The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Girls in Dorm 3B

Inspired generally by Cristina Prince and specifically by this picture she challenged me to caption.

“Why does a college even HAVE a principal?” Maddy thought. Shouldn’t it be a—a—a dean or something like that? She vaguely remembered—everything was vaguely remembered, these days—a delicious thrill at leaving behind detention and permission slips and consent forms and heading into the adult world.

And now here she was, paddling her thick ass down the slow walk of shame to see the Principal for “girl misbehavior,” her thighs rubbing together as she shuffled slowly on.

* * *

In retrospect, the free knee-socks should’ve been a clue that Jaffar College was unusual.

The chipper RAs, legs already socked up, had opened big boxes to the freshgirls and passed them out. It was a little weird, Maddy had thought, expecting binders with college crests on them or coffee mugs or maybe a t-shirt. These were sky-high socks obviously intended to go with short cut-offs, in school colors, at least.

But the girls had sat around and pulled them on, giggling, sensing a moment of transformation into full-fledged co-eds. Then they had sat around in a circle, legs open, rubbing the soft cotton a little anxiously, and tried to impress each other with their educational goals.

“I’m studying literature,” Maddy had told them, the classy blue blouse she had picked for move-in completely clashing with her new thigh-highs. “English. Up through the 19th century or so, maybe a BIT more.”

They had all applauded politely.

* * *

Maddy sighed, stopping her march to detention for a second to adjust her socks. They were a lot tighter than they used to be. She had never quite gotten used to the way they rubbed together when she walked, the way they tickled her thighs.

* * *

It wasn’t like they were REQUIRED, exactly. No one had said: Jaffar College expects its co-eds to wear long, high socks or leggings or at least some pantyhose at all hours. And yes, Maddy had left them in her room when she had walked, in cautious jeans and a t-shirt, to Lit 101 with Professor Burke for the first time.

But she couldn’t help but notice that showing leg was basically de rigeur—that no girl on campus would apparently dream of not showing skin—like legs had to breathe or they’d fall right off. Preferably high-thigh, and if not that, as if to compensate, a long set of legs poking out from underneath a brief mini or short skirt.

Not only that, asses were very in at Jaffar College this year. Maddy knew that rumps were being worn thick, lately, that girls with tiny little asses had resorted to sweatshirts wrapped around their waists to hide their shame. But Jaffar College—oh man, the BUTTS. Asses that popped out, like shelving, big jiggly butts that were practically pre-bent-over. There were a lot of big, hunky guys escorting around girlfriends, and even their heavy, hairy hands were practically lost in ass town.

* * *

At least that wasn’t a current issue, Maddy reflected, still sidling slowly towards a distant office. It was still strange, just a little, to be toting serious ass. She barely recognized old memories of herself—the few she still had—runner Maddy, athletic Maddy, Maddy who wore boys’ bicycle shorts and had hips like the letter H. Now she blurbled when she walked, she needed clearance, boys made beeping noises like she was a backhoe when she moved.

Gawd, the beeps made her wet.

* * *

Heck, they had all gotten pretty wet, pretty darn quick.

Getting sort of wet and ditzy had become a nightly routine, all kicked off with those first few trips to the dining commons. They had all joked about the DC on arrival—here came the freshman 15, look at the carbs, they’d need iron self-control and blinders pointed at the salad bar.

The jokes had stopped pretty quick. The hunger started week one. Maddy’s dorm began to arrive in a clutch, serious and intent, all feeling a same neediness that wasn’t quite simple nutrition. The blondes and brunettes and redhead [Maddy] had worked together to pile thick globs of fried things up onto a number of plates, pasta and rice bases with meats layered on top, careful attention paid to food architecture. The one asian girl hitting the same carb number from a different cultural route—noodles for days.

They would sit in a circle and eat, avoiding each other’s eyes, voracious beyond measure, hyperconscious that their slender, girlish selves were gonna hit womanly in a serious way if they kept this up. Super aware of all the places the stuff could go—plump tits, big butts, wide hips, thighs upon thighs.

And then off to the soft serve machine, which quickly became semi-religious, a pilgrimage, bowl upturned and held, placating, to the big machine that held the white goo. They all let it spooge in big ropey coils, added some chocolate sauce, and all of them cleaned the bowl.

Then back to the dorms, where they would all laze about into the evening, watching extremely stupid TV on the worst cable channels. Just the dumbest shit, mindless catfighting and fashion and ridiculous horny women acting out in spangly outfits, all of the co-eds watching with their mouths open in the dark, legs open, bodies getting bigger.

In hindsight—Maddy was sick of the phrase, every time she emerged, briefly, from a haze of fucking and thinking with her clit—in retrospect, she should’ve thought more on the horny haze they all stewed in on like, week fuckin two. They all smelled it, sitting in the common room—a common glow of wet girls, thinking dirty thoughts in front of an idle TV screen. Strawberry-scented and perfumed. It was GROSS, she should’ve thought, that they were all in knee-highs and horny, and sniffing each other’s snatches days after meeting each other. Had she really thought it was, what, feminism? That they were bonding, sitting there in a stew of carbs, getting hot? Excusing themselves one by one to masturbate in the bathrooms?

* * *

Speaking of which…

There was a bathroom right on the way to the principal’s office.

Maddy wouldn’t be missed if she took a few minutes to jill off. She really needed a quick cum. Yes, it was obviously bad for her, these orgasms that shook loose brain cells and steadily marched her back through the school grades. But on the other hand, she was super duper juicy.

