John leaned back on the unmade bed of his dorm room. The faint sounds of the campus buzzed outside—yet it was the stillness of the room that held his focus. Abbie stood by the desk, and the air seemed to thrum with anticipation as her fingers toyed the edge of her skirt.
She was subtly beautiful in a way that would catch anyone off guard. Red hair spilled over her shoulders, and the fiery strands caught the dim light to make her pale skin almost glow beneath them. Her skirt sat high on her waist, emphasizing the wide curve of her hips, and her top clung tight enough to her large, round breasts that John couldn’t help staring. Her glasses slid down her nose as she glanced over at him, and John’s pulse echoed in his ears as a shy half-smile curled across her lips.
“You’re staring again,” she teased.
John leaned back on the palm of his hands and grinned. “Can you blame me?”
Abbie rolled her eyes, though the way the flush crept up her neck betrayed her. “Sometimes I think you bring me over just to ogle at me.”
John ‘s grinned widened, and, as she moved toward him, he reached out to catch her wrist. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, and he tugged her gently until she was standing between his knees. “Yea, well, maybe I do,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.
She shook her head, her blush deepening as she tilted her face toward his, her green eyes meeting his with a mixture of shyness and unmistakable heat. “Well maybe I don’t want you to just ogle.” she murmured, leaning into him with an intent that released a wave of warmth through his chest.
His hands drifted to her hips and he caressed the soft fabric of her skirt. It was familiar now after three months of dating—the feel of her curves beneath his hands and how her breath quickened when he touched her like this. They’d done this before, stealing moment in his dorm or the backseat of her car, yet it never felt routine. Something electric always sparked between them, her usual nerdy awkwardness melting away as soon as his hands found her. They were both each other’s firsts, new to this all, and they had fumbled through the tender mysteries of intimacy together.
“Goddamn it you’re beautiful.” He murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He traced small circles against her hips, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. Abbie bit down on her bottom lip as she leaned closer, her thighs brushing warmly against his.
“You’re so confident now,” she teased. Her fingers reached down to toy with the hem of his t-shirt, sliding beneath it to brush against his skin. “I remember when you could barely look me in the eye without stammering.”
John laughed and leaned in to press his lips to her collarbone. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he felt her shudder as he traced a line of kisses up to her jaw. When he reached her lips, they melted into his like they were made for it. Abbie’s mouth moved tentatively first, but that hesitation—that brief, fluttering nervousness—was part of what made her so intoxicating. The truth was she had been more awkward than him when they first met, and her hands still slightly hesitant as they began to wander, tracing the contours of his chest through the fabric of his t-shirt. She broke the kiss and leaned back to softly pull the shirt over his head, her face flushing a subtle red as she gazed down at her doing. Her fingers skimmed over his bare chest, tracing the lines of what muscle John had as if memorizing him by touch.
“You’re so warm,” she murmured in a voice almost too soft to hear. Her green eyes flickered to his, a smile curving across her lips.
“Keep going.” He whispered back.
That seemed to be the encouragement that she needed. Abbie’s mouth dipped to his neck, lips trailing downward with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers racing through him. Her pecks were light, teasing almost, but every kiss carried growing boldness in the way her tongue reached out to taste his skin.
John leaned back, bracing himself on his hands as her descent continued. Her glasses slipped down her nose again, and she pushed them up with one hand before returning to her task, pressing a kiss on his chest that lingered a little too long, her breath hot against his skin. Then she was lowering herself to her knees between his thighs, tracing down to his abdomen, her kisses growing bolder as she went. Each touch of her mouth sent the blood pumping excitedly down John’s body to collect in his swelling cock, the warm flesh alight with anticipation as her hands reached his waistband.
But then, with her fingers wrapped around the elastic, she stopped. For a moment she didn’t move, her head bowing until the fiery hair spilled over and hid her face from viewed. The air in the room seemed to thicken as her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, as if trying to gather her courage. When she finally looked back up, her glasses were askew and her cheeks as bright as her hair.
“Abbie?” John asked, his voice tight with confusion and concern. There was something about her expression—a battle between embarrassment and something else, something darker—that twisted his insides into knots.
Her lips parted but she hesitated, her breath pausing before she managed to speak. “John,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper and trembling with nerves. He had seen her shy before—deathly shy, hiding behind the oversized glasses and trembling murmurs. But this…this was different.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “You can tell me.”
