How Christi Paid for College Ch. 03bygottschalk03©
Christi thanked the skies again that she was not a high-maintenance girl. Other coeds showed up on campus with whole U-Hauls to drag their wardrobes along. She had always been able to throw it in the trunk of a compact car; two roller suitcases, a laptop bag, a box of books and some supplies and toiletries, some rolled-up posters and a guitar, and she was set for the school year. She owned exactly five pairs of shoes. Her older brother teased her about moving like a guy every year she headed off to school.
They had timed the move for early in the morning when campus was still quiet, since most students slept in on Saturdays. On Monday she would use her savings -- pretty much all of it -- to pay her tuition and get her bursar hold lifted, and inform the housing office that she was moving off campus. Well, that was sort of true. Technically Kappa House was on-campus, but it wasn't counted as part of the regular dorm system.
The house was a rambling old Victorian mansion, something that had been built by some magnificent industrialist. There was a back entrance on a kind of alley and then a steep winding staircase that rose almost straight up two stories to a pair of rooms on the third floor. The view across campus was actually a spectacular vista of clock towers and church spires. Apparently the odd arrangement had been intended for house servants back in the nineteenth century. Now, the frat brothers simply used the rooms as the most private bedrooms in the house. But none were keen on hauling all their junk up there, so they were often the first rooms to be left vacant when Kappa's numbers were down.
For Christi, it was perfect. She had privacy, a discreet entrance, and a bathroom of her own. She didn't know if anyone would care that a woman was living in Kappa House if the fraternity itself agreed to it, but she didn't want to test what trouble that could cause. Hannah helped her roll the suitcases and the miscellaneous other boxes and cases across campus and, along with Anders, drag it all up stairs. Anders gave Christi a key and showed her the rooms -- pretty bare, but they had a bed, desk, a couple of chairs, and a dresser. The whole thing seemed just a tad musty, but Christi loved it.
Anders and Hannah kept her company while she threw her clothes into the dresser or hung them up in the small closet, and then she was tacking posters up to the walls to mark the space as her own. There was a very large bearded Dostoyevski who went on the ceiling to gaze down on her in her sleep, a screaming Butthole Surfers poster from the 80s she had stolen from a crazy uncle, Nina Hagen, a print of a Klimt painting with gold shining from every crease and oddly sick-looking women staring out with hollow gazes, and Che Guevara for no other reason than that it pissed her mother off.
"No sexy guy posters?" Anders asked with a slight smile as the posters went up.
"Sexy guys?" Christi asked.
"Yeah... models or rock stars or athletes with ripped abs or whatever."
Christi looked at him, then pointed up at her ceiling. "Did you not see Fyodor?"
Anders laughed. "He's not exactly what I meant. I thought most girls had posters of, like..."
"I don't know what most girls have posters of," Christi cut him off. "Fyodor makes me cream my little girl panties. My god, those eyes! Don't laugh, I'm not even being ironic. I totally mean it. It's the eyes."
But it was too late to stop Hannah and Anders from laughing. Christi shrugged and filled in the corners of the room with black-and-white postcards of vintage scenes from European cities.
After a while Hannah left, saying that she had a yoga class she was taking Saturday mornings, and left Christi in her new home. Anders stayed to talk and make sure she had everything she needed. It struck Christi that he had to be one of the nicest guys she knew, but he was terribly shy and awkward with her, and she knew he didn't have a girlfriend. He was the kind who got close to every girl as a friend and then wound up permanently stuck in the friend zone. And she realized that she owed him her entire future.
After a while their conversation petered out. Anders leaned back in the chair where he was sitting and sighed, staring upward.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing. I should go, let you have some privacy and settle in here," he answered.
"You're looking at Fyodor, aren't you?" she said. Anders blushed red and she remembered what she had said earlier.
"Oh...." She trailed off. "You are thinking of me creaming my panties for him. Aren't you?"
"No, no," he shook his head and rose to go, but he was now so red it was almost purple. "I should go."
She jumped to her feet and set her open hand against his chest. "No. Don't go. Sit down."
He lowered himself slowly back into his chair.
"Anders, you've been awfully nice to me," she said, standing over him. "But I don't want just charity. If there's something I can do to pay people back who are nice to me, I'm going to pay them back."
"Well..." he choked a little and coughed, "it's ok.. we all have hard times... maybe when you're on your feet better, you can..."
"No," she said. "Not maybe, not someday. I want to pay you back for all this, and I intend to pay as I go."
"No no no," he protested, "you don't have to pay me anything. I want to help you out. I --"
"I know you do," she continued. "You're a sweet guy. But I want to pay you. And what you really want... what you really need.... I don't think it's money. Is it?"
"Well..." he said, not knowing how to answer her now. Christi leaned down and pulled his chair forward till his knees were almost touching the side of her new bed. In a single motion she dropped back onto the bed, raised her legs, and swept her loose sweatpants off. She was wearing simple red boyshorts under them. She leaned back against the heap of her pillows and lifted her feet, then set them on the armrests of his chair. She locked her yellow eyes on his blue ones and gazed at him.
"If you really want me to stop, I'll stop," she said. "But I'd like to give you a first payment. I'd like to show you how Fyodor makes me feel."