Maddy did an abrupt right turn, or tried to. Even after all this time sudden turns made her stagger. Weight had to be redistributed, her tits, especially swinging about. She made it through the door and sank, relieved, into a stall. Her shorts were blue, sort-of denim, and only didn’t bear a big wet stain because of moments like this one. Maddy considered washing her hands, dismissed it with a chuckle. Rare, pre-college thoughts intruded—how fucked up was it that she could stuff half the campus up her snatch and not suffer UTIs? Her hands, chronically sugar-stick, should be bacterial.

Up her fingers went. It felt super great.

* * *

She’d been perfectly smooth down there since Alicia had gotten fucked, the first one of them to bag a boy. They had all been talking about it, of course. All the early-days talk about empowerment and careers had gone away super fast, replaced by chit-chat re: the local men, dates, parties, drinking, the usual college stuff.

And the local men were looking insanely great, absolutely. Beards were in favor—mostly thick and full beards that in hindsight—ugh, that word again! She’d forgotten so many other words, why not that one?—threw her off as Brooklyn-hip. Behind the beards were sturdy men that looked like firefighters-to-be, or woodcutters, or men who hammered things for a living, ideally the girls. Even the other freshmen boys were getting cut, real fast—dropping baby fat in exchange for solid, hot muscle. And they smelled like fucking bears in the backwoods. Any boy in a classroom had a circle of ladies around him, inhaling.

Alicia was a 5-foot-nothing brunette. They had all been lounging in their usual post-dinner haze, discretely rubbing at their thighs and—increasingly—nipples, pondering tight waistbands, when sudden shrieking broke out.

They had all recognized the noises immediately—they were all hitting porno youtubes pretty hard. But Maddy had still been shocked by just how LOUD they were—fucking unabashed and as vocally as possible. The girls looking at each other as Alicia’s unmistakeable “OH GOD, FUCK ME, FUCK THE FUCK OUT OF ME!” echoed through the hallways. Her roommate, Jeanine, poked over and said, incredulous, that they hadn’t even bothered to shut the door, that Alicia was bent over her bed, getting poked around the rear by a fellow frosh who had a beet red dick. They banged for an hour, and by the time the mutual grunts and shrieks died down, Maddy had huddled under her covers and rubbed two out.

Then the screaming started up again.

That began the Great Dorm 3B Fuck Race.

By the next evening every single girl had shaved their snatches bare and bulked up on makeup. Maddy never wore comfy jeans again.

The blondes went out right away. Emily, who had a breathy sigh of a voice and had talked about her art world dreams, released breathy screams from behind her ajar door at noon, of all times. Stephanie, the proper history major who always, always kept her legs crossed, slathered her fattening lips in bright red and pink to advertise her blowjob availability. Danielle the mousy fellow lit-nerd, who had the complete set of Proust by her bedstand, wobbled to the bathroom on two weak legs, cum dribbling down the inside of her thighs.

It was harder for the rest of them, but everyone was finding a way. Guys, after all, really wanted to fuck. Nicole leveraged the fact that her tits were getting fat and heavy faster than anyone—and that was really saying something—to snag a Sophomore and give him a slow, sloppy tit-job. Four girls went in on a solemn pact and ambushed a shy boy downstairs, who turned out to have a dick practically a foot long, and who fucked each of them round-robin until they passed out in a sweaty heap.

Maddy told herself that she was different—threw herself into her classes. And those were extremely, very enjoyable. Best of all was Lit with Professor Burke, who turned out to be 33, teaching in polos stretching at the seams, his biceps nearly tearing them apart. He was one of the few who didn’t affect a big hairy beard, and kept his hair cropped short—that plus the way he gave stern nods for good answers made Maddy think ex-military, O-M-G hot.

“Literary history has a variety of perspectives, and we are going to focus on the id and the superego,” he had told them, Day One. “And when I say Id, I want to be clear. I mean the animal. The urges that we all have, that are part of our identity, that we mask with a thin veneer of civilization and clothing and affectation.”

And it turned out that the animal was everywhere—all the romances of history, the dramas, the wars and the tragedies, driven by base, animal, unstoppable, urges. “Romeo and Juliet tore a city apart and got a bunch of people killed because they wanted to BANG,” Professor Burke said, slamming his hand down on the desk. Everyone had jumped. Not least Maddy, whose urges towards Professor Burke were at least dramatic and were approaching poetic epic. Her notebooks were increasingly just doodles of bits of his body parts.

* * *

Maddy leaned back in her toilet stall, groaning. She had lost a lot from all of this, but her extensive bank of Burke-themed fantasies were intact. Her fingers flashed.

* * *

From the get-go she had surprised herself with an intense desire for him to spank the hell out of her. Any number of places, any number of situations, any number of scanty outfits, but always, always, that firm hand thwacking her tender, twitching ass. When Burke slammed his hand down for emphasis she had always gripped her desk, stared straight head, and dripped between her thighs.

But even with her busy fantasy life and increasingly lengthy finger-play sessions, Maddy did NOT want to be the last one out in the 3B sex race. It was getting close—Maddy and Jackie and April—and April, who had always insisted sternly that she was a lesbian, had been caught jacking off a pizza delivery boy, her eyes locked on his twitching dick.

So when Lindsay, her roommate, was studying with her fuckbuddy, a sly dark-haired boy who kept her face down and ass up, Maddy was alert, desperate. She had gotten so used to their fondling and pre-sex right in front of her that the point when she left them alone in the room was precisely calibrated. Necking and rubbing things wasn’t even worth noting. Lindsay getting her tits out and having them rubbed or sucked—Maddy gave herself a few minutes while they went at it. Typically she bolted when the dick actually came out, a thin but long rod that had quickly trained Maddy’s Bio-major roommate to assume a pose—face into the bedspread, ass high up in the air, back arched to the point of scoliosis.

