Two Janes at College

"I understand. You're a remarkable woman and a great girlfriend, Jane. Let me show you the school church. It has pretty, stained-glass windows," Elliott said, and the moment passed.

After Elliott's lovely campus tour, we returned to Steve and Elliott's suite of rooms, and I decided to change into warmer clothes. That's when I became evil, and when I went into Steve's bedroom to change, I left his door open. I was only putting on a warm sweater and some tight, tropical weight wool slacks, but I decided to change my bra and panties too, mostly in order to become naked in Steve's room, with the door open.

I first got naked, and then bent over, looking through my carfry-o0n suitcase, for my new clothes. I felt as though I were looking for the holy grail, since I was taking so much time. If Elliott had looked, he would have got a great view of my naked ass, with my boobs dangling in front.

I wondered if Elliott would look. I discovered I actually wanted him to look, but Steve's noble friend was behaving correctly, and giving me privacy. I raised the ante, calling out to Elliott if he could please bring me a towel? By this time I had put on clean panties, and I went to the door to the bedroom to get the towel, dressed in panties and a thin sweater, and without a bra. I had tweaked my nipples, although with a little time, the rubbing of the sweater on them would have hardened them up. My nipples were nicely poking at my sweater in a rather prominent fashion. It's one of my favorite looks. I looked hot.

As it turned out, Elliott was not an idiot. Approaching my seductive bod, he said, "Steve's room is a little piece of Indiana in New England," and he moved to kiss me. I bought his line, knowing it was a way to rationalize my betrayal, and I no longer turned my head away. The two of us kissed, a beautiful, lingering kiss. We kissed again. We kissed a third time, and the third kiss lasted a long time. It was supplemented by Elliott pushing up my sweater to my neck, exposing my bare boobs, and he gave tender and gentle fondles of both of my boobs, with special attention paid to my two nipples. It was a delightful, quite special attention, in fact.

I groped for Elliott's cock inside his pants, and I discovered he was hard, like a rock. I smiled to myself. I love it when a guy gets hard for me. I know it's simply biology and that it's the way men are programmed, but I still get a thrill, knowing it's for me. Elliott pushed me down onto Steve's bed. Things were beginning to get serious.

I said, "No Elliott. We can't." Then I foolishly added, "Not on Steve's bed."

"Is this better?" Elliott asked, as I now lay on his bed, in the other bedroom. He was undressing as I lay there, nervous. No, I was more than nervous; I was scared, actually, and shivering. Elliott calmed me with another wonderful kiss, and I noticed he had kept his briefs on, thank goodness.

"What state are you from, Elliott?" I asked, as Elliott's hands were beginning to push down my black panties. I stopped his hands.

"Illinois. I'm from the Chicago area. Winnetka, to be precise. So, we're not in Indiana in my bedroom, but we're in Chicagoland. Does that work for you?"

"Elliott, I really like you. I like you a lot. I want to, I really do, but I've just met you. It's too soon to jump into bed with you. Add to that you're Steve's roommate and his friend, and I'm sorry I just can't make love with you. Please understand," I said, kissing his chest, as he lay on top of me, his hard cock poking out of his briefs to say hello, and pushing into me right through my panties. God, did I want to, just then!

"No worries," Elliott said. "It's hard to get intimate the same day you meet someone. I understand you're not that kind of girl."

We made out, and at the end we were both naked, and Elliott's tongue and fingers had boldly gone where I had forbidden his cock to go, and I had enjoyed two nice climaxes. For his part, Elliott blew his load into my mouth, and I swallowed it all. Then we got dressed, and we went to lunch.

I asked Elliott if I could borrow his computer to join one of my classes that was in hybrid format, so I could use Zoom. I also had to work on a paper for my freshman English Literature survey course. When I was on Elliott's computer, once my hybrid class via Zoom was over, I idly looked around at Elliott's pictures on his laptop. What I found rocked my world. In high school I had let Steve take all sorts of sexy pictures of me, both half-dressed and also naked. One had me naked and fucking myself with a dildo. Okay, I was young, in love, and reckless. And stupid; I get it. Now, however, I found all of those compromising pictures were on Elliott's computer.

"Uh... Elliott?" I ventured.

"Yes?" Elliott said, as he came over to the computer, pulling up a chair to sit beside me. I pointed to the pictures, scrolling through them and stopping at the one with me enjoying the penetration of Dan the Dildo. "Oh," he said. The 'shit' of the 'oh, shit' was implied.

