was really there. I let him in, heart hammering, and before the door even clicked shut he had me backed against the wall. His hands slid straight under my shirt, rough palms cupping my tits, thumbs flicking my nipples until they ached.
“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he growled when his fingers dipped between my legs and found the soaked crotch of my panties. I didn’t deny it. I’d been thinking about him all day. I yanked his belt open, shoved his jeans down, and wrapped my hand around his thick cock. It was heavy and hot in my palm, already leaking at the tip. I dropped to my knees right there on the cheap carpet and took him into my mouth without another word.
He tasted salty and clean.
I sucked him deep, gagging when he hit the back of my throat, spit running down my chin. Jake’s hands fisted in my hair, guiding me, fucking my face like he’d been waiting months for it. “That’s it, college girl. Suck that cock.” The words made me clench and drip onto the floor.
He pulled me up, spun me around, and bent me over my tiny desk. My t-shirt rode up to my waist. He ripped my panties aside and slammed into me in one hard thrust. I cried out, loud enough that someone down the hall probably heard. He was so thick I felt split open, stretched around him, every inch dragging against my walls. He fucked me like he hated me, hips snapping, balls slapping my clit with every stroke.
I came first, hard, legs shaking, pussy pulsing and gushing around him. Jake didn’t stop. He kept pounding, one hand reaching around to rub my swollen clit until I came again, this time screaming into my forearm. Then he pulled out, flipped me onto my back on the narrow bed, and shoved back inside. My legs locked around his waist. I clawed his shoulders while he drove into me, sweat-slick skin slapping, the bed frame banging the wall in a steady rhythm.
“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, voice ragged.
“I want your cum,” I gasped. “Fill this college pussy up.”
He groaned, buried himself to the hilt, and pulsed deep inside me. I felt every hot spurt, thick and endless, leaking out around his cock as he kept thrusting through it. When he finally pulled out, his cum ran down my ass onto the sheets. I reached down, scooped some onto my fingers, and licked them clean while he watched, eyes dark.
We didn’t stop there. He flipped me onto my stomach, spread my cheeks, and licked his own cum out of me before sliding back in, slower this time, deeper, until I came again with my face pressed into the pillow. Later we moved to the shower, water running cold while he fucked me standing up, my legs around his hips, back against the tiles. By morning we’d used every surface in the room and I was sore, marked, and still hungry for more.
That was the first of many nights, but none of them felt as raw or as perfect as that first confession of pure need. I still get wet just thinking about it.