Maddy had got ready to go while the two were grinding, tossing items—a vibrator she had just bought among them—into her bag.

“She can stay,” the boy said. “You. The redhead.”

“Maddy,” said Maddy. The boy rolled his eyes at her. He didn’t give a fuck about her NAME.

There were boundaries of good dorm citizenship and stealing a dick was not part of the growing, plumpening sisterhood. But Lindsay, breathing hard, leaking onto her sheets, squeaked “Okay!” and nodded with conviction. It was the greatest and grandest gesture that Maddy had ever seen, letting her catch seconds on a boy. She had waited, diddling herself gently, breathing in fuck fumes while the twosome went at it. Boy had left Lindsay a half-conscious mess, turned to Maddy, and said “alright, red. Face down, ass up.”

So she lost her virginity, at long last, to the image of her own pillowcase getting bonked into her nose over and over. It had been the most intense experience of her life up to that point. From then on, face down, ass up, was her and Lindsay’s fun little inside joke, and it had really made them a lot closer.

* * *

One, two, three, four, five fingers in, Maddy brayed out an O. Her butt fit, with bits peeking over the side, comfortably on the toilet seat. That’s where Jackie, last out, had had to get her first fuck in—toilet slut, begging a guy to indulge her between classes, letting her bounce up and down on him in a stall while he pointedly checked his watch. She had told the story in tears, to the entire dorm floor, and they had all hugged it out, tears flowing, smiling, noticeably bigger, legs all wrapped in socks.

Post-O a bit of rationality crept in, an unwanted guest as ever, a little shred of sanity reminding her that she was a thick dumb whore masturbating on public toilets because she was an hour or so removed from her last fuck. As usual Maddy let loose a long, windy sigh, vaguely considering the other-timeline Maddy who had chosen community college, and had fitting bras, and wore jeans, and could read without squinting, her tongue sticking out.

Then she picked up her college-issued phone and snapped a pussy shot—one for the boy grouptext, one for the girls, one for her instagram followers. 3B groupchat was a torrent of pink, pussy after pussy, close-in shots invariably, thick slits all at least moist or covered with cum. Heart reactions popped up to her pussy, one after the other.

That was the thing—it had all been so NICE. The Girls had been so close, so good to each other, the closest and most affirming and loving sorority there ever was. Every morning someone would bring in donuts, definitely, big crusty cruelers and long bars filled with custard and three types of jelly donuts in raspberry, blueberry, and ‘mystery pink’. They swapped clothes so freely that it was never quite obvious that all of them were flying up sizes, stuffing their butts into new minis taken from girlfriends and squealing at how god damn hot they all looked. When Jeanine’s boyfriend broke up with her—that was when they were still deluding themselves that boyfriends were a thing, that they were more than interchangeable asses—they had a hug and cuddle session.

And yeah, there was some sapphic stuff going on. Most of the roommates were pussy diving before long. Typically because some boy or another arranged them to his satisfaction, insisting that they 69 or kiss each other while he jizzed all over their faces or whatever. The number of vibrators was ever-increasing and basically communistic—the sex toy pile was open to all, in a spirit of true giving and belonging, whether it be a tiny pink rabbit for classes or a big black rubber dick for late night sessions in front of the ever-burning TV. Lindsay and Maddy weren’t super into it, but Lindsay liked a post-dinner lick session “to burn some calories”, and Maddy got some light spanking out of it.

Plus whenever there was a burst of concern, a sudden realization that this was all fucked up, so fucked up, that they were becoming mares in a stable at best, pigs in a trough at worst, The Girls were there to coo and console away all the concerns.

For Maddy the first burst of real terror came when she realized she couldn’t remember where her driver’s license was—it was gone—and so were all the other photos of old Maddy she had brought, incidentally. She had run from room to room, searching for it, trying to hold on to the icy awareness that took her out of her warm and comfy skin. But the other girls laughed it off—they couldn’t find their DLs either—lol such ditzes they were—good thing they didn’t need to DRIVE anywhere, ha ha. They had calmed Upset Maddy down with soothing hugs, tits bobbling together, and gradually Maddy had started to titter and giggle. Yeah, she had probably lost it, lol.

* * *

Maddy got up from the toilet seat with a groan, restarting her journey to the principal’s office. The bathroom was well-equipped with all the materials that girls and boys who were mostly sex-crazed sluts needed. Lots of paper towels and several boxes of baby wipes, a box to toss clothes in if no longer fitting or needed. Water bottles. Maddy splashed water on her face to prolong her unusual sense of clarity—the defiant feeling that she could write and read.

She glared at the sizable girl in the mirror, the one that didn’t really have visible cheekbones, who wore slut makeup because it gave her super soft face a little definition, and also because it was hawt. She didn’t previously have big creamy white orbs slung low in a cropped t-shirt, ridiculous centaur lower body with an ass like two or three bowling balls. Big hoop earrings because they matched her body.

* * *

But it had been good, it was undeniable, the decad—deca—the fuckin’ around of it all. Like when Mia had brought in gallon upon gallon of strawberry ice cream and a massive amount of weed, and they had all sat around spoons in hand and ate it directly out of the cans, bleary-eyed and telling secrets. Playing never-would-i-ever just to see how many girls still hadn’t done anal, dancing at 2 in the morning to aguilera, a bunch of wobbly ladies. Late night hot and heavy, plenty of giggling as strawberry hands started going under waistbands. Maddy hadn’t even slept, had gone off to class with legs still shaky from a half-dozen Lindsay-licking orgasms. She’d probably gotten DNA from every girl up there, from time to time.

