Dorm Girls

The girls from the dorm barely fit into the lobby. There were 36 college freshmen girls and only eight chairs. Most girls stood, while a few shared some of the plushy loveseats. They had only been there for a few minutes, but it was already getting hot—no doubt spurned on by the summer heat lingering into September.

As for Amy, she stood against the back wall, still rubbing shoulders with a redhead next to her. She hoped the RD would be quick.

Hank stood in front of the girls. It was the first week of classes and Amy understood that there was some rearranging of the resident directors just before school started. Hank—they were instructed to call him by his first name—was apparently settling in just as much as they were.

Hank cleared his throat and then started, "Hello. I've met most of you during move in, but for those I might have missed, let me introduce myself. My name is Hank Robertson, but please just call me Hank. I'm in charge of this dorm for the year and I expect to get to know each one of you personally. I'm excited for this opportunity and hope that you share my enthusiasm." He paused here, apparently expecting some reaction. He got mostly blank stares.

"If any of you are curious about me, I have a background in neuroscience and psychology, which I am sure will be helpful in management of this dorm." Amy didn't quite see how that would be useful, but she wasn't going to call him out. Like most freshmen, she was concerned primarily with keeping her head down until she figured out what college was going to be like. Hank continued, "I'm sure you're familiar with a lot of the rules already, but I don't expect any behavioral problems here. I think the important things to remember for success, especially in these first weeks, is to get lots of sleep and to get to know the girls on your floor. We have a great bunch of ladies and I'm certainly looking forward to a rewarding semester.

"Thank you."

Amy was taken back. She was expecting at least 15 minutes of rules review and get-to-know-you questions. It seemed like many of the girls around her were expecting the same. The redhead to Amy's right shrugged at her and said, "Well I guess we can go. I was worried he would waste my whole night. I have a video call with my boyfriend."

Amy shuffled out of the lobby, grateful that she was apparently assigned a dorm with a very hands-off resident director.

Amy had been expecting to room with another girl, as was the Hollywood expectation of college life, but when she had arrived she had learned that she had the room to herself. Apparently part of the shuffling before the semester began included only 36 girls being assigned to the 36 rooms, essentially half-capacity. As Amy looked around, she couldn't help but notice that all the girls on in the dorm were 18 or 19 years old and tended to be more attractive.

There was Lucy, the redhead from the previous night. Her hair and chest were both full and attention-grabbing.

There was a blonde named Jessie, who confessed to being the head cheerleader in college.

There was even a girl with more of a goth style named Violet, but even she was shapely and her face was pretty.

Amy didn't know what to make of this, but she assumed that many girls might feel that way when suddenly surrounded by a bunch of strangers. It was probably her insecurities talking. Amy didn't think she was much, but she had had her fair share of interested guys in high school. Admittedly she was "endowed" in her chest and one asshole catcaller on the street had once shouted that she had a "sweet smackable ass", but Amy was always trying to stay active, lest her weight begin to creep up.

Amy tried to strike up conversation with some of the girls before going to bed, but to no avail. She went to sleep feeling just a little worried about her floor. It would have helped to have a roommate to talk to.

Amy dreamt strange dreams. There were no actual images she remembered, she just had the sense that there was some deep, soft voice whispering through the night. Sometimes she came close to hearing intelligible words, but just as she was about to put together a message the voice grew softer again.

When Amy woke up, she didn't feel rested. She felt like she had been drifting through the night more than actually sleeping, but it was time for her first class. She picked up a cup of coffee from the campus coffee shop and went to class.

She had three classes back to back and by the end she was barely staying awake. It was like weights were pulling her eyelids down. Her notes were scribbles and Amy couldn't help but feel like she might as well not have been there at all.

After her last class, she went straight back to her dorm and collapsed on the bed. Her sleep was still not restful. There were the same dreams of a soft male voice whispering to her.

She awoke feeling slightly more rested. She looked at the clock and saw that it was already 5PM. She had spent slept away most of the day. Amy felt disgusted with herself. She was always a very prompt schedule-keeper: Awake at 7, lunch at 12, in bed by 11. It was what kept her so efficient in high school. But now, her very first week in college and she was already off her rhythm.