Her words tumbled out in a rush, as if she feared she might lose the confidence if they weren’t said quickly enough. “Can we…Can I try something this time?” she asked. Her grip on his waistband tightened, her knuckles kneading his skin.
John’s heart skipped with uncertainty. He swallowed. “Ye-Yea. Of course.”
Her blush deepened into crimson as she dropped her eyes and slowly pulled his shorts and underwear down until his cock sprung free, heavy and stiff. Her fingers lingered on the elastic waistband, even as it rested around his thighs, but her attention was wholly locked on him. On his cock. Her gaze traced the length of it, from the swollen flushed tip glistening with a bead of precum, down to the thick, veined shaft. The way that her lips opened slightly, and her throat bobbed softly as she swallowed said everything. She reached out with one hand and tentatively wrapped her fingers around the base. Her pressure was featherlight at first touch, her palm warm and soft, and John couldn’t help the low groan escaping his lips as slowly her fingers curled into a tight grip.
“I want…” she started, a bare whisper on her lips before the rest of the words died on her lips. Her eyes shifted nervously between her hand, still gripping him, and his face. Her fingers tightened around him as if for comfort, and she swallowed hard. Her lips parted and the words tumbled out: “I want to be…naughtier. We’re always so gentle, which I love, but this time…” her words faltered again, trailing off, as her eyes returned to his cock. When they drifted back up, the green irises were full of hesitancy. Her lips parted but then shut again, her jaw tightening before her mouth opened once more for the request to finally spill out, “I want to be your slut…like, your little whore.”
The statement struck John like lightning, searing through every nerve in his body. His cock twitched in her hand as his heart pounded in his chest. His mind scrambled to process the request, his mouth falling open, as her lips parted to press a kiss on the side of his cock, though not like those before, but reverent—almost worshipful. Her lips moved again, rising closer now to the tip, soft and trembling as her glasses slipped down her nose slightly. She didn’t bother to push them back up, her focus too intense on the task in front of her, and with each kiss she got bolder and the coil of tension in John’s stomach tightened. His eyelids fluttered as her tongue reached out to trace along the ridge of his head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there. When his focus returned, her green eyes were staring into his, swelling with vulnerability as she inhaled shakily.
“Can I?” She pleaded so softly the sound barely reached him. “Can I be that for you?”
John’s throat was suddenly dry. For a moment, his mind reeled back to the day he had built up the nerve to talk to this shy library assistant for the first time. Her hair had been tied back in a meek ponytail, face hidden behind those oversized glasses, and her soft, nervous stammer as she’d asked if he needed help finding anything had been so adorably endearing. She’d seemed then like the kind of girl who would blush at a PG-rated joke, let alone be bold enough to touch him like this or say anything approaching the words he just heard spill from her mouth. Yet here she was, her green eyes ablaze with hunger, lips parted and trembling with desire, her hand gripping him with a newfound confidence that left him speechless.
He managed only a nod, barely perceptible, before whispering hoarsely, “Yes.”
Her lips curved into a small, bashful smile before she leaned in again, her hand stroking slowly as her mouth enveloped just the tip. John’s toes curled involuntarily as her tongue swirled across the sensitive skin, her eyes studying him, waiting for approval.
“Keep going,” he whispered.
Abbie’s lips stretched around his girth as they slowly descended lower. The warmth, the suction, the way her tongue pressed against the underside of his cock—it was both almost all too much and not nearly enough. Her glasses slid down completely, falling onto John’s stomach, but she didn’t seem to care. The warmth of her wet mouth descended, slowly, taking more and more of him, her hands gripping his legs, down until he hit the back of her throat. She gagged, the sound wet and desperate—but she didn’t retreat. She held herself there like she never had before, her throat constricting around him as her fingers dug into his skin.
John’s hips buckled, his hands tangling in her hair as he groaned her name, “Abbie…”
She pulled back again, her lips shiny, swollen, and let out a shaky breath as her eyes met his. Spit ran down her chin, dangling over the curve of her neck, but she didn’t think of wiping it away. If anything, the mess seemed to embolden her.
“I want it…” she whispered, her voice rougher, lower, still shy but more desperate that he had ever heard it. “…I want to be your slut…your little whore.”
Without waiting she returned again, her movements faster now, more desperate and primal, head bobbing with a speed that sent sparks of sensation shooting through his entire body. Her hand pumped the base in tandem with her mouth, spreading the slick of her spit, moaning naughtily around his thickness. Then she pulled back suddenly, gasping for air, a string of saliva dangling between her lips and the glistening head of his cock. Her hand didn’t stop moving, stroking him with quick, desperate movements as she caught her breath.