If twenty-girl high-as-hell daisy-chain finger-fuck sessions were wrong, maybe she didn’t want to be right.

* * *

Principal’s Office. Maddy slouched inside, took her place in the row of Bad Girls awaiting punishment for one thing or another. They all kept their eyes on the carpet, watched over by the stern secretary—a blonde with her tits actually resting on the desk.

* * *

In hindsight—UGHHHH—the whole slut-butt conspiracy thing was pretty open and obvious. Hell, much later on, one of the teachers had just casually started to talk with her about it.

“You girls know we’re making you into fuck cattle, right?” he had said, stroking her hair. Her creative writing teacher, Professor Greene, who had a dumb white beard and liked to hear himself talk. Maddy punished him for not being Professor Burke by wearing panties to his classes. “Dumb little toys? Walking babymakers? It’s not really clear to me how much you ladies have figured out. Is figuring still something you girls do?”

Maddy had rolled her eyes and briefly fished out his frankly undersized dick from her mouth. “Uhhh, YEAHHHH??” she had said, like it was obvious. Which it sort of was, at a certain point. There had never been a single flashpoint of, oh, of course, this is to make the girls dumb, horny, and heavy, a bunch of slits, but it all became sort of clear.

Sexual Health, first and foremost. Oh, sure, they had ramped it up casually. The first session was Caren-with-a-C in her school socks sitting cross-legged, cheekbones painted in rouge and eyeliner dark blue, talking up the benefits of condoms in the dorm lounge. “Girls, use a condom. Yeah, sure, they don’t feel super good. I mean, honestly, they don’t feel good at all—they feel like someone took this warm, wonderful toy and wrapped it in foil. And between you and me there’s nothing like the goosh at the end all sticky and warm inside of you—oh my god, I love that part. Just a big flood of boy juice while you lie on top of each other.”

The girls in a circle had fidgeted. Whew.

The second session, Caren-with-a-C didn’t bother crossing her legs. That was one of the little niceties they were tossing away with wild abandon—crossing legs, wearing underpants, washing jizz out of hair. “The thing about blowjobs is that they’re safe, by and large. Hard to get an STD with a mouth full of jizz. Now, what you do, is you kneel like—girls, lets kneel, everyone up up up, lets kneel.” They had all gotten onto their knees. “Okay, I’ve got a big bag of dildos here, don’t everyone hog the black ones, ha ha. And girls, I want to stress this, no one deepthroats right away. You walk before you run, and you lick before you suck.” All of them had diligently stuck rubber dongs in their mouth, giggling around them, at the weirdness of it all.

Not to mention all the second-tier status that was slowly creeping up on them—the dawning awareness that the boys were in charge. Boys got to go off-campus whenever they wanted, while girls had to live under curfew rules. Boys could wear whatever they wanted, while the college instituted mandatory sock checks by the second month, and severe bans on comfy jeans. Boys slapping a random ass or copping a quick feel or stealing a kiss in an elevator was just how things WERE. Consent was lol, lmao. The Girls told each other stories of getting casually fucked, pulled into nooks and banged, and every story was just hot.

Maddy herself had been pulled, in a campus coffee shop, onto a boy lap. “Hi,” the boy had said, his hand already between her thighs. She had seen him before, an upperclassman with long, shaggy hair. “Aren’t you in Professor Burke’s class?”

His erection pulsed between her legs. It was wrong, very wrong, the opposite of consent—plus he was slowly stroking the nice white skin between her legs. Maddy bit her lip. Her nipples were glass in her tanktop. “Uh… yeah. I really like Burke.”

“Yeah, me too,” shaggy boy said. “Did you do the homework he assigned?”

She had. It was getting super hard, to be honest. Between pigging out, clothes-shopping, fucking her roommate’s boys, fucking her roommate, fucking her dorm floor, vapidly watching television, and fretting in the mirror over her latest pounds, she wasn’t getting much reading done. Or writing or thinking. Her essay was 500 words on how Jane Austen’s girls needed a good fucking, and the mental strain had left her dumb and horny.

“Ye-ah,” Maddy answered, distracted by his fingers. He had graduated up to her panties. Of course he could feel how soggy a girl she was. It sort of ruined her plans to protest—they both knew how horny she was.

“Can I have it?” the boy said. He gave her a sheepish look. “I forgot.” His fingers squeezed into her. They were in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. It smelled like lattes and espresso, and, increasingly, Maddy.

“Oh-oh-of course,” Maddy babbled, closing her eyes. Sure, whatever a boy wanted.

“Great, thanks, baby,” the boy said. He withdrew his fingers, wiped them on her socks, and rummaged through her bag until he came up with the paper. “You misspelled Jane,” he informed her, taking it, while Maddy sat there, panting, disbelieving.

“Pleaseeeeeee,” she heard herself saying. Begging to finish. It was BAD MANNERS, at least, to not let a girl come.

The boy rolled his eyes. “You’re one of the 3B sluts, right? I’ll stop by later.”

His name had turned out to be Josh, and he became one of Maddy’s more regular fucks, treating her as a late-afternoon sort of thing. Maddy was a 3-5 p.m. bang. That had been her homework time, so instead she spent those hours staring, desperate and needy, waiting for him to sweep in and momentarily admire her carefully put together outfits, her minis and short tops, her increasingly elaborate makeup, before bending her over the bed.