To cap it all off, Amy was strangely horny. She couldn't explain why, but she was already wet and tender and had no idea why. Normally she could point to a single trigger that made her aroused, but Amy was clueless now.

She rolled out of bed and poked her head into the hallway. The floor was quiet, probably because all the girls were at dinner. And stepped back into the room and locked it. Then, she went to her computer.

Amy didn't watch porn frequently, but she had a few memorized links for the occasions when she was feeling especially needy. She was worried about the school's internet connection, but she was able to get to her website of choice without complication. She went to her favorites and found a woman-oriented video featuring a cowboy. She clicked on it.

It was blocked.

Amy frowned. Why could she get to the website, but not to a specific video? That made no sense. Wouldn't the school block the whole website? Amy went to another video, involving a pool boy. Blocked. She frowned again.

She clicked on a few other videos, just to see if everything was blocked. The first three she tried were blocked, but the fourth let her though. To Amy's surprise, it was a hardcore bondage video, featuring a girl with massive boobs tied into a swing and being passed around a room of men. Amy clicked out, disgusted by the filth and whatever men were turned on by it. She tried to find another video that suited her better, but everything was blocked. And to top it all off, the image of the girl in the swing was stuck in Amy's mind. She tried to push it out, wishing she had never seen it, but the more she tried the more it persisted. Strangely, she found that the more she was thinking about it the wetter she was getting.

Amy was confused. Bondage was never her thing. She could respect the girls who liked a little handcuff play, but hardcore bondage was always disgusting to her. She despised how it degraded women into sexual playthings for the pleasure of power-hungry men. Nonetheless, her body was disagreeing with her.

Amy finally navigated back to the video. As it started to play, she was alarmed to find that she wanted to watch and desperately wanted to play with herself as she did. But she didn't want to compromise on her moral stance on the content.

Finally, Amy decided that she would attribute this to some off-the-wall mood. It would probably never be replicated and she would certainly never admit to her. She was probably just horny and knew that she couldn't get access to anything else. Glancing at the door to double-check that it was locked, Amy began to play with herself.

The pleasure was incredible. It was like she had never touched herself before. Intense waves of pleasure passed over her as she rubbed harder and harder.

Amy found her eyes locked onto the girl above all. She was straight and knew she should be paying attention to the men, but her eyes kept drifting back to the girl's massive boobs and how they trembled every time a man thrust himself into her. She loved seeing how her muscles strained against the ropes in the swing and how the ropes held her perfectly in place. One of the men stepped forward and slapped one of the girl's boobs and Amy almost came right there. What was wrong with her? She never behaved this way!

Then one man stepped forward to the woman's mouth, his cock outstretched. Amy had always considered blowjobs to be degrading and disgusting. Men peed out of that thing, for goodness sake! That wasn't something that belonged in your mouth. But as the man began to slam his dick against the back of the girl's throat, a deep moan escaped Amy's own mouth. She found her mouth salivating.

Strangest above all, Amy found herself unable to come. She was rubbing hard and the pleasure was immense, but she was no closer to getting herself off. She gave up trying to direct her attention to what she "should" be watching and gave into her impulses for domination and disgrace. It was better, but she still couldn't finish.

Amy looked down at the video timer. It was getting close to the end. She had been rubbing herself for fifteen minutes, but nothing was happening for her. And she needed to get off. Her horniness was approaching unbearable.

The men finally pulled out of all the woman's holes and, one by one, began to jerk off onto her body. The first man stepped up and demanded, "Tell me who the little slut is."

"I am," the woman declared. "I'm your filthy little slut and god I love it. Get off on me, baby. Pleeeeease."

The man exploded onto her chest, thick wads. The girl grinned in delight.

Amy felt her climax coming, but it was still evading her. She was far beyond desperate. Her body needed release.

