Campus Cravings

Naia left Professor Langston’s office with her legs shaking and her pussy still leaking.

Her cheer uniform clung to her in wet patches—stretched, stained, and hopelessly disheveled from hours of expert-level use. Her hair was a mess. Her throat ached. Her thighs were sore from being pinned open repeatedly, and her lips were still tingling from being stretched around her favorite professor’s cock.

She didn’t head straight to her dorm.

She ducked into the athletics building’s side locker room instead, where she kept a duffel bag tucked behind the cheer gear cages. No one was around. Practice had ended hours ago.

Naia didn’t shower.

She didn’t need to.

She wanted to carry his scent with her.

But she changed—slipping out of her ruined crop top and soaked skirt and into the only thing she had clean: a giant black hoodie she kept just in case. It was oversized and thick, hanging low enough to cover her ass, sleeves swallowing her hands. She didn’t put on underwear. She didn’t need it. Her legs were bare. Her hair was pulled up. Her pussy was still twitching from everything Langston had done to her—and she wanted it used again before the heat faded.

The hoodie made her look innocent.

That made it hotter.

She padded barefoot across campus in the dark, her skin still tingling, her body sticky between her thighs. She wasn’t even sure how she was still walking. But she knew what she wanted.

Another round.

Or five.

She opened the door to the dorm room without knocking.

Five athletes looked up—wide-eyed, already grinning. They knew why she was there. She’d hinted at it after a game the week before. A little smile. A soft whisper. Maybe I’ll stop by sometime and let you all take turns.

Now here she was.

No panties.

No bra.

No limits.

She didn’t speak.

She just pulled the hoodie over her head and dropped it to the floor.

Five cocks stiffened instantly.

She stood naked in the soft yellow dorm light, golden-brown skin glowing with sweat, her tits bouncing softly as she stepped forward, hips swaying, eyes low and wanting. Her pussy was wet. Her lips swollen. Her eyes glazed with need.

"Line up," she whispered, dropping to her knees. "Let me serve you."

And they did.

She took one cock in each hand and began to stroke them in alternating rhythm—one with a twisting upward stroke and the other with firm downward pressure, just enough to make his thighs twitch. Her mouth wrapped around the third, tongue swirling under the head with wet, teasing circles.

She moaned softly to vibrate his shaft. Her lips sealed tightly as she deepthroated him, the noise of wet suction echoing in the room.

He groaned and grabbed her hair, his hips jerking involuntarily.

Behind her, one of the others slipped into her pussy without a word.

She was so wet he slid in to the base instantly, drawing a loud cry from her throat that was muffled by the cock stretching her jaw.

They fucked her from both ends—one slamming into her from behind, the other using her throat while she gagged and moaned. The room filled with groans, slapping flesh, and Naia’s filthy sounds of satisfaction.

She was used again and again—rotated from cock to cock, pussy, throat, and then bent over the bed with one man fucking her ass while another pumped into her mouth.

She handled it all with practiced grace. She didn’t just take them. She made them feel worshipped. She looked up while sucking them off, eyes wide and pleading, her tongue working the underside just as her hand squeezed at the base.

She took their loads with joy—swallowed, wore them, milked them. She stroked their cocks as they spasmed, made their orgasms stretch longer, deeper. Her touch was expert. Her moans addictive. Her mouth heaven.

When the last one finished deep in her pussy, Naia lay trembling on the floor, drenched, filled, sore, and smiling.

She licked her lips slowly, cum trailing down her chin, her breasts sticky, her legs twitching.

Next room, she whispered.

And crawled toward the door.