It Pays to Study: Passed-Out College Girl Used Hard

Thursday nights at Midwestern State University always smelled the same: cheap beer, perfume, and the faint chemical tang of dorm laundry. Most freshmen were out at the frats or the off-campus bars, chasing whatever warm body would let them close enough. I stayed in. Midterms started at eight the next morning in Organic Chemistry, and I wasn’t about to risk a C because some half-drunk cheerleader wanted to grind on me under sticky disco lights.

I had the second-floor common room to myself after midnight. Fluorescent lights hummed. My textbook was open to reaction mechanisms I could barely keep straight. Every few minutes the elevator dinged and another cluster of laughing, stumbling girls spilled out, skirts riding high, tops stretched tight across tits that bounced with every uneven step. My cock noticed. It always did when I tried to study. Nothing makes a guy harder than the combination of forced concentration and the parade of half-naked coeds who don’t even know he’s watching.

Around 2:40 the elevator opened again. Two girls were dragging a third between them. Blonde. Tall. Long legs that went on forever under a short black dress that had ridden up enough to show the bottom curve of her ass. I recognized her immediately. Jenna. Lived two doors down from me. We had Biology lab together. She was the kind of girl who sat in the front row, answered questions in that soft, slightly breathy voice, and never seemed to notice the quiet nerd who shared a table with her. Tonight she was completely gone. Head lolling, mouth open, makeup smeared. Her friends were laughing about vodka shots and some drinking game that had gone sideways.

“She’s out cold,” one of them said, glancing at me without really seeing me. “We’ll just dump her in her room. Door’s unlocked.”

They half-carried, half-dragged her down the hall. I heard the soft thump of a body hitting a mattress, more giggles, then two doors closing. Silence settled again. My textbook stared back at me. My cock throbbed against the zipper of my jeans. I told myself I was only going to check that she was breathing. That her friends hadn’t left her on her back where she could choke. That was the story I sold myself as I stood up, closed the book, and walked the short distance to her door.

It was ajar. Light spilled out in a thin yellow stripe. I pushed it open with two fingers.

Jenna lay on her back across the narrow dorm bed, one arm hanging off the side, the other curled under her cheek. The black dress had ridden all the way up to her waist. White lace panties, already damp at the crotch, framed the smooth mound of her pussy. Her long legs were slightly parted. No bra under the dress; her small, high tits pressed against the fabric, nipples faintly visible. She snored softly, the sound wet and helpless. Eighteen years old, fresh from high school, still carrying that soft suburban innocence even when she was blackout drunk and half-naked in front of a guy she barely knew.

I closed the door. Locked it. Stood there for a long minute just looking. My cock was so hard it hurt. I told myself again that I was only checking on her. Then I crossed the room, knelt beside the bed, and gently lifted the hem of her dress higher. The lace panties came down next, slow and careful so the elastic wouldn’t snap against her skin. She had shaved recently; the bare lips of her pussy looked soft and slightly swollen, already glistening. I brought the damp crotch of her panties to my nose and inhaled. Sweet, musky, the unmistakable scent of a girl who had been turned on earlier in the night before the alcohol took over. My mouth watered.

I stripped fast. Shirt, jeans, boxers. My cock sprang free, thick and already leaking. I climbed onto the bed between her spread thighs and ran the head up and down her slit, coating myself in the wetness that was already there. She made a small sound—half sigh, half whimper—but didn’t wake. I pressed forward. The tight ring of her entrance stretched around the head, then the shaft, until I was buried to the root in the hottest, wettest pussy I had ever felt. She was soaked, and so tight it felt like she was milking me with every pulse of her unconscious body.

I stayed still for a long time, just feeling her walls flutter around me. Her face looked peaceful, almost smiling, as if whatever dream she was having had suddenly gotten better. I reached up and tugged the top of her dress down. Her tits spilled free—small, firm, pink nipples already hard. I pinched them, rolled them between my fingers, watched the way her body reacted even in sleep. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary twitch, pushing back against me. I started to move.

Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that dragged every inch of my cock along her soft inner walls. The wet sound of it filled the quiet room. Every few thrusts she made a soft, broken noise, like she was trying to speak through the fog. I leaned down and licked one nipple, then the other, sucking hard enough to leave marks. My hips picked up speed. The bed creaked. Her head rolled to the side. Blonde hair stuck to her open mouth. I fucked her harder, gripping her narrow hips and pulling her onto my cock with every thrust so that the impact slapped wetly against her ass.

“You like that, don’t you, Jenna?” I whispered against her ear. “Passed-out little college slut taking every inch. Your friends left the door open like they wanted someone to use this tight pussy. And I’m going to fill it.”

She didn’t answer. She only moaned again when I shifted the angle and drove deeper, the head of my cock kissing her cervix on every stroke. I could feel the orgasm building, heavy and inevitable in my balls. I thought about pulling out. About painting her tits or her pretty sleeping face. Then I decided I didn’t care. If she got pregnant, that was her problem for getting this drunk and leaving the door unlocked. I slammed into her harder, chasing the edge, muttering filth against her throat.