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

by Perry, Mia

  Seduced In College

  Book 1: Viagra Attack

  Book 2: Hot Mom Seduction

  Book 3: Robot Cock

  Book 4: Cheat

  Book 1: Viagra Attack

  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 1,513th 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.

  “Do you want something else?”

  “No. Why?” He looks at me as if I’m from Mars or something.

  I pull my chair over and sit really close to him. I want to embarrass him. I want to find out how much this traditional man can control himself and for how long.

  “Mr. Watson,” I touch his hand with a finger. “I have a question for you.” I really want to tease him.

  He pulls his hand immediately away like he was being burned by a hot stove. He tries to move his chair away, too. But the dorm room is really small. So he has no room to move away at all.

  Mr. Watson stands up. He paces a few steps, takes a quick look at his watch, and says, “I guess Emilie is going to be back soon.”

  I’m laughing big time in my mind. Now Mr. Watson is pretending because… his cock stands up already. Well, not all the way up, but I can see it sticks out. And it’s growing bigger every second, too.

  So… I want to tease him more. “Don’t worry,” I smile at him innocently. “Emilie won’t be back for at least twenty minutes. Or maybe thirty.”

  Actually, this is a little lie. I know the class is to be over in just a few minutes. Emilie may be back in about ten minutes or so. But I’m taking the chance. I know Emilie likes to hang out with boys. They may go to that secret classroom and do something really exciting, too. So, if that happens today, she won’t be back any time soon.

  “Really?” Mr. Watson seems really happy to know his dear daughter is not coming back soon. His eyes shine.

  My, my, my… This is the true Mr. Watson. He is not that traditional at all. He pretends he is because he doesn’t want his daughter know his “polluted mind”. Let’s not use the word dirty here, okay?

  He sits on his chair again. He turns to me, looking at my eyes, then my lips, then my neck, then my boobs. Finally, he moves his eyes back to my face and asks, “You said you have a question for me?” Naturally, his hand grabs mine.

  I can tell right away that Mr. Watson has a ton of experience dealing with girls. He knew I wouldn’t be offended by what he did to me.

  “Did I? Did I have a question for you?” I ask.

  “Come on, Megan, you just said that.”

  “Okay,” I look into his eyes and say, “you have to be one hundred percent honest with me. Promise?”

  “Promise.” Mr. Watson sounds so honest and confident.

  “Tell me,” I say. “what’s in your mind at the moment. You have to be one hundred percent honest, okay?”

  Mr. Watson smiles. He grabs my hand and put it on his chest. “Can you feel my honesty here?”

  “Yes.” I slip a finger under his shirt.

  He pulls my hand away immediately but still holds it tightly. “Look, Megan, this is not what I want you to do to me. This is not in my mind at the moment.”

  “Really?” I am a bit surprised. Actually, I’m confused. Come on. You are holding my hand. And you are telling me you don’t want me to touch your body?

  I pull my hand off. But Mr. Watson won’t let go. Instead, he pushes my hand down. All the way down.

  His cock is now thick and hard. Really hard. I grab it. Mr. Watson let go my hand.

  I’m a quick girl. I do everything fast. In seconds, his thick cock is in my hands.

  I sit on my knees on the floor. I massage the head carefully. Liquid leak out. It is warm and sticky. I lick it off. But more comes out.

  Mr. Watson closes his eyes. He spreads his legs wide to make it easy for me to do my job.

  I touch the eggs. They wiggle. I begin to give them a good massage. I’m quite sure Mrs. Watson hasn’t done this for him for a long time—had she ever done it at all. I feel I’m taking care of a man really in need.

  Suddenly, I hear footsteps outside. I freeze. “Emilie!” I can barely keep my voice down.

  Mr. Watson jumps up and pulls his jeans. But he is in such a rush, his zipper catches the pubes and stops the half way.

  We watch the door in horror. After a few moments, we hear the footsteps moving to the next door. That must be some other student coming back from a class.

>   That student must be cursed. Not once, but once every day. He (Or she? I don’t really fucking care.) almost gave poor Mr. Watson a heart attack. Emilie almost lost her honest daddy. It was a real crime.

  I help Mr. Watson to zip his jeans properly. I check to make sure he looks absolutely normal and traditional. I steal a few kisses with him. He is not rejecting my kisses but he looks so scared.

  Finally, everything is back in order. Mr. Watson sits down on his chair and whispers, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh…”

  “Come on, Mr. Watson,” I smile. “Be a man, okay?”

  He calms down bit by bit and then smiles. He takes a big sip of water and then says, “Megan, I’m sorry for what has happened.”

  “You don’t have to feel sorry, Mr. Watson,” I put my hand right on his cock, which is almost back to its normal size. “We will continue.”