By the time midterms rolled around pretty much all the girls came to a common realization that they were fucking failing. Hard F, no-hope fail. Books had dust on them, or other substances, backpacks hadn’t been hoisted in weeks or even months. Classes had been attended sporadically at best, when the teachers were cute, or some boy wanted to finger in the back or middle or front of the classroom.

They had all come to their sudden senses, all the ladies, and thrown their bigger bodies into a 48-hour sudden cram session that had gone extremely terribly.

It was a sign of how dumb they were getting that the girls of 3B thought they could go from a comfortable routine of wake, eat, dress, fuck, suck, eat, laze, eat, drink, smoke, fuck, suck, fuck to hardcore studying. But they had all sworn to it, fear tinkling in their eyes, dimly aware that things were wrong. They had spent nearly a month and a half engaged in a full-bore slut-transformation bender. Maddy sorted through her drawers, in increasing panic, looking at old jeans that couldn’t fit at all, t-shirt after t-shirt that would barely wrap around her bigger boobs. All of them looked at old class schedules and remembered August life-plans—learn biology, become a doctor, study American history, teaching, dentistry, all sorts of things submerged in a pool of snacks and casual sex.

They all soon had raging headaches, trying to force words into brains that, honestly, had become as soft and simple as the rest of them. Suffering from serious withdrawals from things with cream in them, from donuts to dongs, their bodies confused when blowjob/snack/weed time turned into staring, open-mouthed, at a book filled with very long and very confusing words.

“I keep drooling,” Jackie moaned, despairing. “I keep looking at this stupid book and I keep drooling on it like some sort of… some sort of DOOF.” Her lips were thick and heavy.

“I’m really hungry,” Nicole kept murmuring. She chewed on pencils, swallowing more than a little graphite.

Alicia finally bolted, bursting out into the night, returning five hours later with a sweat of semen in her everything—hair, dribbling down her chin, caked on her face. All the girls had sighed as she passed by, pure regret, wishing it was them with a cock in their mouth.

Maddy herself had dove into her paper, finding release from the madness of her aching, horny body in tapping furiously while porno played on redtube at high volumes—a symphony of fake moans that put her into a sort of trance. It dashed away all the worries surfacing from her days of binging—why was she so curvy, her gaze in the mirror so brainless, her pussy so red and wet at every hour? Why was she struggling with sentences longer than six or seven words? Why was she so dang DUMB all of a sudden?

It all broke down when Lindsay snuck a boy in, like they couldn’t all smell him. They had all retrieved their college-issued drinks and candies and chocolates and indulged, stroking big college nipples and sticking the fingers in slits, relieved that someone else had given up first.

Her paper had gotten her the big fat F she had deserved.

“Maddy, these are barely words,” Professor Burke said, sternly. He had called her—actually, all the girls in the class—for mandatory office hours. At staggered thirty minute intervals.

Maddy had never been so scared. Failure. Everyone in 3B had failed, passing around Ds and Fs with ashen faces. The reality had sunk in—they were thick girls, good at screwing and not much else. Brittany had spoken for all of them when she had hefted her big white tits and moaned “THESE ARE NOT SMART GIRL TITTIES!” Any of them could look in a mirror and see—big lips, wide glassy eyes, boobs to here, ass in cheap slutty skank shorts, dumb-girl socks—not exactly Rhodes Scholar. But to fail in front of Professor Burke… hurt.

“I’m soooo sorry, Professor,” she had said.

He held her paper with finger and thumb, like it smelled. “Maddy, I think I get what you were trying to do. Really explore the basement of human sexuality. This, this paper here, is Id. It’s practically dripping with lubricant.”

Maddy took it from him. She barely remembered writing it. It turned out she had turned in a paper full of lurid sex fantasy—barely literate fuck scenarios. She blushed bright red, all over.

“I’m disappointed,” Professor Burke said. He rubbed his head, sighed. “But your effort is commendable. I know what you girls are going through. So, I’m prepared to offer extra credit to get you up to passing.”

Maddy perked up.

“A dozen swats on the ass should do it,” he said.

* * *

Even then, Maddy thought, watching the clock in the waiting room, she probably, PROBABLY would’ve bolted if he had just pulled his dick out. Would’ve run screaming from the pornoland life she was now stuck to. But no, he had gently pushed her over his desk, and given her a brisk and businesslike spanking. Twelve swift smacks on her ass. By smack seven she was cumming, like never before, a rippling spasm that seemed to start in her heart and take over the rest of her. She didn’t feel the rest of it—didn’t even remember the next twelve hours or so. He had gently deposited her groaning, spasming self outside his office, and she had woken up there, at three in the morning.

The girls of 3B gathered slowly, over the next few days, having purchased extra credit with their ass, or their mouths, or by getting pumped on a formica desk, teacher skeet somewhere on them. Patrice, who had one of the very, very few girl teachers, had licked slit until her tongue was raw.

In every case, they had all come to a realization: they weren’t valued co-eds because of their bright potential and praiseworthy brains. They were there because they were fuckable. They had holes.

But around then the ladies came to a magical realization: America was extremely fuckin infatuated with big bonking asses, right then and there.

They were TRENDY! It was cheering news for a group of burgeoning young sluts, examining their new padding in mirrors. After decades of chasing young trim, exalting slender hips, the country had decided to spend some time fucking curvy girls. The Mix-a-Lot prophecy, at last fulfilled.