Another man stepped up and demanded more self-degredation. The woman happily oblidged, declaring herself to be nothing more than a sextoy for the pleasure of her men. She begged to be filled up and covered with sweet sweet cum.

Amy's mind was nearly empty, focused entirely on the desire for climax—an event which still eluded her.

It was when the third man stepped up and the girl on the video began to degrade herself that Amy finally realized what she needed. As she watched a man get his pleasure and spew all over the naked slut, Amy envisioned it was her and began to whisper, "I am such a horny little slut. Please get off on me. I am good for nothing else. I just want to you to get your pleasure. I am a worthless little whore. Please treat me like such."

At the moment the man came, Amy's body finally released. The orgasm hit her like a freight train. Stars danced before her eyes and she felt faint. From the depths of her body, an uncontrollable, long, loud moan escaped her throat.

Then it tapered off and it was over. Amy was exhausted and frankly her hand was tired. But she still watched two more men step up and jerk off all over the self-declared whore.

She had never fantasized about anything close to this before. She had never had a submissive streak. If anything, she liked to control things in the bedroom.

Amy had lost her virginity three days after her 18th birthday to her boyfriend of a year. She stood by the decision, but the second time they had tried to have sex he had been too bossy. He kept telling her to say things or to do things to him. She had called it off halfway through and they had a big fight about it. She had dumped him.

So where the hell had this come from? This was the type of thing that Amy would have ranted and railed against if given the opportunity. It was the very epitome of a misogynist situation—the male's pleasure was everything and the girl was there as nothing more than a piece of meat. So why the hell did it feel so damn good to get off on it?

You're here to learn new things.

The voice was strong and immediate. It felt like something from the outside, but also familiar. Was this the voice from her dream? The thought was immediately dismissed by Amy's brain as unimportant, because the words were true. She was here to learn new things. Did that include rethinking her role in her sexuality? There were plenty of girls with submissive streaks in them. That didn't make them all dumb bimbos. If Amy occasionally—and privately—enjoyed partaking of this, was that so bad? Amy guessed not. She would want to keep it under control, but she could deal with the occasional outburst.

She looked at the clock. It was dinner time. She closed the window and started toward the dining hall. She was hungry, but she would have to keep in mind her figure. She wasn't living with her parents anymore. In her mind, it was pivotal that she kept her appearance up as much as possible. It was only responsible.

As Amy passed Lucy's room—the redhead with the big boobs from the night before—she heard a noise. It was a deep moaning noise. For a moment, Amy thought Lucy had heard her orgasm and was making fun of her, but as she listened to it she also heard the soft sounds of a video playing. Lucy was having her own fun. Amy wondered if Lucy was enjoying learning new things at school as much as Amy was. That was why they were there after all, wasn't it?

Amy went to bed early and slept deeply. She was starting to get used to the "soft voice dreams" and was starting to feel rested despite them. It was the weekend, so she didn't have any classes, but as Amy went to get dressed she realized she had another problem. She didn't like any of her clothes.

Her favorite shirts, pants, and even dresses all seemed so childish. She was an adult now. Wasn't it time that she started dressing like one?

Amy settled for a temporary outfit and went straight to the mall. She visited some of her favorite stores, but nothing seemed right. She was looking for something that made her feel more... what was the right word..? feminine. Eventually, Amy found her way out of the mall and to a little seedier shopping center. She was just driving past when she saw a mannequin in the lobby with a miniskirt and lace bra. It might have been a sex outlet, but Amy parked and walked in.

This was more what she was looking for. Amy picked out three mini skirts, two skimpy tops, and a pair of knee-high boots with a four-inch heel. She went to the dressing room and tried them on.

The miniskirts barely covered the swear of her ass—the same ass that some appreciative gentleman had once described as "smackable". She pulled up on the skirt a little bit so as to be sure that the curve of her cheeks was poking out enough, and then nodded with approval.

The tops were equally adorable. Her favorite was a sleeveless halter top that laced up in the front. The lacings were far apart, so essentially the skin from the base of her neck all the way down to her naval was exposed. She tied it too tight at first, so that the cloth covered too much cleavage. She retied it looser the second time, so her tits (did she normally call them tits?) could fill it more naturally and men could get a better view.

