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Mia
The frat house is packed, but here I am, because of course I came. Being the good girl and always doing the right thing never sent my dreams knocking on my door. I might as well get my hands dirty this time, reach out and grab what I want.
Yes, I’ll be nothing to Delcan Santori tomorrow, but honestly, it’s not like I’ve been something to him so far. Okay, so he knows my name, and he knows that I’ve been watching him on campus, but that doesn’t mean anything. Reading too much into this kind of stuff is most probably what has gotten that blonde face-down on a bed of jackets in the bathroom, ass up, black stockings ripped, getting fucked from behind. A guy is ramming his cock into her, while another is waiting his turn with a grin on his face, stroking his dick on the closed toilet seat.
Me? The past few months in college have made me wise to say the least. I know that’s what these bastards would do to me if I let them. But I came prepared. Declan Santori is going to be my only fuck tonight, my first college fuck. Anticipation and anxiety make one hell of a cocktail as they ransack my body. My cheeks are on fire, my eyes burning, red-rimmed behind the black eyeliner.
Since it’s no secret that Declan is going to make me his slut tonight, I thought I might as well look the part. So leather corset, short leather skirt easily flipped up and down, and fishnets it is. It took me a while to decide whether I should wear the choker around my neck with the metal ring in the middle, thinking it might be too much, but I went for it in the end. I fastened my hair in a high pony-tail on top of my head, my long black hair swinging like a whip behind me as I make my way through the crowd.
Not many people recognize me, partly because they’re already drunk–party’s been on for some hours, and it’s close to midnight now–but mostly because of my look. To everyone here I’m the metalhead who keeps her long black hair down to use it like a curtain on either side of her face when the scrutiny becomes too much. But tonight, I let the temptress out, the alt girl in leather and fishnets.
Frat boys turn their heads, drinks in hand, whistling in my wake. I move fast enough to avoid getting my ass slapped or my skirt lifted. My fishnets are cut to let my ass cheeks hang out for Declan to do with as he pleases, but I don’t want creeps like Timothy feasting on the sight.
The only weapon I have against all of the attention is confidence–Nana taught me that. And Nana was the most badass woman I’ve ever known, so I keep my head high, making my way through the dancing, drinking crowd, up the stairs towards the first floor gallery. The air seems to be a little more breathable here, stinking less of alcohol, sweat and that tell-tale sweet-spicy scent of Mary Jane. Setting my ringed fingers on the white wooden banister, I look down at the crowd, and my pulse quickens.
It’s an exhilarating sight.
I didn’t see it from the ground floor, but among the drunk dancers and clusters of boisterous guys playing stupid cock-fighting games, people get it on. The girls are as drunk as those dancing with their hands in the air, moving around like aimless nymphs, looking much less graceful than they imagine, and stumbling over each other’s feet.
“There you are, little spy.” That voice ripples behind me like dark waters. I stop breathing, but I don’t dare turn around. I know he’s behind me, I can feel it when his unmistakable scent and body heat wrap around me, and I can feel it when he looks over my head at the crowd on the ground floor. “Glad to see you decided to accept my invitation. I imagine you must want those dick pics really bad.”
I swallow hard, but don’t answer. He made it clear I should only come if I wanted him to fuck me, and I came dressed like this. It doesn’t get any more obvious than that. So when he rests his large tan hand on the banister next to my milky white one, I suck in a deep breath, and muster all my courage. It’s now or never.
I push my ass against his cock, and damn, I find him already hard, as if the mere sight of me triggered him. Or maybe it was watching all these little hidden hubs of live porn from above, but I choose to keep the fantasy in my head, and think it was me. He responds to me, the move a promise–and a threat.
“Want to take this somewhere a little more–” My mouth goes dry. I lick my lips to keep going. “Somewhere more intimate?”
“That depends,” he purrs in my ear, moving his hips slowly against my buttocks, raising my skirt in the process. The air kisses the lower part of my ass cheeks, now exposed from the friction. “Don’t you prefer to watch the show for a while? Or maybe partake?”
My heart beats harder at that word–partake. The gallery isn’t as populated as the ground floor, but that doesn’t make the place any less exposed. If anything, people are not as drunk, they hang out in pairs or small groups, and their attention is fixed on us. There’s one of the campus sweethearts by a white door, talking to a guy that is now ogling Declan and me. Tall, blonde and perfect, she’s one of those girls that get first dibs at the most desirable mates, and one of those that made the cruelest remarks about me back in high school. I remember her well and, by the way she’s staring, she remembers me, too, even though she’s never made it as obvious as now.
What’s also obvious is that she wants the man that’s with me right this minute. I scoff inwardly. Who doesn’t? She stares at him like he’s sex on a stick. She’d probably agree to a threesome with him and me in a heartbeat just for the chance to suck his dick.
But I can’t even turn around to look at him, not when his large hand slips over mine, his big body trapping me against the banister.
I suck in a sharp breath, thinking about him cramming me against the wall earlier today, and how much the words of that prick Timothy turned me on, putting in my head the image of Declan finger-fucking me there. I still want that to happen. My eyes wander over the crowd downstairs that seems to be growing more comfortable with the intoxicating music and the thumping bass by the second.
Declan shifts behind me, and the music slowly rises to swallow the chatter completely. By the DJ’s nod, I know that the signal to switch to the tribal, visceral and carnal music that drives the crowd to shed all of its pretenses has come from the man behind me. I watch, fascinated, as the ground floor becomes an orgy scene.
Guys join the dancing girls, gripping their hips and grinding their taut bodies into them, sweaty arms tangling with each other, bodies swaying to each other’s rhythm. I wait for the entire scenery to outrage me, disgust me, but none of that comes. I go slick between my legs as I watch a girl go down to her knees, her fingers fumbling with her dance partner’s fly while another guy takes his cock out, stroking it behind her.
They’re gonna spit roast her, and she’s gonna like it.
“You like watching,” Declan hums against my hair, his breath coating my ear.