Yeah, I was teasing Elliott, showing him pictures of my totally naked body, and even having hot sex with a rather huge, plastic, purple, dildo. The picture of me with a dildo stuffed up my pussy also had a video version, where the dildo was imitating a piston in the engine of an Aston Martin. Elliott had seen them all before, obviously, but not with me sitting right next to him! I felt deliciously evil. Small wonder then that Elliott was putting the moves on me.

"Oh, is right. Steve gave you these pictures of me?" I asked, rhetorically and calmly, even though I was seething with anger.

"He's proud of you. You're pretty, sexy, and you have a great body, which I have to say, I really enjoyed this morning," Elliott said. I gave him one of my looks, which normally can make a ninja warrior flee for the hills. "I presume he was forbidden to share them?"

"Please delete them, Elliott," I said. "Their existence alone is shaming, but to have Steve passing them around to other guys is intolerable. I had no idea Steve, my very own Steve, is such a disrespectful jerk."

"I'll delete them right away," Elliott said, and he deleted them as I watched. "Let's go get a coffee." I figured my victory was Pyrrhic, and that Elliott had backed up the pictures to a cloud, somewhere. For all I knew, they could even be up on some Internet porn site. Steve and I had to have a serious talk.

At the local collegiate coffee house, which wasn't great and could have been a poor man's Starbucks, Elliott asked about the English paper I was working on. I told him my plan for the paper, and he listened respectfully, and then he made some suggestions which blew my mind. They were brilliant.

Hey, the man was smooth, handsome, kissed well, could really finger a girl, and he was brilliant, too? Wow. If only his cum wasn't so salty. Well, I wouldn't have to give him too many more blowjobs once I let him fuck me...

Whoa! What was I thinking? He's Steve's roommate and friend! Still, I knew, I just knew, we were destined to fuck. Just then I was falling for Elliott Branford III. I knew all the signs. I got moist down there when he spoke to me, my body tingled when he touched me, and he had already driven me to a beautiful climax with just his fingers. Yes, we were definitely destined to fuck. Or was I just angry with Steve? I was one confused mess of a girl.

First though, I fucked Steve's brains out that night. I knew Elliott could hear my moans, and my climactic scream, and I liked the idea. Keep him interested, you know? Steve got it up three times, and I only had to blow him once to get him hard for round number three. The sex was wonderful, and my disappointment and anger with Steve melted away. I'm also a sucker for the doggie position, which is not one of Steve's favorites, but he knew he was in trouble, so he fucked me doggie style twice!

The Great Fuck with Elliott came the very next day, however. Steve left me alone all day, both for classes and this time for his biology lab. When I met up with Elliott for lunch, he told me that Steve did not have a biology lab, as he had said he did, "unless you call studying Michelle Bonami's body a bio lab."

Steve was abandoning me to screw around with some Ivy slut named Michelle Bonami, and after I had schlepped half way across the country to see him? And after I had fucked him almost to death just last night? Was he mainlining Viagra or something? Was he really that much of a philandering bastard, that he couldn't keep it in his pants at the least during my visit to him?

"Do you have pictures of Michelle, too, like the ones you had of me?" I asked, remaining cool and calm on the outside. Elliott did. These guys are so predictable. I got to see pictures of Michelle naked, and damn it, she has a hot body. Her bod is smoking hot, with nipples to die for, sitting on boobs so big they looked like the oil storage tanks up in Gary. I knew I couldn't compete with her. I was shaken; my self-confidence was at an all-time low.

Elliott could tell what I was going through. "You're a wonderful girl, Jane. You're a credit to the human race. You can make a guy happy, just by looking at him, with your smile. Michelle may have a hot, sexy body, big boobs, dress in the latest designer clothes, and drive a Maserati, but she can't compare to you," Elliott said. Talk about hitting ALL of my insecurities!

I just looked at him. He had hit all of my vulnerabilities. Michelle had it all, and yet he was claiming I was somehow better than she was? Seriously?

"You're good. You're damn good. You really know how to seduce a girl. Take me to Chicagoland, Elliott," I purred.

I didn't have to ask him twice. While Steve was bopping his Ivy slut Michelle Bonami, his friend and roommate Elliott was enjoying Steve's born-and-bred Hoosier sweetie, the one named Jane. It just felt right, as well as heavenly, when Elliott entered me. It was as if his cock were constructed by God herself to fit perfectly inside me. Not too big, not too small, Elliott was just right. He was perfect.

