Seduced In College (Campus Dorm Room School student One Night Stand Erotica Girl Romance Sex Stories series)

by 
Mia Perry © All rights reserved.

This
book is a work of fiction.  Similarities to real people, places, or events
are entirely coincidental.

Erotic, for adults, 18+ only

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Emilie giggles.  I ignore her.  I’m too excited
to notice anything else.  Come on, which girl doesn’t finger
herself? 

Emilie and I are besties, since we met the first time in
kindergarten.  We went to the same schools, and then the same
college.  We have the same taste for everything.  She likes to paint
her nails dark purple, so do I.  She loves parties; I’m a party freak,
too. 

Oh, those parties… I mean, not the regular birthday
parties or friends’ gathering.  Those are
boring
.  Emilie
hates them, so do I.  We love slumber parties.  Girls get
together.  We talk dirty.  We wax.  And we finger, too. 
The most exciting part is we finger each other. 

Emilie and I know exactly how to turn each other on. 
She can easily give me three orgasms.  I can give her at least two. 

Well, it’s not my fault she has only two while giving me
three.  That’s because her orgasms last too long.  She screams so
hard, my eardrums almost explode. 

We still have those exciting parties but it’s hard to get
together.  So… it’s usually only Emilie and me.  We have our tiny
slumber parties every once in a while. 

Well, in fact, we are roommates.  So… it’s easy to
throw in a party.  We do all the girl stuff as we did in high school but
with a new twist: we drink, too.  Oh, man, that’s exciting!

Don’t get me wrong.  We are not lesbians.  We
each have a boyfriend.  The fun part is we share boyfriends, too.  We
are besties and we share everything anyway. 

You would imagine her boyfriend would come over and fuck
us both, do you?  You are absolutely
wrong
.  That’s not the
case at all. 

You know those college boys, they are weak.  They
move on you and you don’t feel a thing.  Seriously.  They puff,
too.  Before you are turned on, it’s all finished.  Getting a boy
like this to fuck us both? 
No way. 
Not in a million years.

What we do is the other way around.  Things have to
be properly arranged, okay?  Let’s say it’s my turn.  Emilie will go
shopping.  Oh, well, the kind of “shopping” in the bar anyway.  So,
she’s going to have some fun with some other boy or boys.  She needs a bed
for a night anyway.  So… fair enough. 

Meanwhile, I call her boyfriend up.  He comes. 
Of course, my boyfriend comes, too.  One of them will bring the
junk.  You know, chips, fried chicken, anything oily, salty, and
absolutely unhealthy.  The other boy will bring the drinks.  Really
good ones, like beer and vodka.  After a few drinks, anything can
happen.  Oh, man, you have to try it.  That’s
life
. 

But, at this moment, I’m not with any these
boyfriends.  I’m with Emilie.  We are not in our dorm room
either.  We are in the classroom.  Yes, a
classroom
.  But
it’s not the lecturing kind of huge room.  It’s a small room.  Good
privacy.  No security camera—at least I don’t see any.

This room must have been designed for fingering.  I’m
serious.  There are absolutely
no
windows.  Can you imagine a
small room with no windows?  Once you turn the lights off, its pitch
dark.  You can do
anything
inside without being disturbed. 

But we like to keep the lights on.  We dim
them.  This is the other reason why we believe the room has been designed
for fingering.  Why do you want to dim the lights in a classroom? 
You want students to fall asleep in class?  That doesn’t make sense at
all.

Anyway, we have
no
interest at all in finding out
why there is such a special, secret fingering room at the corner of the
building, which is empty all the time.  Best of all, the area is
quiet.  Super quiet.  No one ever walks close.  We can scream
and yell as loud as we want.  We never had any problem.

We found this room by accident.  Anyway, that was
history.  We came in, used it once.  Then we kept coming back, again
and again.  Emilie likes to start all by herself.  But I know once
her breaths become short and heavy, it’s my turn to give her a perfect massage
on her pussy to bring her to the long, high pitch screaming sessions. 

I can easily do the job.  The secret is that you have
to be a bit more creative.  If you focus on the clit every time, it
becomes less and less exciting.  So… I do other things to her pussy, nipples,
and lips.  But once again, I have to assure you, we are not
lesbians.  We are just friends helping each other.  Pure
friendship.  That’s it.

I have a little secret that I want to share with you
today.  I like old men.  Well, many girls like old men.  But I
mean
really old
.  Girls like the matured looking.  They feel
safe, too.  But not me.  I don’t want any security or protection from
an old man.  I just want
fun
.  Lots of fun.

You know those college boys.  They definitely want to
please you.  But they really don’t know how.  All they know is
pushing and pushing.  They push really hard, hoping to turn you on. 
But they become excited too soon.  So, they unload themselves way too
fast. 

They don’t know a thing about foreplay.  Their young
cocks are too sensitive, too. 

That’s why old men can do a much better job.  They
know how to turn you on even
before
their cocks touch you.  And
then, of course they can last a lot longer because their manhoods are way less
sensitive.

The only risk is their cock may not become hard
enough.  Then you will have a hard time to push it in.  You can
spread your legs
real
wide.  But you won’t feel anything. 

This little risk is not a problem for me at all.  I
have my magic cure.  I keep those blue pills—Viagra.  As you know, of
course, they are prescription drugs. So, people will have to get the permission
from their doctors to take the pills. 

