Based on image 17 of the May contest.
—–
My Medieval Literature paper is slow going. Professor Robertson gave my last paper a B and scrawled in the margins with that distinctive green pen something about my thesis not being strong enough. He followed it up with another line that read, Compelling! Main examples were strong but didn’t directly support thesis. Keep at it!
This time, my thesis seems even less compelling than last time, but I’m finding it hard to care. Junior year is whizzing by. Birdsong floats through my open window, carried by the April breeze, and the sunshine on my arm is pleasantly soporific.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I muse. I blow a raspberry, chin resting on my hands. Writer’s block and late afternoon apathy sink their claws into me simultaneously. I try my best to fight them off and begin typing again.
Knock knock.
“Oh, great,” I mutter. “Come in,” I call more loudly, eyeing the glass jar on the corner of my desk. It’s packed with hundreds of folded post-it notes that form a kaleidoscope of color.
“Hey, Caroline.” Jordan, one of my four housemates, pokes his head through the door. “Now a bad time?”
I twist my head around, give him a quick glance, and sigh. He’s nervous, as usual. I close my laptop’s lid with a click. “I guess not. I’m not being productive now, anyway.”
“Cool,” he says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
We live off campus, as most juniors do, and this house is a steal, especially for me. Each of the boys—or more likely, his parents—pays $1200 a month. We have all three floors of the place, and it was just renovated two years ago; the appliances are brand new and the bathrooms are surprisingly modern. It’s a hidden gem among the dozens of decrepit, filthy off-campus houses that most students inhabit.
I don’t contribute anything to the monthly $4800 rent. I’m not even technically on the lease, even though my room is the biggest of the five, takes up the entire third floor, and has its own en suite bathroom. I’m doing my best to cobble together whatever savings I can while I’m still a student. Once I graduate, I want to move to New York, and I already have some loans that I plan to pay off as quickly as possible.
Hence the jar.
Jordan swipes a green sticky pad from the dresser by the door and scrawls something on it before he peels off the top sheet. “Are you sure? If you’re working now, I can—”
“I’m sure.” I wave my phone at him. “Plus, Mark is blowing me up right now. He’s on his way back from class and is in some type of mood.”
“Yeah. I think his bio lab was today. The one he’s been dreading for three weeks.”
I tap the jar with a fingernail and raise my eyebrows meaningfully. “Exactly. So lock the damn door or he’s going to come back and beat you to the punch. You know how he deals with stress.” He fucks my brains out. If there’s one person who’s happy when Mark is stressed, it’s me.
The vast majority of post-its in the jar are purple, followed by a sizable chunk of Alex’s blues. Jordan’s greens float here and there like flecks of seaweed in a dark ocean. Only Avery’s yellow appears less frequently. His single post-it, folded into a neat square, is buried in there somewhere, the loopy 9/7/25 he wrote marking the one time he capitalized on our house’s economic arrangement before he and Cindy declared exclusivity.
Fine by me. I love sex, far more than the average college girl does (if you can believe that). I’m not sure if there’s a clinical definition for ‘nymphomaniac,’ but if there is, I can almost guarantee it describes me, which is why I’m more than happy to suck and fuck my way through the month if it means I don’t have to pay rent. Hell, my habits would probably be similar even if we paid $960 each. Still, it’s a relief that Cindy’s now taking care of Avery (pun intended) for me. Being at the mercy of four horny college guys might be fun, but it would wreak havoc on my productivity. Between Mark, Alex, and Jordan, I’m already getting interrupted at least three times a day. On weekends, it’s closer to six times a day. One Saturday, when the boys were day drinking for some reason or another, I had sex 14 times. That’s not including 11 blowjobs.
All of that was to satisfy three of them. If there was a fourth cock in the mix, I don’t think this arrangement would work for me. Grades still matter to a nympho like me, you know.
Jordan walks over and drops the new square into the jar; I’m holding its cork top, waiting for him, and I press it firmly back in place once he’s done.
“So, cutie, how do you want it?” I stand, my chin level with his chest, head cocked in that sultry way that melts him like butter.
My phone buzzes again. Both of us look over and see a push notification. Mark’s name appears three times in rapid succession before the ribbons collapse into a single row. Damn, he must really have some pent-up frustration from that lab.
“I only want you if you want me, too,” Jordan says.
“Is that why you’re tenting your sweatpants already?”