Elliott also had staying power, and he lasted long enough to get me off on our very first fuck. I blew him, and the second fuck was even better! My screams of ecstasy echoed throughout the elegant dorm room of the Ivy League, as a representative of the American ruling class fucked a low status Hoosier coed, namely me, mercilessly.

That night, Steve fucked me for what turned out to be our last time of my visit. The next morning, before my minibus to the airport came, I asked Elliott to spy on Steve for me, and to warn me when the inevitable end was near. He told me he would.

"I'm coming back to Chicagoland for Christmas vacation. Would you be willing to see me?" Elliott asked.

"Well, since you ask so nicely, yes, I'd be thrilled to see you, and you know it," I replied. Then we kissed. Even though we were outside, waiting for the minibus, I was braless, so I quickly raised my sweater, and let Elliott take his own picture of my bare boobs, "So that you'll remember me," I said. Also, so he wouldn't have to go to the porn site to see the pictures of me that he had deleted from his own computer. (Steve had in fact posted the pictures on line. This was in the unforgiveable category.)

Elliott III kept his word, as men with a Roman numeral after their names typically do, I'm told, and so I knew all about Steve's comings and goings, and also about his varied and diverse cummings, until he hooked up with Stephanie-the-Heiress, and then it was Stephanie and her ass, all the time, all the time. Not that I'm bitter, but I'll bet she smells like shit.

**

Eric turned out not to be destined to be my boyfriend. He was willing, even more than willing, but I kept comparing him in my mind to Elliott Branford III, and each and every time, Eric came up short. Still, he was good in bed, but maybe I was maturing or something, because sex alone was just not enough, even if the sex was good sex. I managed to manipulate Eric into leaving me for a blonde bombshell slut who was as dumb as shit, but sexy as hell. That left me alone, to pine away for Elliott Branford III and wait for Christmas, when I'd see him again.

So, I was enjoying a period of chastity, and while it was nice at first, having no man in my life, and no man in my bed, it was beginning to get old, and fast. That was when it happened:

I had my very own Mr. Magoo experience.

It was a Friday night, and my roommate Jane Higgins was out at a party, getting stoned, or drunk, or both, and no doubt in the process of being persuaded, seduced, coerced, or perhaps dragged into a bedroom by one or maybe two guys, giggling and laughing and being stripped naked. She stayed away from Mr. Magoo on Friday nights since he turned into Mr. Hyde, because he tended always to get drunk those nights.

Jane H. preferred the random partners she would find at debauched parties, to the brutality of Mr. Magoo. I had sent her a text, asking how things were going, and I got a picture of a hard cock texted back, and it told me all I needed to know. It was all anyone needed to know. It made me feel wistful.

There was a knocking on my dorm room door. It's hard to read emotion into a knocking on one's door, unless you're Edgar Allan Poe. Were I to do so, in this case I'd say the knocking was angry, or frustrated. First of all, it was because the knocking didn't stop. Usually one knocks once, twice, or three times, and then there's a pause, and perhaps another couple of knocks. That, I would consider normal. This knocking never stopped, and it gradually grew louder. Finally, it was accompanied by utterances of "Jane! Open the door! I know you're in there!" The voice, of course, was a male voice. The use of my name alerted me; this was someone I knew!

I looked at the picture of the cock Jane had texted me thirty minutes earlier. As I did, another text came in, and it was a second cock. I could easily tell it was different than the first cock. Jane was acting out one of her fantasies, the lucky slut, and getting her first threesome, while I was sitting in my dorm room, all alone, listening to some angry guy pound on my door, calling out my name. Score one for Jane Higgins. Score zero for Jane Simmons.

The angry knocker was shouting now, and calling out my name repeatedly. I was worried he would be disturbing my neighbors in the dorm. I was sure whoever he was, he wasn't Bruce. There was an outside chance the knocker was Eric, but the voice was different, and why would Eric come looking for me, or be angry? Eric and I were over, and Eric had endured absolutely no trouble replacing me in his bed with a prettier, and even more willing, sexy coed. Okay, maybe she didn't giggle during wild sex in the library, as I did, but those were my perversions, not Eric's. Eric had just been a cooperative sort. I was sure he was, by now, a happy camper. Besides, both Bruce and Eric, in such a situation, would have sent me texts, rather than banging relentlessly on my dorm room door. Quoth the Raven, Nevermore. It wasn't Lenore.

