Lola the College Cocktease

"Look, Lola," he said, turning the photo back towards him. "I know you like being the center of attention, but in my class, I need to you to pay a bit more attention to me and a little less attention to yourself. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Professor," I said sheepishly.

"Good," he nodded. "Now, on a more pleasant note, I always invite the summer session students over for a barbecue so we can get to know each other a bit outside of class. I throw some burgers on the grill and my wife makes a huge pot of chicken adobo. I have a projector, so after dinner, we sit out by the pool and watch a movie on the side of my house. I wanted to see if you'd like to come."

"Is anyone else from class going?"

"You're the first to know, but I'll email out the details tomorrow," he said. "You can talk about it with your classmates and decide whether you'd like to come. No pressure, of course."

"Okay, Professor. Thanks for the invitation."

"It's my pleasure," he stood up. "Now, don't you have a tennis practice starting soon? It would be pretty hypocritical of me to make you late after the speech I just gave."

...

After my talk with Professor Daniels, I made sure to show up early to his next class. I was already sitting in my customary seat when Derek arrived.

"Am I late to class?" he laughed, a look of mock disbelief etched across his face. "Or are you actually on-time for once?"

"I'm open to trying new things," I smiled back at him as he sat down next to me.

"Oh yeah? What other new things would you like to try?"

"Stop," I said, reaching out and pushing Derek's arm playful. I let my perfectly manicured fingers linger on his strong, sinewy biceps for a half-second. "So did you get the email about this thing at Professor Daniels' house?"

"Some of these professors," Derek shook his head mirthfully. "They do be trying hard to 'connect' with their students."

"But I guess Derek Williams is too cool to go for something like that."

"Girl, that's not what I said." He cocked an eyebrow and look at me. "You finna go to this party then?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "I heard he has a pool."

"Oh, I see how it is," Derek scratched his chin. "You never miss a chance to stunt, do you?"

"I mean, you're not inviting me to go swimming in your pool," I flipped my blonde hair back. "I didn't buy a new bikini so I could stay inside all summer."

"Okay then," he nodded, pursing his lips. "So what time am I picking you up?"

We made a plan: the party was on Friday evening, so I would come by Derek's apartment beforehand and he would drive us out to Professor Daniels' home in Burbank.

As Friday arrived, my whole body practically tingled with anticipation. This was my first chance to hang out with Derek outside of chatting in class and walking together across campus. I would be in his apartment. I would be in his car. We would be showing up to a party together. After weeks of stoking his imagination with glimpses of my body, this was my opportunity to prove that the real thing was better than his wildest fantasies.

All day long, a thrum of sexual energy pulsed through my body, but I resisted the urge to touch myself. Let it build, I thought, and the release will be even sweeter, but it wasn't easy. At this point, Grant had been gone for almost 2 months, and my body was deeply in withdrawal from the lack of stimulation. I'd been abstaining from other offers as I pursued Derek, but every time I showed up to class flaunting my body, it only made me want him more. I had an itch that only a cock could scratch and it couldn't wait much longer.

I'd promised Derek a new bikini, so to pass the hours, I went shopping for one. I didn't actually intend to go swimming—and mess with my hair and makeup, are you kidding?—so the only criteria was finding something that would make Derek's mouth water while we were chilling poolside. Of course, it wouldn't do to wear something too salacious since the party was at Professor Daniels' house, presumably with his wife and kids in attendance. It had to be something just tasteful enough to raise dicks but not eyebrows.

I settled on a bright white string bikini that contrasted beautifully with my tanned, golden skin. The top wrapped deliciously around my huge tits, lifting them and together to create a juicy valley full of endless curves and infinite possibilities. The bottoms were skimpy without being scandalous. The back had a contour line that ran down the middle, cupping my ass cheeks into the shape of a ripe, gorgeous peach. To complete the look, I bought a Hawaiian floral print sarong that I could wrap around me in case I needed to preserve a little bit of modesty.

Back at my apartment, I went over every aspect of my appearance with incredible scrutiny. Nails, makeup, and hair? Perfect. Legs and armpits? Hairless. Even my pussy was freshly waxed, bald save for a small, inviting landing strip. I put on my new bikini, wrapped the sarong around my waist, and threw a tiny, crop top jean jacket on for warmth. I strapped on my wedge heels for a little bit of extra height, added a splash of perfume, and checked myself in the mirror.