It was exciting news for 3B, where they had all gone up several dress sizes, and could feel the soft padding extending behind them. On one Sunday morning Maddy herself had started the Great Goodwill Purge, ceremoniously dumping her non-fitting shorts and too-tight jeans. She had tried in vain to pull white pants over her curvy rear, considered leaving the button open, and finally declared a ringing “FUCK IT!” that had echoed down the hall. Skirts and panties with sagging waistbands and all other sorts of girlish shit had gotten pulled out from the back of drawers and dumped in a long row of petite sizing. All of them in their socks, at 7:30 in the morning, talking big about how they were WOMEN now, not little waifs, and they needed woman clothes. Maddy had tossed out every one of her khakis, really every pair of pants she had owned, deciding on a life in shorts and skirts—the socks were warm, after all.

And then down as a big group to the college store, where there were clothes on credit in abundance, all designed for the ample lady with charms to spare. Bras in every size, lacy and black primarily, with deep cups that Maddy would’ve laughed at just a few months ago. Now they fit her heavy boobs perfectly. Unabashed daisy dukes and especially yoga pants that celebrated big boisterous asses—fabrics that wiped clean and pulled down easy. Lots of cheap skirts that boys liked around here—the ones that flipped up over a butt to present for easy access. Access was a huge theme. Women liked a little pawing, some easy fondling. And all of it on credit, against their college accounts, practically free when you thought of it that way, and ignored the five-figure price tags. What was another 100K in debt to an American college girl?

Sex-Ed Caren had been very encouraging. “When I first got here I was basically a boy with boobs,” she told them, overjoyed at their sex-positive attitude and cheerful disdain of wearing underpants. “I was basically a boy-lite. I was all into boy stuff like school and reading and—oh, you know how silly boys are.” They had all laughed. “But I’m not a boy! I’m a big-ass girl! And girls have titties, girls have pussies, and girls like to fuck!”

They had all cheered and doubled-down on fellatio practice.

* * *

In… sighhhhhh… in hindsight, it was kind of a high water mark of the 3B experience. That last time when they could luxuriate in a fog of fucking and snacks and lie to themselves that this was the college experience, that no bill would ever come due. That buying bras for a thousand dollars apiece “on credit” would be consequence-free.

“Maddy?” the secretary said. “Go ahead,”

Maddy lumbered over to the principal’s door. It read “Principal Dean,” so maybe that’s why she had been so confused.

Dean was a stocky man behind a metal desk. He wore one of those too-big suits that marked a higher-up, for sure, with that big open smile that showed all his teeth. “Third time this week, Maddy,” he said. He shook his head. “That’s a lot of trouble for a girl to get in.”

“I’m SUPER sorry, sir,” Maddy gushed. She sat down in front of the desk, pulled one leg over the other. Tried to be demure. Her bangle earrings shook in a blast from the A/C. She waited.

“Well, lets see the news,” he held out his hand. Maddy put the Teacher’s Note in it, felt her cheeks readen as he read it out loud. It had gotten wet, at some point.

“Nibbling,” he read. “Really, Maddy. Nibbling?”

“Super duper sorry!”

“Honestly,” and Maddy was surprised that Principal Dean looked downright annoyed. “Maddy, you know how important it is to keep our teachers properly sucked. They work hard, and the last thing they need is a freshgirl using her teeth for no good reason. Keeping a good seal on your teeth is the single most important part of a blowjob. You know that.”

Maddy felt the tears start. She was just there for the perfunctory spanking. She had no idea—to be called a bad girl was a blow.

“Professor Burke works very—”

“Oh! No, no! Sir, not Professor Burke! I would NEVER nibble Professor Burke!”

“Not Burke?” Dean turned the note over, and laughed. The tension eased away. “Oh, Professor GREENE! Ha ha, Greene couldn’t handle a little nibbling, huh?”

Maddy heaved a sigh of relief. Principal Dean stood up and walked around the table. It sometimes surprised Maddy that, no matter how many punishment fucks and blowjobs the Principal doled out per hour, his pants were always neatly pressed and belt buckled.

“Well, between you and me, Greene has been… pushing the envelope a bit.” He patted her head sympathetically. “You girls have been going through a lot with the whole transformation into a top tier breeding cow thing. You deserve some sympathy. Greene gets a bit too into it. We’re not animals. Well, the men aren’t.”

“Thank you sir!” Maddy chirped. Nibbling Professor Burke… wholly unthinkable.

“Greene might find himself getting bit by the stallion bug, come to think of it,” Dean murmured. He stroked a chiseled chin. “Well, I think we can let it slide. Thanks for coming by, Maddy.”

“Uhhh, no punishment, sir?” Maddy prodded. She knew she was pushing her luck… but… it had been a long way here.

“Huh?” Dean broke out of his reverie. “Oh, right. You’re Maddy. Ten smacks, that’s all the time I have. Then back to class for you.”

Maddy put her knee on the chair and looked back at him with a small, tight smile. Hell yes.

* * *

For a few weeks post-midterms they had all been floating like a redhead about to get her ass smacked by an authority figure.

First of all, for weeks and weeks they had been ingesting heroic amounts of hormones, chemicals, drugs, and other, more subtle concoctions. Literally every day each and every girl took in enough messed-up shit to trigger a thousand puberties—flooding them with endorphins, remolding their bodies, amping them up through an insane hyperadolescence with three times the giggling and ten times the sex drive. All of that sex energy, the raw new nerve endings on every exposed surface, the doubling-down on pleasure centers, the swollen and rejiggered brains… all if it actually felt pretty great. They were furnaces, burning through breakfasts and shakes masked with vanilla flavoring and hefty protein dinners to build the most perfect pussies, the biggest, most wonderful tits.