It was crazy. Crazy. She was not like this. Was she? She had never been a slut like this... but something was burning inside her, something new. She had, all at once, this feeling of utter desperate dependency on the man in front of her, and yet complete and unquestioned power over him at the same time. It thrilled through her body and guided her motions.
She pressed the smooth fabric of the boyshorts against her pussy and began to rub. Anders didn't say a word. He stared, transfixed, at something that had never happened to him before. The fabric slipped and clung and highlighted the folds of her vulva and she rubbed and squeezed it over herself. Christi felt the heat rising in her body and electric surges prickle through her fingers and nipples and neck. She was hungry. Her body was insistent. She continued to rub herself.
She put both hands to it now. One found her clit and pinched it, caught up, swelling inside the folds of fabric. Her other hand slid fingers inside the legs of the boyshorts and groped inward toward her moistening cunt. She found the lips, still hidden behind her panties, and pulled them aside. Slim fingers pushed inwards, opening her pussy and drawing the desire out. Her huntress' eyes continued to hold Anders in her stare.
He was rocketing into outer space. He didn't know where he was. But he mustered up a hoarse question. "Can I... is it ok... can I touch myself too?"
She chuckled at him. So polite. If he had asked to fuck her, she would have said yes. But she was glad for his hesitance -- for now. Her fingers were delicious inside her pussy, and she loved the power over him her show was giving her. She was a goddess, a demon. She was possessing him with an old pagan fury as her fingers groped her divine cunt more and deeper and harder.
Awkwardly, he shifted in the chair and wrestled his fly open, never taking his eyes off her for a second. He reached in and found his member and pulled it free, shyly, not knowing what she would think. He was hardening fast, blood pumping through every vein. But he had to bring it out. His goddess commanded it.
"Oh Anders..." she moaned, stuffing her fingers deeper into her pussy. "Your cock is beautiful! Stroke it for me..."
It was. It seemed pale, somehow, but as his hand rasped up and down his shaft she could see his cock rising stiff, hard... and tall. Anders was no jock in the muscle department, but his organ was second to none she had seen. It stood out taller and prouder than its owner, a man's cock, ready to master and please a woman.
Her breath came in short gasps now. Little sighs and squeaks escaped her taut lips as her fingers drove her cunt inside the boyshorts harder and harder. Oh fuck she was close. So close. She knew what would happen, and she knew how she wanted it to happen. She lifted her hips, raising her butt off the bed, so that it hovered in the air in front of him. Both hands groped and pounded the tender flesh of her pussy. Anders began to grunt as he stroked his stiff cock with an insistent energy.
"Oh god oh fuck Anders, I'm going to cum!" she cried. "I want to cum on you! Oh god...."
There was a final frenzied push, and then suddenly she pulled her boyshorts off to one side. Her oozing cunt gaped and opened toward him, and then at once she pulled her hand out of it. The orgasm tore her body in two and she screamed with joy -- the fire in her belly exploded -- and a fountain of cum sprayed out of her lifted cunt, gushing over Anders. He gaped in surprise, not knowing what to do, while Christi dropped back onto the bed and laughed with the glee of release.
"Oh fuck, Anders!" she called to him. "Don't stop! Give me your cum.. please baby, please.... Stroke your dick and cum for your gushing slut..."
Anders stood up over her with sudden resolution. She loved the sight of his long cock as he stroked it furiously, loved the slick look of her own cumjuice that had splattered all over the hard shaft. His face contorted, his body spasmed. "Yes, baby, YES!" Christi the dirty slut snarled. Then Anders arched his back and threw his head back.
"Oh FUCK!" he shouted, and it came -- a sudden burst of creamy white cum, spurting out and arcing through the air. It showered over Christi's thighs and stained her boyshorts, already soaked with her own cum. She purred and ran her fingers over her thighs, scooping up Anders' cum on her fingertips and tasting it...
"Yummy!" she said. Then she grabbed his cock for him and gave it a few light strokes. He went rigid and groaned from the intensity of the pleasure this released in him.
"Good boy... I knew you could do it," Christi purred at him.
"Oh god, Christi. That was amazing. I think I l-"
"Oh, no you don't!" She cut him off. "Maybe that's my repayment to you -- learn not to confuse fun with love. You're too nice a guy, Anders. You need to learn to have your fun. I don't want you to love me. I want you to let me pay you back, that's all. You're going to have your life turn into a living hell if you go falling in love with every girl who fucks you. Save it for the right time. OK?"
"So this was just..."
"It's called casual sex, baby," she said. "Enjoy it."
Anders looked around, a little confused. "Wow. That's... no one's ever... done that with me before. Do you want me to... I don't know... cuddle or something?"
"No," Christi said, and leaned in to kiss him. "I want to you to clean yourself up, get dressed, and get out. Let me lie here and think of Dostoyevski. No cuddling. No sweet nothings. That was a good fuck. Well, not really, but a good prelude to fucking. If I keep owing you favors, I'll have to pay you the rest of the way. OK? Go be a man and walk away."
Anders smiled, as he adjusted to the idea that she wanted him to be a man who would love her and leave her. As he headed down the stairs, Christi laid back on her new bed and looked at Fyodor. She thought of how slutty she had been, stared into the great Russian novelist's piercing eyes, and came again.