I liked what I saw. I was, as the boys say, a hard 10. My legs, arms, and tummy were tennis toned, firm to the eye yet supple to the touch. My voluminous, bleach-blonde hair cascaded down my back, teasing my shoulder blades. My full lips and dark, almond-shaped eyes were perfectly accented by lipstick and eye shadow, and my cheekbones sparkled ever so slightly from a dusting of glitter. My sun-drenched skin seemed to emit a honeyed glow against the white bikini top, the cleave of my huge, heritage-defying, how-could-she-be-half-Asian tits framed by the open buttons of my jean jacket.

I wished that Grant could see me. He had initiated my transformation, but now, it had taken on a life of its own. Every inch of me screamed of sex. My body was a walking advertisement for the pleasure it could provide.

As I admired my reflection in the mirror, I realized that I was looking forward to this night in a way I'd never felt before. For perhaps the first time, I was confident not just in how hot I was, but in my ability to use my body to get what I wanted.

And I wanted Derek, badly. God help me, I'd never wanted a man more in my life. For once, I was the pursuer just as much as the pursued. With Grant and Magnus, I was used to having men lust after me, to the delicious thrill of submission as my self-restraint melted away in the heat of their desire. But with Derek, the game had taken on a new dimension, because it wasn't clear yet whose desire was stronger, mine or his. I had tempted him day after day, but I hadn't surrendered to him. He had kept his cool around me, but the hunger in his eyes belied urges that he was struggling to keep at bay.

Tonight, our mutual attraction would come to a head, the tension between us too strong to resist. The time for teasing was almost over—I was ready to please him, and I intended to do so better than any girl he'd ever had. I wasn't an inexperienced, insecure little girl anymore. My body was just 19-years-old, but it was imbued with the muscle memory of sucking and fucking more than two dozen alpha males, each more sexually demanding than the last. Derek had surely had plenty of other girls, but I doubted if any of them could boast skills like mine.

Walking across campus toward Derek's apartment, I felt the same rush of heart-pounding calm that gripped me before a big tennis match. My body is ready, I thought. This is the moment I've been training for.

...

"Welcome to the crib."

As I entered Derek's apartment, as I was struck by how normal it all looked. Posters on the walls, furniture from Ikea, a big-screen TV atop a media console filled with video games. A huge jar of whey protein powder sat on his kitchen counter, and his recycling bin was filled with plastic Gatorade bottles. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I had been in plenty of student apartments like this before, and the familiarity of it was reassuring. Derek may have been a star football player, but he was still in college with the rest of us.

"Nice place," I said, setting my purse down on the coffee table. "How many roommates do you have?"

"Just Terrence, but he's not here." Derek walked into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

"Water's fine."

"Easy to please," he called. "My kind of woman."

"You just don't know me that well."

"True," he said, walking back into the living room. "But we're gonna change that."

He handed me a glass of water. In the high-ceiling lecture hall or out on the campus, Derek's stature was impressive, but here in his apartment he practically scraped the ceiling. He was wearing a gold USC tank top and board shorts, and in the cramped room, the size of his broad shoulders and chiseled arms seemed to be amplified tenfold.

I sat down on the sofa and Derek fell backwards into a massive, overstuffed recliner. He grabbed his phone and A Tribe Called Quest song began to play out of a stereo system beside the TV.

"You invite me over and the first song you play is East Coast hip-hop?" I teased. "You know we're in Cali, right?"

"Excuse you, you can go on and leave now if you're gonna disrespect the Tribe."

"Boy, give me that phone," I said, reaching out my hand.

"Walk into a Black man's house and start fuckin' with his music," he smiled, shaking his head. "See what you got, then."

"Just let me fix this," I said, tapping the screen. The song switched, and the opening drop of 'Tell Me When to Go' by E-40 leapt out of the speakers.

"Oh, I see what we doin," Derek nodded approvingly.

"Boy, I'm from the Bay," I said, moving my shoulders and dipping my head to the beat. "You already know how we do."

"Alright, Miss Cali, since we've got Oakland in the house," he leaned forward, reaching beneath the coffee table and pulling out a pipe. "Then let's get a little hyphy with it."

I hesitated. I wanted to be fun (Rule #2), but I hadn't smoked since Grant left for New Orleans. What if I got too stoned and started acting weird?