Second of all, they were fucking really well. No more of the shy and hesitant girls who had licked cautiously at boy dicks, who had just been proud to get that first cock between their legs. Maddy and the others had experience. They could fuck. Really get a boy to nut his nut, spurt hot cum just as she sashayed up to his dick with a calculating look. It seemed to Maddy sometimes that she was 9/10ths receptacle, boys entering her always-ready slit one after the other, sighing as her practiced pussy did the work. Get spitroasted by two incredibly hung dudes until they both emptied out, swallowing, then making a 90 degree turn onto a waiting cock. That used to be the stuff of sweaty fuck fantasies. Now it was Wednesday at 10. They pranced around, all of them, in jism baths, glowing with a sheen of sweat and crackling cum, and it felt great. The surge of pleasure, the orgasm-glow, had them all fucked up and giggling throughout the day. That and the drugs.

It all came together in the most incredible Halloween party the Girls of 3B had ever attended, a group effort, turning their little floor with its increasingly gross floor and sticky bathroom into a spooktacular of sluts. They had invited the entire college, and everyone had come, and then cum. There was bobbing for Alicia, pin the tail on Nicole, Maddy manned the beer station, and any girl not already busy wandered around diligently licking things, all clad in the big-girl sizes of the most flimsy Halloween clothes. The next morning they had all come-to in a wad of discarded costumes, also next to a huge number of guys, and had congratulated themselves on throwing the greatest of parties.

* * *

Maddy walked out, ass tingling. A good spanking would leave her, from experience, with a little window of extended clarity. Where that happy fog she lazed in lifted up, ever so briefly, to let a little of the old Madeline shine. The one that used to like astronomy and wore plaid shirts, that went camping on lithe legs. Maddy glanced down one corridor, then the next, and then tiptoed away from class on wobbly legs.

* * *

Trouble had arisen when the school had announced that birth control options were being replaced with sugar pills.

Danielle had put her hand up during sex-ed with Caren and asked a question. “Doesn’t that mean we’ll get….. Uhhhh…..” they waited patiently. Danielle was a meaty dumbo even by 3B’s increasingly lenient standards. She spent most of her curling her hair, and no one popped more bubble gum. “Knocked up?” she said, eventually.

All eyes turned to Caren.

“Wellllllllll… YES,” Caren had answered. A cool and dark breeze swept across the faces of the assembled bimbos, even Lindsay, who still had jizz in her hair. Pregnant? “SOME might say,” Caren added, quickly, “that letting a boy jizz in you and knock you up is kinda hot. Talk about commitment. That’s what sex is all about, right? It’s not just supposed to be cum and done for the rest of your lives!”

Whoops, Caren had fucked up. None of them had thought any farther into the future than the next frat party in weeks and weeks—at most some loose talk about coming home for Xmas Break sporting whopping boobs.

She realized her mistake, bringing in a big batch of guys for a round of fellatio. And frankly, yeah, that did do the trick in the short-term.

But the trouble started.

Gregory, Carrie’s ex, simply showed up one day, concerned by her total withdrawal from the rest of the world. The 100-pound asian girl he remembered, the one who lived in lulu and drew portraits for friends, was now a top-heavy slut with the most outrageous pink lips in the entire dorm, who talked in short and simple sentences with a lisp. Greg had gotten the tour in increasing concern and disbelief, asking questions that were highly cogent and probing—was Carrie even attending class? Why was the entire dorm simply reeking of weed and, uh, fluids? Why was demure Carrie talking on and on about all the incredible guys she was seeing each and every day, with hand gestures and size comparisons?

If he had been smart enough to just sneak away he probably would’ve made it. But he made the dumb error of accompanying Carrie to dinner, watching her munch with the others in a shuffle of plates. He had risked a steak, then another, and then wolfed down a bucket of pasta with a fevered look in his eye, plus a gallon of ice cream and three sodas and popcorn and chips. He came in his pants by the end of dinner and barely seemed to notice, his cock raging from a tremendous infusion of all sorts of drugs. Within a few hours he was a grunting, red-faced man, putting it to his ex with enthusiasm, his cock paltry by Jaffar standards but wielded with gusto.

They had fucked the entire night, an impressive marathon performance, re-uniting in a flood of blowjobs and doggy style. Greg had been enrolled soon afterwards. He didn’t talk much, but he fucked like a champ. It had ended as kind of a sweet story—he and Carrie spent so much time joined at the pelvis they got nicknamed Gregarrie.

Alicia, of all the girls, had made an escape attempt. The very first of them to get fucked out, but one of the few to hold on to wearing a few dark clothes, spend a little time outside the fuck/eat cycle listening to music, to look on sucking cock as more of a hobby than a calling. She had embarked on her yearly re-reading of Harry Potter, only this time as a thick-thighed semi-whore. It took her a week to make it through Chapter One, eventually reading it out loud, and with her finger tracing her progress on the page, and with a fresh load of cum in her pussy so she could concentrate. A smidge of self-awareness had gotten through with the discovery of an old photograph as a forgotten bookmark—her high school self blowing kisses at the camera, wearing an actual jacket.

She had booked it in the night, made the mistake of using the Campus Shuttle Service to try and get into the woods. Of course they had returned her right to 3B. Caren, their RA, and six or seven boys that none of them recognized had spent just a patient hour with her in her room. No noise from behind the door. But when she emerged Alicia had bright pink lipstick on, pink everything, and was relentlessly dedicated to sucking dick. Simply singleminded about cornering guys and getting on her knees, tugging on their cocks until a salty spurt hit her.

The college team took her books and dark clothes with them.