He flushes and adjusts his waistband so it hides his erection. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to take advantage.”
I roll my eyes. “A deal is a deal, even if we don’t have a written contract. Trust me, Jordan, I understood what the term ‘free use’ meant when we moved in. Did you see me hesitate when Mark proposed the idea?”
“No,” he admits, “but—”
“There are already green post-its in my jar. Not as many as theirs, but at least a dozen. Did you worry about taking advantage of me those other times? No? So take me again now. We both know you want to. And if you don’t, send Mark in on your way out. I’m starting to get horny seeing that bulge in your pants.” As if on cue, the sound of the front door opening echoes through the empty living room.
“Would you rather it be him?” Jordan asks.
“I’m the wrong girl to crush on, Jordan. You’d be a fool to do that to yourself when you know what happens here every day. I’m not yours to protect and I’m clearly not saving myself for you.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” Mark says loudly from the other side of the door. He bumps it with his fist. “Come on, Jordan, use it or lose it, man!”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Jordan says crossly, but he’s already pulling his shirt over his head.
I can’t help but laugh quietly while Jordan disrobes. Mark can be a jerk, but there’s no denying he knows what he’s doing in bed. Almost every one of those purple slips of paper represents at least one past orgasm of mine. And despite the nearly 700 post-its in that jar, none of my housemates has once pressured me into sex. Despite Mark’s braggadocio and unrivaled arrogance—he’s tall, fit, and everyone knows he’s destined to be a cutting-edge physician (no pun intended)—he respects the word No without hesitation.
After all, I say it rarely, and always in good faith; I’m a woman of my word. I consider declining their advances simply because I’m not in the mood (which is virtually never true anyways) or because Getting naked isn’t convenient for me right now (which is rarely true) because Your other housemate had his way with me five minutes ago (which would bother the new suitor more than it would bother me) to be poor sportsmanship. So, while Jordan is taking off his socks and pants, I sweep off my XL T-shirt, step out of my booty shorts, and peel off my panties, letting them puddle around my feet.
Jordan pulls down his boxer briefs, and his erection bounces free. To his credit, he’s lean and attractive; he has the abs and long arms of a swimmer, and he keeps himself clean and well-trimmed. I resolve to use the last month of the semester to try and improve his self-confidence. His current tentativeness is misaligned with his physique, and I’m sure he doesn’t get as much attention from other girls as he could.
“You’re going to have to lick me first,” I say perfunctorily, watching his eyes drop as he looks me over lustily. “I’m not wet enough yet.”
“Sure, no problem.” Jordan’s eyes bounce back and forth between my pussy and the small, red tattoo near my left hip. Men love that tattoo. Every time Mark goes down on me, he sucks on it, bruising the flesh and giving me a hickie that’s almost indistinguishable from the surrounding ink.
“Come on, cowboy,” I say, and I walk over to my bed, lie down, and spread my thighs. “Rent is due, and I want to pay mine on time.”
Jordan climbs onto the bed and pushes my legs farther apart. His thumb grazes the tattoo, and I see a faint frown on his face; the evidence of my most recent escapades with Mark are still clearly evident at such a close distance. Instead of speaking, Jordan dips his head and gives me a long lick from bottom to top. He presses firmly enough that his tongue slips inside me briefly as he travels upwards.
“Oh, fuck,” I say loudly, knowing Mark can probably hear me through the door even though he’ll be across the hall in his room by now. “Lick my pussy like the good boy I know you are.”
Jordan smiles sheepishly. “I love eating you out, Caroline.”
“Less talking. More licking,” I say. “I haven’t had an orgasm today, and I want you to give me one before you fuck me.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” He obeys earnestly. He probes my folds with his tongue, following the runnels between my inner and outer lips on both sides. Then he turns his head sideways so his own lips are parallel with mine, and he covers me with open jaw, forming a seal before sucking gently. He pulls my flesh into his mouth, increasing the pressure until I wiggle with tormented pleasure.
“Fingers,” I order. “Lick my clit. Hard and fast.”