"Just a little," I said. "I don't want to be too high around Professor Daniels."

"That dude teaches philosophy," Derek laughed, lighting the pipe. "He already sounds high most of the time."

Derek pulled on the pipe, then handed it to me. I tried to mimic what I'd seen him do, but I'd only ever smoked out of Grant's vaporizer, so my efforts were clumsy.

"You sure you're from the Bay?" Derek joked.

"Shut up!"

"Here, give it to me." Derek reached out his huge hand and I gave him back the pipe and the lighter. "You know how to shotgun?"

"Like, a beer?"

"Okay, so that's a no. Here, open your mouth."

As I opened my mouth, Derek lit the pipe and took another long, deep drag. Then, as he held the smoke in his lungs, he gestured for me to come towards him.

I stood up and walked over to the recliner. Derek put the pipe down, took me by the waist, and lifted me effortlessly onto his lap.

"Ohh!"

With his hand, Derek waved me closer. As I leaned towards him, he brought his face up next to mine. My heart practically stopped as Derek opened his mouth and put his lips against mine. He closed his eyes and began to exhale, slowly blowing the smoke stored in his lungs directly into my mouth.

I was supposed to inhale the recycled smoke, but I almost forgot to breath. The sensation of Derek's soft, brown lips touching mine was completely electric. It wasn't exactly a kiss, but even so, my heart began beating uncontrollably.

Another of Grant's rules that I forgot to mention earlier: no kissing. Grant was of the opinion that kissing is what makes girls get attached, so as long as you don't kiss, you can fuck as much as you want without anybody catching feelings. At his parties, guys could fuck my face, suck my tits, and cum inside me, but kissing was off-limits. As a result, I'd been with more than 20 guys during my freshman year, but I'd only ever kissed one: Tad, my ex-boyfriend. And now, maybe two.

The intimacy of the moment began to send shivers through my body. There was already weeks worth of sexual tension built up between me and Derek. Now, I was sitting in his lap, alone in his apartment, with his lips pressed against mine, as he gently blew smoke into my mouth.

When I finally remembered to inhale, the weed entered my lungs, as I was instantly struck with the sense memory of smoking the vaporizer in Grant's apartment the night of Tad's birthday. As the smoke filled my chest, I had the surreal experience of being in two places at once: in Derek's apartment, getting ready for whatever was going to happen next, and in Grant's apartment, where he and his friend were about to make me into a TWO COCK SLUT. As the memory of my wild first night with Grant mixed with the sexual tension of my current circumstances, I felt my pussy begin to soak.

When the last of the smoke had passed from Derek's mouth to mine, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Are you sure you wanna go to this party?"

I paused, savoring the feeling of that moment, letting the smoke curl out of my nose.

This question struck me as the most alpha move I'd ever seen. Derek knew he had me. He could've taken me, right then and there, and I would've let him do whatever he wanted. Most alphas would have acted on that impulse, seizing control as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But not Derek. He knew he could take me and he knew he didn't have to. Instead, he put the power in my hands. If I wanted his cock, I was going to have to ask for it. Derek was going to make me beg.

I don't know how I did it, but at that moment, I summoned a reserve of self-restraint I never knew I had. If Derek was going to give me the power, then I was going to use it.

"Derek," I whispered, putting my lips against his ear. "Are you trying to have dessert before you eat dinner?"

I could feel his hardness swelling against the curve of my ass.

"I do have a sweet tooth," he growled, putting his hands on my hips.

"Good things come," I whispered, taking his hands in mine, "to those who wait."

"Is that a promise?" he asked, looking me dead in the eye.

I took his huge right hand and brought it to my chest, resting it on soft, sweet flesh of left breast.

"Cross my heart," I said, dragging his fingers across my tits in the shape of an X.

Then, before he could say anything, I hopped off his lap and began moving towards the door.

"God damn," he muttered, climbing out of the chair behind me.

...

As Derek's Escalade rolled along the winding roads of the hills north of Los Angeles, I felt as if I were floating through a dreamscape. The rich leather seats caressed my legs and back and a cool, fragrant breeze wafted through the open windows as the sun began to sink lower in the sky. Throughout most of the drive, we were both silent, the hip-hop beats of Power 106 pulsing through the speakers and washing over us.