Curious, and just a little high, I gave up wondering who he was, and why, and I opened the door. A tremendously angry giant of a man came barging in, slamming the door into me and momentarily stunning me. In my daze, he ripped my nightgown vertically in half, and it fell off me, revealing my naked body to him, due to my lack of bra and panties. I never wear them under my nightgown. It gives my lovers ready access to the paradise my body represents, and they universally like that idea. Besides, my bra digs into my boobs while I sleep.

I shrieked in horror to be stripped in such a way and by a man I had never before even seen. This was every girl's nightmare.

"So, this is where you hide from me, bitch?" the giant said. "Room 3G?"

"Who are you?" I asked, my hand covering my pussy. "I'm Jane Simmons, and I don't know you," I said, unable to hide the terror in my voice, but trying to defuse whatever the situation was. I was groping around behind me for a T shirt or something to cover myself. It's moments like these that I wish I were not always so anal retentive and had more discarded clothes lying about. I found nothing but shreds of my erstwhile nightgown. I held up a shred from my erstwhile nightgown to cover my boobs.

"Very funny, Jane. We're playing games, are we? So, you don't know who I am? I'm your fucking boyfriend, your lover, and I want some sweet nectar, so get on the bed and spread your legs, and make it ten minutes ago. Bitch," an angry Mr. Magoo said, in a menacing voice, spit emanating from his angry mouth as he spoke. His spittle just missed my nipples and landed on the undersides of my breasts.

"You have me confused with the other Jane, Jane Higgins. I'm Jane Simmons, and..." was all I got out before the blow to my jaw kind of knocked me for a loop, and I dropped like a sack of rocks, luckily falling onto the bed, on my back.

I roused myself with the pain emanating both from my jaw, which was seriously bruised, and from between my legs. The huge man was on top of me, holding my wrists in place, his torso keeping me from closing my legs, which somehow had been spread apart. As my head cleared, I realized why I had so much pain between my legs: Mr. Magoo was raping me.

Magoo's cock was inside me, and since I was as dry as a cattle skeleton in the Sonoran Desert, he was ripping up my vagina as he pumped his oversized torture instrument, known to hoi polloi as his cock, in and out of me. Blood was trickling out of me, onto my sheets. I quickly thought of Elliott in an attempt to speed my body's lubrication, and damned if it didn't work!

Once my vagina got itself wet, I began to realize that this (soon to be a motion picture?) Rape of the Wrong Jane, was in fact one of my rough sex fantasies, unfortunately I hasten to add, come to life. I was going to have to have a chat with Jane Higgins about her choice of men. Yeah, he had a big cock, but the animal was raping me! As if to add insult to injury, he began to slap my boobs, and next he stepped back and lifted my legs up into the air, placing my feet on his shoulders, and exposing my pussy and my asshole to his drunken, crude, lustful gaze. Of course, he probably couldn't see much of me that well, without his glasses.

Half-blind or not, he effortless found his hole of preference, and he fucked me like that, with godawful hard thrusts. Eventually, I'm ashamed to say, it came to pass that I loved Mr. Magoo's horrific thrusts. He flipped me over onto my tummy as if I were a child's plaything. In addition to being a giant and a rapist, he was fucking strong, too.

The man was a machine. Nobody had ever fucked me that hard, nor for so long, in my short life, not that all that many men had enjoyed my body. Mr. Magoo was something else. Thank goodness he was avoiding my ass.

I began to squeeze my cunt, in the hope it would hurry Magoo along, but no dice. I swear to all that's holy that he fucked me for forty-five minutes and he never lost his enthusiasm. After my first four climaxes, I lost count. I think I was running out of serotonin, as it crowded out all other thoughts from my brain. As rapes go, it was hard to imagine one being better.

Finally, at long last, the animal ejaculated inside me, and praise be to the almighty, his cock went soft and fell out of me. I was, however, still trapped under the two hundred plus pounds of man mountain on top of me.

"Get off me, please," I said.

To my surprise, my rapist, Mr. Magoo, complied. "You fuck different," he said. "And your boobs have shrunk. Are you sure you're my Jane? You certainly are one hell of a sexy wench, and -- I must say -- a fabulous fuck. No complaints, but are you really Jane?"

"I'm Jane, but I'm not your Jane. I'm her roommate. We're both named Jane. She's Jane Higgins, and I'm Jane Simmons, and you just raped me, whatever your name is," I said, using the tone of voice a mother uses with a small child; especially, a blithering, stupid, small child. It's true, it was the best fuck of my life, at least if you count orgasms, and I do, but it was still a rape. I didn't consent, not even a little bit.