A thick, hard cock being thrust into me, pulsing with need. That’s all I can think of, all I’ve been able to think of, for days now. Even though until now I’ve been the picture perfect idea of a sweet virgin, loves Jesus, saving myself for marriage, since I signed up for that clinical study I’ve been a mess.
The thought of a man blowing his load inside me — blowing his load?! I’ve never even thought like that before! — is more important than anything. And that’s just not me. Or rather, the me I used to be.
But the me I am now has a few things going for her, I can’t help but notice as I look in my dorm mirror.
Wearing a skirt and blouse, I had to forego my usual bra. It just doesn’t fit anymore. My breasts have swollen so big they strain my blouse too, and I think I can even see the pink outline of my nipples and areolas through the white fabric. But I don’t care. I just don’t care. Part of me says that’s scandalous, but a louder part tells me to let it be. It’ll only help attract big, virile men.
That sends a shiver down my spine and I bite my lower lip, the very thought…
You see, being a college student is pricy. And my family are good, God-fearing people who work for a living. When the college jacked up tuition this semester, I had to come up with more cash fast. And the only way I could think to do that was to sign up for this test for a new hormone control therapy study.
It paid young women well to sign up, try it out for a few months. Promised so many positive effects, like clearer skin, resistance to disease, and even birth control. But that last one seemed the iffiest for them, and one I’m opposed to anyhow. My parents would be aghast if they knew I was taking birth control of any type, but I figured if I’m not gonna have sex, who cares?
But the longer this therapy goes on, and the more my pussy tingles with need, the more I remember the one warning I got from the researcher lady: Some people have a special, adverse reaction. Feel a much heightened sexuality and fertility.
Looking at myself in my stockings and skirt, my blouse about to bust, I felt inside me: I had to be having that special reaction.
They said if that happened I should report it to them immediately and stop taking the treatment. But I can’t quite seem to muster the desire anymore… not when the urgent need of finding some big, strong man to slam his cock into me is so pressing.
It goes against everything I ever believed in, but now I’m throwing caution to the wind. It’s like a butterfly that was trapped inside a caterpillar for too long. I want to spread my wings — and my legs.
Besides, Jesus did say be fruitful and multiply, and I feel very, very fruitful right now.
I pull back my blonde hair, looking at my wide, blue eyes, and I still see a shimmer of that innocent girl inside me. But when I smile, all I can think of is the temptress that’s dying to be let loose. And earlier today, I’d watched the football players at practice, and I could tell they were talking about me afterwards.
Hell, Brett, one of the cutest ones, even told me about a party they were having tonight. I mean, I asked if it was going to be good, innocent fun, and he told me it was, so who am I to debate that?
Before I leave, I swipe my room mates pair of high heels; we’re the same size and they’ll make me look so good, I note. I didn’t ask, and part of me knows that’s a thing I’d never do too. But asking might mean getting a ‘no’, and I’m not in any mood to jeopardize this.
This? A part of me questions. That good girl, church-going part.
I push it down, there’s just the aching need in my empty pussy that I have to fill. I can’t even pull a pair of panties on over it. That feeling of contact is just too much torture for me now.
I don’t have a lot of experience walking in heels, but something about how I feel just drives me along in them smoothly I think. Imitating those strutting walks the models do on the catwalk.
I’m not even out of the dorm before I’m getting looks, from both the other girls and the boys in our co-ed dorm. A few of the fellas even whistle and cat call, and that gets me grinning, I can’t help it. I reward them with a little extra flounce to my step, causing my skirt to lift a bit more, show off some of my round, bare ass cheeks.
Heck, my skirt wasn’t short enough to ever be at danger of showing anything before, but after some alterations, I took care of that. Now it barely does the job it was intended of doing: of keeping my ass and cunt concealed.
And it feels so wrong, but also... so, so right. It’s like my feminine nature has just been totally awakened within me, and I have so many experiences I want — need — to have. Their attention is almost enough to make me want to touch myself, to take care of that heated throbbing at the peak of my thighs.
But I learned quickly that my fingers won’t be enough to quell my hunger. They’re too tiny, and I instinctively know, I need a man. A big, huge man. That’s the only way I can finally be able to think straight and clear my head.
The party will be filled with big, huge men, and with all the attention I’m getting just walking to the party, I know that I’ll have my pick of them.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine, exhilaration lighting up my eyes.
Before long I’m walking across campus, about halfway to the party as the evening sun turns red. I’m not quite there when I notice someone. He’s not heading to the party, but the familiar sight of my handsome sociology assistant-prof grabs my attention immediately.
He’s not just handsome, with his natural good looks, well-groomed hair and beard, he’s fit. I can see his biceps and thick calves bulging through his clothes in class. And while I’ve secretly had a crush on him for some time, I know I’m not the only girl on campus. He’s a heartthrob. And even in my prissy, good-girl days I’ve stopped by the gym in the mornings just to see him in some shorts.
And I can recall with picture-perfect recognition the size of that snaking bulge of his.
I almost daze off at that thought, but when he sees me, Malcolm wakes me from my stupor.
“Hey Tiffany,” he says, in that smooth, deep voice of his that just sounded delicious when he was talking to the class. Didn’t matter about what. And even his usual calm demeanor was broken a bit as he noticed me — me! — of all the girls. I’ve never seen him the least bit interested in anyone, but there his eyes went… right for the cleavage that was nearly popping out entirely.
My excitement level goes th