I was riding a pleasant, mellow buzz from the smoke Derek had blown into my lungs, but I was feeling high on more than just the weed. I could still taste the touch of Derek's soft, smooth lips against mine, but more than that, I remembered feel the gentle pressure of his hardness growing against the curve of my ass as I'd sat in his lap.

I didn't want to get ahead of myself, but Derek had felt... well, he had felt huge. No, not huge—enormous. I'd been with plenty of well-endowed men, guys who easily cleared 7 inches at full mast, but they were all white guys. Obviously, I had heard that Black guys were supposedly bigger, but as I'd spent more time with Derek, my initial curiosity about his cock had been replaced by a genuine interest in the man it was attached to. Still, after having felt him, it was hard not to imagine what Derek had in store for me later that night.

And imagine I did. As the car climbed into the hills and the cityscape of downtown Los Angeles took shape in the distance, I pictured our return trip, how thick the air would be with anticipation. I pictured my hand on Derek's thigh, my dainty, manicured fingers playing along the hem of his board shorts, my golden skin and pink-tipped nails striking an erotic contrast against the darkness of his skin. I pictured my fingers sliding inside the bottom of his shorts, creeping upwards as his eyes stayed locked on the road. I pictured myself gasping aloud as my wandering fingers discovered the fat, bulbous head of his cock more than halfway down his thigh. I pictured myself stroking the tip with my fingers, marveling as his hardness continued to grow, my eyes wide as the thick, unmistakable outline of his enormous tool took shape against the fabric of his board shorts. I pictured Derek breathing deeply and driving on wordlessly, his eyes trained on the road, unwilling to let himself be distracted by the pleasure of my fingers, accelerating faster and faster towards home as the urgency of his desire gradually hijacked his judgment. God, I was already so wet, and we still had a party to attend.

"Eh, Lola, you coming?"

"What?" I said, waking from my reverie to find the car was parked.

"Straight blazed off one hit, my goodness," he laughed, shaking his head. "We're here, girl."

I got out of the car and looked up at Professor Daniels' house. It was larger than I had expected, if a bit McMansion-y, and I wondered how he could afford it on a college professor's salary.

Derek knocked and a short, slim Filipino woman in a floral print dress and flip-flops opened the door. I recognized her from the photo in Professor Daniels' office as his wife.

"Welcome!" she said, flashing a bright, wide smile. "I'm Marisol."

Derek and I introduced ourselves to Professor Daniels' wife. She was prettier in person. Her hair was cut short into a bob that suggested she was in her late-30s or early-40s, but like a lot of Asian women, she could easily have several years younger or older than that. I knew from the photo that she'd had two kids, but her body had bounced back drum tight. Los Angeles expects a lot of its women, I thought to myself.

"Well," she said, looking us up and down. "You kids just get better looking every year. Come on, I'll show you the pool."

Marisol led us through to a wide patio where Professor Daniels, his children, and a few of our classmates were already hanging out.

"Lola, Derek!" Professor Daniels waved. "So glad you could make it." Even in his own backyard, he was still wearing slacks, an Oxford shirt with the collar unbuttoned, and a loosely-knotted tie, the same basic ensemble he wore to class each day. Only the absence of a sports jacket indicated that this was a social affair.

As soon as Derek entered, Professor Daniels' children flocked to him. He seemed entirely unsurprised by this and handled their attention with an easy grace, the kind of preternatural amiability you develop when everybody constantly wants a piece of you. The kids' excitement brought home for me the fact that a college football star like Derek was legitimately famous in a way that a tennis player like me could never hope to be.

"Can I get you something to drink, honey?" Marisol asked me. "I'm about to make margaritas."

"That actually sounds amazing."

"Come with me, you can help me carry them out."

I followed Marisol inside as Derek entertained her kids with bicep flexes and Heisman poses on the patio.

"So," Marisol smiled, dumping ice into the blender. "Is that your man out there looking like Superman without the cape?"

I wasn't prepared for the question and could only blush in response. She pulsed the blender, giving me a few seconds to collect myself.

"Good for you, girl," she cooed. "If I were 20 years younger, I'd go out there and give you some competition."

I giggled nervously.

"Oh, I'm just kidding, honey," she laughed, touching me lightly on the wrist. "You see how flat I am? With these tiny titties, I couldn't hold a candle to you even if I was 18."