“Can you…?” She begged, as much with her pumping hand as with her words, “Tell me…Call me it. want to hear it…”
John’s fingers tightened in her hair, down to the scalp, and instinctively he tugged her head back, time seeming to slow as he held her face aloft before him. Her lips were red and swollen, parted slightly as she panted for air, strands of her hair clinging to her wet cheeks. Her green eyes, usually so wide with innocence or nervousness, now held something wild and untamed, provoked by the tension on her scalp. No, this wasn’t the Abbie who nervously adjusted her glasses when she spoke, or buried her face in thick books with dog-eared pages. This was something that sent a pulse of heat through his entire body. His grip tightened even firmer, and her soft whimper snapped him out of his thoughts. With one last glance at her begging eyes, the words came spilling out of his mouth:
“Go on. Be a good little whore.”
He thrust her head back down, her lips parting on command, no hint of hesitation as she engulfed him. This time there was no subtly, no lingering questions. Her lips plunged hungrily down until his cock burst into the tight grip of her throat. Even still she pushed further, even as her cheeks flushed darker, even as tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Her nails dug into his thighs as she worked him with a fervor that bordered on a frenzy. She didn’t slow, didn’t falter, her desperate wet sounds filling the room with a filthy symphony that left John’s hips squirming under the grasp of her mouth while the minutes melted into each other.
Then, among her shallow breaths and occasional gagging choke, her muffled voice broke though the cacophony.
“Please…” she whispered in garbled tongue as she pulled back just enough to breathe.
“Do anything…use me. I want it so bad.”
It was a voice that trembled with a need so consuming it seemed to reverberate through her entire body. She looked wrecked, utterly undone, on the edge of madness, her chest heaving with every intake of breath.
His grip on her hair slackened as he watched her rise to her feet. She stood before him, shaking slightly—but not from nervousness. Her fingers darted to the hem of her top, and in one frantic motion she pulled it over her head. Then, with a flick of her fingers, the tension holding her breasts tight was released.
John’s breath stopped as the bra dropped to the floor. Her breathtaking tits, full and soft, spilled free, the taut pale flesh rising and falling with each uneven breath. Her skirt and panties followed moments later, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but socks. She stood there, her pale skin dusted with freckles, exposed and unashamed. He traced every inch of her—the curve of her hips, the fullness of her thighs, the way her flushed nipples stiffened under the weight of his stare.
She took an eager step closer, but John stopped her, exploding from the bed in one sudden motion. He towered over her small frame, using every inch of that dominance to seize her shoulders and push her around without a word. Abbie gasped softly as he shoved her forward, guiding her stumbling feet to the desk. Her palms fell upon the surface, her body bending with the instincts of an animal as he pressed her down, hands firm on her hips.
The sight of her now—bent over, her bare skin glowing in the dim light, her fiery hair spilling over her shoulders, her round, plump ass thrusting out in desperation—sent a renewed fever in his body. He ran his hands over the tender skin of her ass and she whimpered, voice trembling with need. Something deep and primal unfurled in his chest. Without thinking, he drew his hand back and brought it down sharply against her ass.
The sound cracked violently through the air and for a second he froze, his hand still tingling from the impact, his eyes wide as he watched her body jerk forward. A vivid red handprint bloomed on her pale skin and Abbie gasped, her head falling forward while her fingers curled against the desk. Then she moaned. It was a low, broken sound that seemed to come from her very core. She arched her back, pressing her ass up into his hand in a beg for more. “Again!” she whispered in a plea.
Instinct took over. John drew back and spanked her again, harder this time as she cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. She shrieked, “Tell me what I am…!”
John grabbed her harshly by the hair. Then, as he ripped her head back fiercely, he caught the sight of their reflection in the mirror on the adjacent wall. The sight stopped him cold for a moment. The contrast between them—of her wrecked, desperate submission and his own overwhelming control—struck a savage chord inside him. Abbie was a vision of complete depravity, her ass red from his handprint, her round tits dangling, bouncing with every little movement, her face streaked with tears, her hair a mess, her lips parted and trembling as she panted, her green eyes shining with something feral and unrestrained.
“Look at yourself.” He rasped in a voice rough and low, the ruthless edge to it startling even to him. He yanked her hair harder, forcing her to meet her own reflection. “Look at what you’ve become.”
