Melinda Matson - A seductive student

Joselyn Foche lay on her back on the rumpled double bed, the afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, baking the soft, round rings of her nipples into hard pink stubs, scorching her bare crotch. She opened her legs wider, letting the sunlight bathe her fat pubic mound, the sparse tendrils of her blonde pubic hair, the plump cheeks of her shapely buttocks.

She was a second year graduate student in Chemistry, but the only Chemistry on her mind at the moment was her own. She felt sensuous, like a cat, and there was a lustful craving between her legs, a yearning deep in her belly. She stretched out, placing her arms up over her head, spread eagling herself, making her firm, pear-shaped breasts lift tantalizingly, parting her thighs so far that it felt almost as if her pelvis would crack from the strain.

Like a human sacrifice she thought, closing her eyes, basking in the heat, letting her imagination run wild. An Aztec victim about to be put to the stone dagger. Her long blonde hair cascaded over the edge of the stone altar, her wrists and ankles manacled to its four corners, the altar, itself, atop a steep sided pyramid. She imagined she was a high-born virgin whose spilled blood would appease the hunger of the Sun God and insure the coming of the maize. In her mind, she saw the high priest approach, his face masked by hammered gold, rimmed by exotic feathers, his coppery chest greased, gleaming in the sun. What he held in his hand, however, was not the jagged sliver of obsidian, the sacrificial knife, but the huge, up curving length of his throbbing penis, a ruddy scimitar of meat crowned by a massive purple bulb.

She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming as he groped her ripe breasts with his hard, calloused fingers, as he climbed up on the altar, wedging his knees against the insides of her thighs. She watched spellbound as he bent his monstrous erection down between her legs, pushing the broad, smooth head up against her tight-lipped slit. The great rubbery knob nuzzled into her most secret place and, to her horror and shame, her vagina just fell apart under the insistent prodding, the thin pink labia coming away from each other, pushing open. And they were all sticky wet. Her own body had betrayed her.

Behind the golden mask, the high priest made a coughing sound that could've been a stifled laugh, then pulled back a bit, preparing to drive his powerful penis into her cunt. In that awful instant, she knew that he knew she wanted it, all of it, every gruesome, pussy-rending inch of his mammoth cock crammed up inside her. She lay there trembling, her chest heaving, her cheeks burning with the fever, awaiting his animal lunge.

The sound of the apartment's toilet flushing shattered her fantasy, brought her back to the present, to Southern California, to the campus of Mira Pavo College, to the rumpled bed.

"Want to use the bathroom, princess?" Paul said, sticking his head around the edge of the bathroom door. His dark brown eyes dropped from her face to her lewdly proffered fork and stayed there, riveted to the pink target under the downy fuzz.

Joselyn made a face at him and closed her thighs. The act was not prompted by any excess of modesty on her part. It was simply a show of her power over him. The resulting change in his expression was dramatic, going from delight to misery in an instant, but it did not please her. Her power over him was almost a tangible thing, an invisible leash she could feel in her hand, a leash connected to a choke collar about his thick, muscular neck. If Paul was an animal, he was a meek one. He was too easily controlled, too ready to jump through the hoop; he was a disappointment to her. Still, he was good-looking, tall and lean with a deep, deep suntan. The hair on his head was thick and black and curly, but there was no hair at all on his chest. His bare pectorals, like his other muscles, were hard and well-defined. He looked like he'd be a basket-ball player, but he wasn't. Paul was a Chemistry graduate student, too, and preferred to play his erotic games in bed.

He stepped out from behind the bathroom door and stood there for a moment as if unsure what her frown meant. Joselyn gazed at his naked loins, at the pale area left by the swim suit. Next to it, the crisp, shiny black hair of his pubis and the maroon colored flesh of his cock and balls. His cock was a long one, thick with a big spongy head and flaring rim that reminded her of a conquistador's helmet. His balls were large and hung low in their wrinkly, hair-fringed sack. Even as she watched, the thing dangling limply between his legs pulsed and started to grow, twitching, jerking against his thigh, slowly raising itself up from the dead.

She knew how to make it get stiff as a stick. Still frowning at him, she pulled her knees up, rolled to her side and turned her bottom towards him. She showed him everything she had. The whole of her crotch from the top of her fuzzy slit to the tiny, wrinkled pink ring of her rectum was visible between the silky sandwich of thighs and buttocks.

Paul groaned, his cock instantly snapping to full attention, sticking up out of his groin like a furious tree limb. Every sensuous vein bulged, every ligament and sinew stood out in high relief upon the rigid shaft. He took a step towards her, his cock head bobbing frantically as his penis flexed, then relaxed, flexed, then relaxed.

"No!! Stop!" she said, raising her hand to him. Paul froze, swallowing hard. The hunger in his eyes was awesome to behold.

Joselyn had to fight to keep from laughing at him. She was getting aroused, all right. She could feel the telltale tingling between her legs, the flush of heat sweeping over the lips of her vagina, but she was not aroused enough, not yet. Only by teasing him, torturing him, could she really get her steam up. There was something about driving a man to the brink of physical violence, of rape that very much appealed to her. It was a true test of her control, her power. To this end, she reached back and stroked her own ripe round buttocks, letting her fingertips graze the pouting petals of her pussy.

"Ooooooh," she cooed, slitting her eyes, her full, sensuous mouth turning up in a broad smile.

Paul gaped at her fingers, at the way they were sliding up and down the deepening crease in her pudenda, at the way they were forcing the pliant lips to smooch apart. He made a soft, whimpering noise as she peeled back her labia, showing him the glistening, hot pink lining of her cunt. His cock abruptly jerked from a horizontal position to the vertical in the blink of an eye, the bloated bulb slapping against his sternum vehemently.

She knew she was driving him crazy, but she continued, escalating the action, actually pushing the tip of her index finger into the mouth of her pussy, touching herself on the clitoris.

"Ohhh!" she gasped, her svelte hips moving, ticking back into the caress with a seeming will of their own.

Paul whimpered again, his great, swollen cock hammering upon his breastbone, his testicles drawing up tight to his groin. He was chomping at the bit, straining at the invisible leash. He wanted to pounce onto her, to fuck her into unconsciousness, to punish her for the way she was taunting him, but he did not. He dared not. He was afraid that she might just up and leave, that she might take her tight, firm little body away, and that was the one thing he could not have beared. The look in his eyes said it was worth it, whatever she did to him, it was worth it.

She pushed a second finger in beside the first and began to masturbate openly, making sure that he could see the doubled digits slipping in and out of her pussy, that he could see the shining juice that coated them from tip to knuckle.

Joselyn knew what the other grad students thought of her, the kind of stories they spread around the department. They said that the only reason she'd moved in with Paul was that she needed a place to stay and that she gladly traded a little sex for free rent. She couldn't fault what they had to say about her; it was true. She had cultivated her relationship with Paul with that end in mind. Not that she thought there was anything wrong with doing it. Paul certainly wasn't complaining. He was having the time of his life, getting much more loving than he could handle.