Michael slumped at his desk in the cramped single dorm room, scrolling through his phone while half-assing notes for econ. The place smelled like old pizza and Axe body spray. Posters of bands he barely listened to anymore peeled at the corners. His roommate was out for the weekend, thank fuck.
A knock. Light, hesitant.
He opened the door. Sarah stood there—petite brunette from his Tuesday lecture, the one with the tight jeans and messy ponytail who always sat two rows up. Backpack slung over one shoulder, notebook clutched to her chest.
“Hey,” she said, shifting her weight. “You still cool to go over the problem set? I’m fucking lost on the supply curves.”
“Yeah, come in.” Michael stepped aside. “Room’s a mess, sorry.”
She laughed—short, nervous. “Mine’s worse. Trust me.”
Sarah dropped her bag by the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling out her laptop. Michael dragged his chair over, sitting close enough their knees almost touched. The fluorescent overhead buzzed. Some dude down the hall blasted shitty trap music through thin walls.
They started simple. He explained demand shifts. She nodded, biting her lip, scribbling fast. Her hoodie rode up a little when she leaned forward—smooth skin, tiny waist. Michael tried not to stare.
Ten minutes in, she groaned. “This is hopeless. My brain’s fried.”
“Want a break?” He nodded at the mini-fridge. “Got some beers. Warm, but…”
She smirked. “You trying to get me drunk, Michael?”
“Nah. Just… hydration alternative.”
Sarah hesitated, then shrugged. “Fuck it. One.”
He handed her a can. Their fingers brushed. She cracked it open, took a sip, made a face. “Tastes like piss.”
“Welcome to college.”
They laughed. The tension loosened. She stretched her legs out, socks mismatched—one striped, one plain. Cute.
Conversation drifted. Class gossip. That professor who always smelled like weed. Parties last weekend. She admitted she hooked up with some frat guy once—regretted it five minutes later.
“Guys here suck at it,” she said quietly. “All hype, no follow-through.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She looked at him sideways. “You?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t had much action this semester. Too busy jerking off to porn instead of actually doing shit.”
Sarah snorted beer up her nose, coughing. “Honest. I like that.”
Silence stretched. Not awkward. Charged.
She set the can down. “You ever think about… me? Like, during class?”
Michael’s pulse kicked. “Sometimes.”
“Me too.” Her voice dropped. “You’re kinda hot when you’re focused. Biting your pen. All serious.”
He swallowed. “You’re distracting as fuck in those jeans.”
She grinned, slow. “Want a closer look?”
Before he could answer, Sarah crawled forward on her knees. Close now. Her breath smelled faintly of cheap beer. She reached out, palm flat on his thigh.
Michael’s cock twitched in his sweats. Obvious.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Sarah’s fingers traced the outline. “Been hard since I got here?”
“Pretty much.”
She tugged the waistband down. His dick sprang free—hard, leaking at the tip. No ceremony. Just need.
“Nice,” she whispered. Then her mouth was on him.
Wet heat. Tongue flat. She bobbed slow at first, getting used to it. Michael groaned, hand in her hair—not pushing, just holding. Her ponytail came loose; dark strands fell across her face.
“Fuck, Sarah…”
She popped off, stroking him slick. “You taste good.”
Then back down. Deeper. Gagging a little—real, not fake porn gagging. Eyes watered. She didn’t stop.
Michael’s hips bucked once. She hummed approval around him.
After a minute she pulled back, lips shiny. “I want you to fuck me.”
He didn’t need convincing.
Sarah stood, peeled off her hoodie and tank top. Small tits, pink nipples hard. No bra. Jeans next—wiggling to get them over her hips. Plain black panties, damp spot obvious.
She kicked them aside, climbed onto his narrow bed. Mattress creaked. Posters rattled against the wall.
Michael shoved his sweats off, grabbed a condom from the desk drawer. Hands shaky.
Sarah lay back, legs spread. Pink pussy glistening. Trimmed but not shaved bare—real. She rubbed her clit in slow circles while he rolled it on.
“Hurry,” she breathed. “I’m so fucking wet.”
He knelt between her thighs. Rubbed his cockhead against her slit. Slippery. Hot.
Pushed in slow.
Sarah gasped. “Oh shit… yeah…”
Tight. Warm. She clenched around him.
Michael bottomed out, balls against her ass. Paused. Let her adjust.
She hooked her legs around his waist. “Fuck me hard. Please.”
He did.
First thrusts careful—testing. Then faster. Bedframe banged the wall. Thump-thump-thump.
Sarah moaned—loud. No holding back.
“Shh,” he laughed breathlessly. “People’ll hear.”
“Let them,” she panted. “Fuck… right there…”
He angled up, hitting that spot. Her nails dug into his back. Skin slapping loud—wet, obscene.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Hair stuck to her neck. She looked wrecked. Beautiful.
“Gonna come,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop—”
Her pussy fluttered. Then clamped down hard.
Sarah cried out—sharp, real. Back arched. Thighs shook.
Michael kept pounding through it. Chasing his own.
“Fuck—Sarah—I’m close—”
“Come inside the condom,” she gasped. “Fill it up.”
He slammed deep once, twice. Groaned low. Cock pulsed—hot spurts into the rubber.
They froze. Breathing ragged.
He collapsed half on her, half off the tiny bed.
After a minute, Sarah giggled. “That was… intense.”
“Yeah.” Michael pulled out slow. Condom heavy. He tied it off, tossed it in the trash.
She stretched, lazy. “We should finish the homework.”
He snorted. “After that?”
Sarah sat up, tits bouncing a little. Reached for her panties. “Multitasking.”
Michael grabbed his sweats. “You staying?”
She smirked, slipping the underwear back on. “If you want. I mean… we could go for round two after we figure out elasticity.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
She leaned over, kissed him quick—messy, tasting like sex and beer.
Outside, someone yelled down the hall. Music still thumped.
They pulled laptops back out. Sat side by side on the bed this time. Closer.
Sarah’s hand rested on his thigh while she typed.
Michael smiled to himself.
Homework could wait five more minutes.

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