Abbie moaned, her lips trembling as her eyes darted between his reflection and her own, wide with unfiltered lust. “Tell me…” she begged, “Tell me what I am…!”
John’s grip yanked harder, the motion so sharp and sudden that her green eyes could do nothing but snap upward to meet his, upside down and face to face, her body jerking from the force. For a moment he thought she might break under the weight of it all. But her teeth crept out beneath a wicked grin. It was maddening. It was everything. And then, in a low, growling voice, he declared a savage truth that echoed in the air between them:
“You’re a fucking whore.”
His hips snapped forward sharply, burying himself deep inside her in one brutal motion.
The impact was immediate—her body jerked forward with the force, back curling as she cried out, tits bouncing freely, her fingers scratching at the desk for stability. John didn’t let up. His grip on her hair tightened as his hips raced with intent. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed around the room, slapping obscenely as he fucked her with an intensity that gave her body no rest, no chance to adjust, no chance to do anything but get fucked. The sight of her in the mirror, utterly broken and babbling, was more than he could take.
“Say it!” He growled, “Say what you are!”
“I’m your whore!” She screamed, her voice cracking without shame, “I’m your filthy whore! I’m yours—please, John, fuck me harder!”
The desk collided violently with the wall, Abbie trapped between the wood and his ruthless hips as he turned her ass cheeks into a violent mess of bouncing flesh. He couldn’t stop. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, tightening with every push, leading them both towards the brink. Her reflection was a blur of motion now, her tits bouncing in chaos, her face twisted with pleasure as her pussy clenched ever tighter, ever wetter, begging, begging.
Then, with a growl like thunder, he buried into her—deep, hard, pulling her hips flush against his. He pinned her there with his weight, staring at her face twisting in the mirror, before reaching down and pressing through the heat of her pussy until–
“Oh, fuck!” she screamed, her whole body jerking forward as his fingers found her clit. He circled it slowly, almost in a cruel mocking of her submission. Her reflection came alive again, her wide eyes locking onto his in the mirror as her mouth fell open in a soundless cry, her hips trembling against him.
“That’s it,” John growled, his voice thick and low, his own persona now utterly undone. “That’s what you want, your body to be mine? Your pleasure—to be mine?” His fingers worked her faster, relentless in their torment, as pleading whimpers escaped her lips. She squirmed against him, her ass grinding into his hips in a silent plea for more, for anything and everything.
“Yes! John, please—please—”
Her words cut off as he yanked his hand away, his palm cracked against her ass, the sting rippling through her flesh and painting her cheek with a fresh red bloom. Her own juices glistened atop it. Abbie shrieked, her nails clawing at the desk.
Then, with ten fingers taking vicious grip of her hair, the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room once more, harsh and obscene, the desk scraping against the floor with every punishing drive. He consumed the sight of her reflection like a drug, savoring every twitch, every gasp, every quiver of her lips as her body betrayed her, crumbling completely under the overwhelming assault of sensation.
“John–oh, God, I’m–I’m gonna–”
Her entire body seized, her thighs shaking violently, nails leaving marks on the desk as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her.
With a final thrust he buried himself into the spasming walls, then pulled out abruptly, dragging her possessively down to her knees. Her body still shook, her head tilting back as she looked up at him with dazed, tear-streaked eyes—but her lips parted immediately, subconsciously, dutifully.
Stroking himself roughly, fiercely, the pressure became unstoppable, overwhelming, and when it came to an unbearable peak he lurched forward, releasing himself in hot thick ropes.
Abbie didn’t flinch or pull away as the cum splattered across her face, dripping down her cheeks and painting her lips. Instead, she moved with an utterly depraved grace, her fingers rising to run though the slick warmth, smearing it across her cheeks like a badge of triumph, a mark of his ownership, dragging it to her tongue to taste with a yearning that left her eyes half-lidded, lost in the rawness of the act.
John’s chest heaved as clarity began to return through the orgasmic haze.
His hand left her hair, taking her by the chin and tilting her head up to him. The sight of her—the streaks of cum across her freckles, her lips swollen and glistening—was a paradox, of innocence lost and twisted into corruption.
Nothing had ever thrilled him so deeply to his core.
“Tell me again. What are you?” he asked, the words escaping in a hoarse growl.
Abbie’s green eyes met his. There was no shyness, only feral confidence. Her lips curled wickedly as her breathy answer sealed the moment forever:
“I’m your filthy little whore.”