But, hey, I’m not that dumb.  I will ask first. 
If their cocks can’t become erect, and they have never had a chance to take
Viagra, then no sex.  It’s that simple.  I don’t want any man to have
a heart attack from those pills and die on me.   

Do I give them the pills for free?  No way.  I
sell them $10 apiece.  I’m not doing business.  But I’m not that
cheap either.  I don’t want to give my body away with those pills as a
bonus.  There is
no way
I can do that.

I’ve tried a few old men.  They are not bad. 
Some buy me stuff, like the G-string set and see-through this and that. 
These are for more fun anyway. 

This is one more reason why I like the old guys. 
They want me to put those things on, and then strip me.  Some simply rip
them apart.  That’s
exciting
.  

Among all the old men I ever met, Emilie’s dad is kind of
special.  Sorry, I almost forget to tell you.  Her dad comes often to
see her.  It’s about one and a half hour drive from the small town where
both our families live.  Sometimes, he came at a wrong time.  Emilie
was in a class.  So… I ended up chatting with him.

Mr. Watson, Emilie’s dad, is a traditional man.  He
has only one marriage.  He has been living with his wife, Emilie’s mom,
for over twenty years.  So, he is really a good man. 

Well, maybe he is a bit too traditional.  At the very
beginning, he didn’t even look at me when we were alone in the room.  Our
conversation is really boring, too.

“Mr. Watson, would you like a coffee or tea?” I asked.

“Can I have some water, please?” he said.

“Mr. Watson, do you want me to show you the campus? 
We have a few nice places that may interest you.”  I asked.

“I guess I’ll sit and wait.  But, thank you anyway, Megan.” 
So… he just sat there, staring at the ceiling.  Seriously, the
ceiling! 

We don’t have a TV in the room.  There is nothing for
him to read either.  Well, we have
lots
of stuff, but those are a
bit too sexy for this old, traditional man.  That’s why the only safe
place he can look at is the ceiling.  Not joking here.

One thing I found funny was Mr. Watson was not
pretending.  Seriously, he was so freaky traditional he was not even
looking at me. 

Come on, let’s face it.  What guy could have resisted
my charm?  
No one
.  Some “traditional gentlemen” pretend
they don’t pay attention to me.  But I can tell they are pretending. 
They steal those dirty looks at my boobs every moment they
believe
I’m not
looking in their directions. 

I don’t blame them.  I work part time in the bar (off
campus anyway).  I am paid well.  You know, by tips.  So, hey,
my boobs help me be better paid.  That’s a fair game. 

Do you really want to know how big my boobs are?  I
will have to be honest with you.  They are
not
big.  You can
call them D to make me happy.  But honestly, they are C-cups. 

The real power of my boobs is they are
stiff
. 
We are talking about
serious stiffness
here.  Other girls need a
good bra to keep their boobs in shape.  I don’t.  They simply stand
up
firm
. 

The most impressive part is my nipples.  They are
big
and firm.  Well, actually, a little bit too big.  Sometimes, I do
feel I need good D-cup boobs to match those unbelievable nipples.  But,
hey, I have more than what I want.  I’m pretty happy.

The bar owner, a short man named Mr. Dick knows the power
of my boobs, too. 

First of all, let me be crystal clear here. 
Dick
is his family name, okay?  Don’t ask me why he has this special family
name.  I really don’t know. 

The problem is, you guys think dirty.  There is
nothing wrong with the surname.  It’s actually the 1,513
^th
most
common name in Great Britain.  And it ranks at 1,388 out of 88,799
surnames in the States.  So, it’s a great surname.  The next time I
catch you thinking that dirty, I’ll strip you—right on the street!

Now, back to Mr. Dick.  He knew my boobs were
special.  So… he decided to take advantage of it. 

Well, unlike you may have in your dirty mind at the
moment, Mr. Dick is a real gentleman.  He knows how to draw a clear line
between employees and
lovers
.  Unfortunately, I have to put plurals
here to show you the fact he does have
a couple
lovers but again, none
of them are his
current
employees.  

Here was what he did: he bought me a uniform.  Well, not
quite the uniform people wear in the office.  It shows almost everything
of my front—as well as my back, too.

Then he cut this cool deal with me: Every time I wear the
“uniform”, I get paid $20 extra.  I work three to four evenings each
week.  So… I wear the “uniform” all the time.  It’s good money. 
I get almost $300 a month for doing nothing.  Think about it…

Not only that, I get
a lot
more tips, too. 
Mr. Dick has a magic way of attracting all the old guys.  Those baby
boomers, you know.  They have the money.  So… they spend on me. 
Sometimes, they slip a twenty dollar bill into my bra.  Great! 
Sometimes, they stick the cash into my panties.  Excellent! 

They can keep their hands on my body as long as they
want.  But they have to be sure not to turn me on.  This is a firm
bottom line.

There are a few who really want to have my
whole
body.  And they get what they want—for free.  I’m not a whore or slut
or some cheap ass to sell my body for cash.  I want to have
fun.   Trust me, they know how to satisfy me.  Plus, they pay me
a lot more tips afterward.  That’s a fair game.

See, I have a ton of experiences dealing with old
men.  So, I know for sure Mr. Watson is not pretending. 

I really feel sorry for Mr. Watson.  He must be
really bored.  How could he have any fun staring at the ceiling and
sipping cold water?

“Mr. Watson?”

“Ummm, oh, hi, Megan.”  Mr. Watson must have become
lost in some boring thinking.