And Danielle had simply pulled the fire alarm. She had made a wild, confused, and utterly incoherent attempt to explain the situation to the firemen who showed up—a word salad of ‘big-ass titties’ and ‘super-awesome pussy’ and ‘really great orgasms, oh my gawd’. The rest of them had just gawked at the incredibly hot boys in firefighter gear, and eventually it had turned into a great party with the boys from Jaffar College Fire Station. A bunch of the ladies had tried to pull the alarm after that, on the belief that it was some sort of sexy guy lure, until Captain Jeff had talked to them sternly and set up a regular visit.

* * *

Maddy had never skipped class before, to her knowledge. Well, yes, she had missed umpteen classes, but it didn’t REALLY count when she had a fellow student balls-deep inside of her. That was the curriculum, more or less. She had never intentionally skipped class. She made her way across the quad, over to the dormitories, up to the welcome door to 3B. Dedicated to secrecy, she even took the stairs, for the first time in two months, body heaving from the effort.

The scent of 3B was a long time brewing. It was basically weed and sex, true, weed fumes up high and sex baked into the carpet. The fug was concentrated, omnipresent, leavened occasionally by other sources of sweetness—the boxes of donuts, empty and half-empty, in the common room, loads of candy wrappers thrown vaguely towards wastebaskets, some panties. A few cum stains on the ceiling left over from the Halloween party—no one really knew how they had gotten there.

All the girls were there, fingering themselves anxiously, backpacks packed to overflowing with snacks. Maddy locked eyes with Lindsay and gave her an exaggerated wink, then another to Nicole. The dorm was, very unusually, quiet—not a single one of the O shrieks that formed the typical chorus.

Maddy stripped off her knee-high socks. She felt utterly naked without them. She kept them on for everything—sex, class, showers, stripping them just briefly to put on new ones in one of the dozens of patterns she had. This time she just left them off.

“Underpants,” Lindsay whispered. She winked. “Face down, ass up, Mads.”

Oh, right. Maddy put some of those on, too. An older pair, the waistband struggling over her ass. She could still feel the crisp strokes from the Principal-Dean.

“How much longer?” she whispered, to Lindsay.

“Noon, he said,” Lindsay said.

They looked at the clock on the wall.

“That’s the one with the twelve?” Maddy said.

It was time to escape.

* * *

It wasn’t really the freakouts that had triggered the resentment. It was the growing realization that This. Was. It. That they had peaked, in a way—that big-boobed big-assed mouth-open dumb slut bunnies was their career. That they could look forward to nothing more than yet another cum, yet another load, yet another hit of drugged-up candy and laced weed. And yeah each dick was certainly fun as heck, and it wasn’t like they slowed at all in the ceaseless snacking, worshipping at the altar of the ice cream machine. But it was… kind of dull, in a way. Maddy had sucked maybe a thousand, maybe a hundred thousand dicks—had seen every pair of bullish testicles on campus, it seemed like. She had gotten a bajillion squirts down her throat, had ridden a foot-long cock to a screeching O any number of times… and it was just a little same-y, no matter how many drugs she had in her telling her: this is it. This is your religion now.

And they all resented it, how they were being eroded away. Would it hurt the campus to let them keep a LITTLE individuality? Let them be a BIT more than pussies and tits? Do SOMETHING besides feed and breed? They were so interchangeable now, starting to forget each other’s names, transformed into a chorus of enormous asses and bright pink pussies. The boys had stopped caring ages ago—the closest girl was the girlfriend, the warmest mouth was their significant other. They all shared clothes that all basically fit—Maddy wore a shirt purchased by Tanya, grown into by Nicole, cummed on by Danielle’s boyfriend. There were times, when she was especially high, that Maddy had to follow the trail of her own arm to figure out if her hand was in her own slit or some other girl’s.

Couldn’t Brittany keep her interest in photography, instead of wondering out loud where the pictures were kept inside of their campus-issued phones? Couldn’t Lindsay remember what the planets were named? It got to the point where Maddy had started to think of herself as: the redheaded one. Carrie was the asian one, Lindsay was pigtails, Stephanie was… Maddy couldn’t remember who the hell Stephanie was, actually. One of the blondes? Hopefully Stephanie remembered.

It just wasn’t a good deal. Sure, she was grateful for the awesome body, and the tits that made her O when squeezed, and the way they were all starting to express milk. That was useful. And sure, Maddy was willing to sacrifice a few brain cells in service of some truly awesome sex all the time. But did she have to forget so dang many words?

* * *

Maddy wrinkled her nose. The clock read “11” and then something she was too bored to finish reading.

She and Lindsay had been the ringleaders. A boy had come in for Lindsay and simply fucked Maddy, because she was slightly closer to the entryway. And then Josh had stopped by and fucked Lindsay, because Maddy was underneath Lindsay and harder to reach.

Lindsay had found a phone number that belonged to someone who knew someone had had rented them a dang bus. It was arriving at noon, a bimbo breakout.

There had been debate about their destination, but the final vote was to go to spring break.

Maddy puckered her eyebrows. “Lindsay, what’s the word for… wishing you’d done shit differently?” she said.

Lindsay shrugged.

Brain cells knocked around, but the word just wasn’t there. “Ass… view?” Maddy speculated. That SOUNDED right. It had gotten spanked out of her, like so many others.

Anyway. No time for recrimin—recrimmm… for assview. Yeah, there was a 90-95% chance this bus shit was just a College trick, and they were all boarding a bus for the fuck farm to be installed in permanent breeding stalls. Fine. It was time for the girls of 3B to take control of their first semester as co-eds.

The girls heard a bus honk.