Chapter 1

I stepped off the bus onto the sprawling campus of State University, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of excited chatter from other freshmen milling about. I was Emily, an 18-year-old small-town girl with mousy brown hair, pale skin that flushed at the slightest embarrassment, and a body that I’d always thought was average — perky B-cup tits, a slim waist, and hips that swayed just enough to turn a few heads back home. But here? Here, I felt invisible, lost in a sea of confident coeds and jocks who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. Little did I know, this place was about to awaken something filthy inside me, a craving that would consume every waking thought: big black cock. God, even thinking about it now makes my pussy twitch.

Orientation week was a blur of mandatory sessions, icebreakers, and tours. I clutched my schedule like a lifeline, trying to blend in with my oversized hoodie and jeans that hugged my ass a bit too tightly. The campus was diverse, way more than my lily-white hometown, and I couldn’t help but steal glances at the groups of black guys laughing and high-fiving near the quad. Their confidence, their broad shoulders, the way their shirts clung to muscled chests — it stirred something deep in my belly, a warmth that spread downward, making my panties dampen without warning. I’d never been with anyone before, just awkward make-out sessions with high school boys whose dicks were probably as unimpressive as their stamina. But these guys? They exuded power, and my mind wandered to forbidden places: what would it feel like to be pinned down by one, stretched wide by something massive and unrelenting?

By the afternoon, I found myself at the welcome mixer in the student union, a massive hall packed with bodies grinding to thumping music under colorful lights. I sipped a watered-down punch, feeling like a wallflower, until he approached. Jamal. Tall, at least 6’4”, with skin like polished ebony, dreads tied back, and a smile that could melt steel. He was wearing a university football jersey that stretched over his ripped physique, and his jeans ... fuck, they hinted at a bulge that made my throat go dry. “Hey, new girl,” he said, his voice deep and smooth like velvet rubbing against my skin. “You look like you could use some company. I’m Jamal, quarterback for the Tigers.”