Once again, Jordan obeys without protest, and as his fingers sink into me and curl upwards, I let out a loud, genuine moan. “That’s it. Right there. I want to come. Lick my pussy. Come on, Jordan, faster, lick me faster. Suck on my clit the way I showed you the other—yes, that’s it! Keep going, keep going, keep going, and don’t you stop with those fingers, yes, baby, finger me harder, harder, yes, just like that. Don’t-stop-don’t-you-dare-stop, yes, I’m about to come, I’m going to—”
I twist his hair around my fingers. Buck my hips, grinding against his face. Twitch in the throes of the orgasm. Jordan knows better than to stop, and he thrusts his fingers in and out of me at the same rapid pace, stroking firmly while he presses down on my groin with his free hand. He launches me into higher and higher planes of ecstasy, tongue still swirling across my clit. By now, my cries are loud enough to make it out the open window to passersby—if there are any—but I don’t care.
Coming this hard feels too damn good for me to care.
When Jordan lifts his face, his nose and mouth glisten with moisture. He smiles at me again and rests his head on my thigh, and I’m not sure I like the sappy look in his eyes. “Did that feel good?” he says quietly.
“Hell, yes. Now it’s your turn. Fuck me.”
“We don’t have to do it so—”
“Look, Jordan, I’ve got a paper to write and some other shit to do. You’re cute and that orgasm was great, believe me, but I’m not about to start a cuddle session right now. What I want you to do is shut up and put that dick inside me. Here, I’ll going to get you started.” I roll up and get on my knees, grabbing him by the ankle and pulling his leg toward me.
Jordan flops onto his back with a startled “Oh!”, and before he can do much more, I crawl forward, plant my palms on his knees, and shove his legs apart so I can nestle myself in front of him. Despite his halfhearted protests, his cock betrays his arousal. When I wrap my fingers around it and lift it toward my mouth, it’s as taut as steel cable. I give him a good, long lick from his balls all the way up to his slit before I envelop the head of his cock in my mouth.
He literally twitches with pleasure, and the moan that comes out of his mouth is the raw sound of animal instinct. I plunge my face down, taking his length into my throat until my lips touch the peach fuzz around the base of his shaft. I hum, enjoying the way the vibrations make him squirm, and then I enter a rhythm; I pull myself up, lips clamped around his shaft, which glistens like a golden rod in the afternoon sunlight, push myself down again, fighting the gag reflex for a full second before easing away in another upward stroke. I deepthroat him this way for a dozen repetitions, making it sloppy and loud.
I only stop because I know he’s in danger of coming. When I release him, his cock springs from my mouth with an audible pop and smacks wetly against his stomach. “It’s time for you to put this in my pussy.” He groans again as I trace the backs of my nails along his balls. His sac tightens involuntarily and pulls them closer to his body. “Let’s go. I want cock, and I’m going to get some whether you give it to me or not. Believe me.”
“I know you are,” Jordan says savagely, and I yelp delightedly as he hooks a hand behind my knee, pulling my leg into the air none too gently.
“That’s it,” I urge, relaxing my body so he can manhandle me more easily. “Take what you want. I like a man who does.”
Jordan straddles my extended leg and fondles my breasts with his free hand. “I love these tits,” he growls, pinching and pulling one of my nipples. “These perfect little tits.”
“Maybe you should blow your load on them.”
“Does Mark?”
I frown. “Did you really just ask me that?”
Jordan doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he continues kneading my breasts and running his fingers over the stiffened nipples.
“Come on, seriously. Do you actually want me to answer that?”
When he doesn’t say anything, I grab his cock and start stroking the underside with my thumb. He’s oozing pre-cum, and I smear it around until the whole head is slick with it. “Look how many purple squares are in that jar,” I tell him bluntly, still stroking. “I’ll tell you this honestly, Jordan. All of us get tested regularly, and I’m on the pill. You know that. You also probably can guess that I don’t use condoms with any of you. I never have. And Mark has finished literally every single time he’s fucked me. That’s, what? 300 loads? Do you think there’s a single part of my body he hasn’t—”
“That’s it,” Jordan says, and it’s almost a snarl. “I don’t want to hear any more.” He pulls me toward him, lays the head of his cock against my pussy, and thrusts himself into me.
I exhale in pleasure, feeling myself stretch around him, savoring the warm thickness of a cock filling me up, which always feels the best after I’ve already orgasmed. “Yeah, baby. Give it to me while you can. Think about where you want to come. I can tell you Mark’s favorite—”
“I said,” Jordan growls, “I. Don’t. Want. To. Hear. Any. More. Understand?” Each word is punctuated by a loud smack as he thrusts forward and bangs his groin against my raised thigh.