Finally, the boots were exactly what she was looking for. She was on the shorter side, so they didn't put her too tall, but combined with the mini skirt her ass was looking fine. Besides, she wanted to get used to heels. She liked the idea of being a "heel girl".

On her way to the cash register, she came across a aisle display that caught her eye. It was chokers. She ran her fingers across them, entranced by the idea. She had never liked the idea of anything around her neck, but now it seemed perfectly natural. She grabbed two.

She bought everything and wore her favorite outfit out. It was difficult to drive in the tall heel, but she managed. On her walk across campus, several guys gave her long appreciative glances. She gave them winks and made sure to tuck up on her mini skirt so they could get a fine view as she walked away.

When she got back to the dorm, she found that many of her fellow girls had also invested in new college wardrobes:

Lucy had gone in a cowgirl direction, with tiny jean shorts and a thin plad shirt tied between her humungous knockers.

Jessie had drawn inspiration from her identity as a high school cheerleader and had bought school swag from the book store. Of course, the t-shirts there were much too modest, so she had modified them so they more adequately displayed her chest. Then she had a mini skirt not unlike Amy's own.

Violet had also leaned into her own style, doubling down on the emo look. She had found fishnet leggings, a black leather bikini-style top, and several chains linking the top to black short shorts. Her makeup was dark, with black lipstick.

If Amy dared say, they all looked pretty darn hot.

Seeing her fellow girls so exposed and hot brought Amy's mind back to thoughts of the porn video she had watched the previous day. She told herself that she shouldn't dwell on it, because she had promised herself that it was supposed to be a one-in-a-blue-moon activity. But when she looked at Lucy, she couldn't help but imagine how those tits would look being smacked by a powerful, dominant man. And when she saw Violet's black lipstick, she envisioned it smeared all the way up a man's shaft. And who could see a cheerleader like Jessie without instantly knowing that she was putting out for the quarterback as often as he wanted? Amy was fucking horny.

She locked herself in her room again and went back to the same video. She watched all fifteen minutes, furiously rubbing her pussy, but couldn't bring herself to come. She even chanted along with the virtual whore, declaring herself a worthless fucktoy, but that only made her wetter.

Frustrated, Amy began to look around the website again. She passed over the female-oriented videos that she used to be drawn to and searched for "hardcore". The videos she saw were pretty tame, so she began to search for other terms to get what she wanted: "Tied down and dominated", "Submissive whores", "fuck me like you own me". None of these hardcore videos were blocked this time and she greedily consumed them. She finished several of the videos, but none of them finished her.

After four hours of trying to find her climax, she collapsed on her bed. She was horny, tired, and above all she was desperate.

The voice in her dreams was louder now and she listened obediently.

Amy woke up on Sunday and immediately went to the mirror. She spent an hour or so fixing her hair just right, applying make-up, and squeezing into another outfit that straddled the line between skimpy and tight. She looked herself over and thought, "Now it's my whole damn body that's smackable."

As she stepped out into the dorm, she found that Lucy was leading a man—a Junior or Senior by the looks of him—down towards her room. She had again leaned into the cowgirl look, even donning a hat. The man's eyes were painting her body from head to toe and Amy couldn't blame him.

"Is this the boyfriend?" Amy asked.

"What? Oh, no I dumped him like two days ago. I'm single and free," Lucy said. Her eyes dropped down to the pitched tent in the man's athletic shorts and she licked her lips with antipiation. Lucy and the man disappeared into her room and Amy heard the lock slide shut.

Amy wasn't afraid to admit it: she was jealous. Why couldn't she go out and find someone to drill her? She was fuckable, wasn't she? God, what she wouldn't give just to bed fucked like a slut.

Then Amy considered it. Why couldn't she got out and find some body to drill her? What was stopping her? She had been appreciated on campus just the day before. Surely one of those men would be happy to fuck Amy's dripping little pussy—and any other holes he wanted to while he was at it.