“Oh, baby, look at you go,” I say. My voice quavers. The force of each thrust rocks me backward, and my breasts shake with the impact. I should get Jordan riled up more often, I think.
“Answer me,” He demands. His abs flex and he starts fucking me harder.
“Yes, Mark comes on my tits, but not every time,” I manage. It’s getting hard to speak. If Jordan can last long enough, I’m going to come again.
“No,” Jordan says, and now he’s squeezing the soft flesh above my hip in a lobster grip that’s tight enough to hurt. “Don’t talk to me about that. I asked”—he’s still fucking me, and it’s at a frantic pace now—“if you understand that I don’t want to talk about Mark anymore.”
“Y-yes. Sure. No more Mark talk. Just…just you and…me. Keep fucking me, baby. I like it when you’re mad. You’re going to make me come again.”
“I’m close, too,” Jordan answers. The box spring bounces loudly under the mattress.
I grit my teeth. “You’d better not. Not yet. Think of something else. Think of Mark if you have to.”
“Stop that! And fuck, I’m close!”
I dig my nails into Jordan’s stomach, feeling the muscle flex and bunch as he moves. “I swear, if you bust your nut before I come, I’ll ask Alex and Mark to fuck me at the same time like a spit roast.” It’s a cruel thing to say, but I think I’m actually serious. “I’ll let them flip a coin to decide who gets my pussy and who gets my my m—”
Jordan clamps a hand over my mouth. Veins bulge in his neck. He fucks me with a new urgency; I can see the reflection of his ass in my vanity mirror, flexing as his hips piston up and down. I open my mouth and arch my back; another orgasm rips through me, but Jordan isn’t slowing down. I think I’ve finally made him angry enough that his own orgasm has receded. He fucks me harder than he ever has before, bouncing us so wildly that the bedposts start to slide and bang on the floor. It starts to be too intense, even for me, but I grit my teeth and decide to let him expend his energy.
After all, I’m the one who worked him up. It’s only fair that I’m the one to help him calm himself down again.
So I turn away from him, leg stretched toward the ceiling, and I let him rail away. I feel my body’s natural lubrication thickening with the friction, and I know his cock is white with cream. He keeps fucking. He keeps squeezing and pulling at the one nipple that’s still free, since the other is now pressed against my bed.
“You’re a fuck machine,” I tell him. When he doesn’t answer, I cast a glance back and see his eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched.
My phone buzzes again. I lie there for a moment, somehow starting to feel bored, and consider stopping Jordan to tell him I’m going to need him to get some lube from my nightstand if he wants to keep this up. But I’m still wet enough for now, so instead, I grab my phone and type in the passcode.
It’s Mark again. He’s now sent me four text messages in a row.
Coming back from class, could use a good fuck. Down?
Back in 10.
If you’re busy I guess I’ll just take care of it myself. Unless you want me to wait?
Tell me when you’re done with Jordan.
I roll my eyes at the last text, consider for a second, and then type in a quick reply: Sure you still want some today? I think a creampie is incoming.
Mark’s reply is almost instantaneous: Fuck that. I’ll take your mouth.
I roll my eyes a second time and drop the phone. The room is still filled with the sounds of flesh on flesh, and I’m sure it reeks of pussy despite the open window, but Jordan at last seems to be slowing down. “Hey there, champ,” I say. “You about done, or what?”
Jordan opens his eyes and gives me a pained smile. “Are you telling me you’ve had enough cock for a change?” He plunges into me until his balls hang against my ass and then holds himself there.
“You can use your cock on me as long as it’s hard, baby.”
He starts thrusting again. “I want to finish on your tits.”
I turn back toward him so he can see both breasts bounce again. “I want your come wherever you put it. But I think Mark’s more likely to stay away if you finish inside me.”
Jordan’s expression darkens. “You have a point. You want a creampie?”
“Fuck, yes. Fill me up. I’ll keep my legs open after so you can watch it drip out of me. You know I love taking a big load.”
He moans. “I’m getting close again.”
“I want it deep, Jordan. Empty your balls in me.”
Jordan’s eyes close. “Fuck, Caroline, I’m coming.” And he does: he grunts, twitches, and his strokes get slower and deeper. I feel that unmistakable warmth as he ejaculates, moaning my name all the while.
I have a feeling he and I are going to be doing this every day for the rest of the semester.
submitted by /u/Comment_to_Narrative
[link] [comments]
Leave a Reply