Vixen found her little green dress right where she had put it, at the bottom of her box of old clothes, still in a plastic bag and still stained. She looked at the label and put it in the sink with some hand soap and let it soak trying not to recall the battering she had taken that summer afternoon when she was sixteen. She had put the little dress away, feeling it had been a mistake, too daring. Now she was older and had a lot more nerve.
Mr. Valpor, the English teacher she had taken two tries to seduce, had left for a tenure-track job, and Mr. Wilkins was dead and his replacement was being sought. Vixen shuddered when she recalled the big, handsome man putting his pistol in his mouth.
Cal, her roommate for two years, had transferred to a Big Ten school with a world-class swim team. Jim, the art student she had initiated and taught bedroom gymnastics had disappeared. In fact the only dependable lovers she had left were the dean, for a steamy coupling every Friday, and Jim Morris, the art teacher with whom she had spent a satisfying weekend at Cape May once she broke him in. She had not fucked him for some time, but she planned to get back to him soon. He was nearly tireless, thought Vixen as she pictured them out in the dunes with their sketchpads and then scrunched together in his sleeping bag. He rutted like a stallion, crying out in his lust.
Vixen scrubbed her little dress and soaked it some clean water, put her well-worn silver vibrator in her needy pussy, and lay back on her hard bed to study her schedule while it hummed. She had decided to become an art major and to learn how to make movies like her father did.
Her hoped-for schedule put all her classes in the morning except one evening lecture and that would allow her to work for Mrs. Morrison at the day-care center in the afternoons. She had promised thirty hours, but she was not sure she could manage that even with a noon to five shift every day plus a couple of hours on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.
She stood up, wiggled, pushed her vibrator deeper until it disappeared and her lips clamped it in. She wrung out her tiny dress and hung it over the shower rod, smiling at the memories of good times and trying to forget the bad ones as frissons of pleasure coursed through her. She expelled her device and put the battery-powered dildo away, both hot and wet.
Satisfied with her tentative schedule, Vixen dressed in her usual scoop-necked and loose-fitting sweater and low-cut jeans and went to register and pay her bills enjoying the feel of the coarse wool on her bare nipples. Jim Morris was sitting at the art department table when she approached, and he smiled up at her as she leaned forward to put her name on three class lists for photography, introductory filmmaking and his acrylic class and to show him her luscious melons.
"This going to be your major?" he asked when he got his eyes off her dangling breasts and found his voice.
"Think so," she said. "Have a good summer?"
"Got engaged," said Jim with a shy smile. "I'll get married at the break, around Christmas."
Vixen shook his hand and congratulated him, mentally crossing him off her lover list. This, she decided, was getting serious. She hated one-night stands although she had done plenty of them, and she certainly didn't want any more rough stuff. She still had bruises.
She thought about Ralph who had helped her when she got in trouble as a freshman but was pretty sure he had graduated. After paying her tuition and fees, which just about emptied her bank account, Vixen hiked over to the fraternity row and up the steps of Ralph's fraternity house. One of the boys in the lounge said she was right and he had graduated. As she turned to go she almost ran into a tall, blond young man.
He backed off and said, "Hi. You still playing volleyball?"
She shook her head and smiled. "Not this year. Have to work part time." He was a hunk, she decided, a good-looking one at that.
He followed her out on the porch, invited her to a rocking chair and sent one of the pledges off for a couple of beers. Vixen told him about her day-care work and tight schedule after they exchanged names and shook hands.
"Hm," he said, rubbing his chin theatrically, "maybe we can help. Our housemother just quit; the welcome-back party was too much for her. Anyhow, we have to find somebody."
Vixen blinked at him and laughed. "Housemother, me?" She poked herself in the sternum.
"Sure," he said, handing her a Utica Club beer. "You get room and board and $120 a week. Job is mainly supervising the staff, the cook and her helpers and the janitor and his weekly clean-up crew. Oh, and some shopping and chaperoning."
"But I've got this day-care job, and I promised the lady."
The young man poured down some beer and wiped his mouth. "You might be able to do both. After breakfast, there's nothing much going on around here until suppertime."
"Dave," she said, lifting a long-practiced eyebrow, "how about sex? How many guys live here? I think you need an older woman, a nice, plain, motherly one."
He grinned. "Right now it's twenty-three brothers, but after we get done rushing, we'll have eight or ten more, say thirty-five max although we can sleep forty."
"Two dozen men now, maybe a dozen more later. And me. Come on, Dave. Get serious."
"We'll put a good lock on your door," he said with a smile.
Vixen slumped back and sucked on her beer. She held the cool bottle between her luscious breasts. "Doesn't the college have rules?"
Dave shook his head. "Long as we don't cause trouble, they leave us alone. We're off campus you know?"
"I'll think about it," she said. "When do you have to know?"
"Soon as you can. By the way, how's your Spanish. That's all the cook and her boys speak. We get a lot of tacos."
Vixen laughed, finished her beer and trotted across the campus to the dean's office. She waited a few minutes and then went in and sat before his desk. He smiled at her while he finished his phone conversation.
"Good to see you," he said. He looked at his watch. "It's only Thursday."
Vixen smiled, knowing that tomorrow afternoon they would both be naked and tangled together on his leather couch. "Pi Rho has asked me to be their den mother," she said with as straight a face as she could.
"House mother," he said, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. "Didn't think they were that smart. Mostly jocks you know?"
"Well," said Vixen, "what do you think?'
"Haven't you signed a lease?'
"It's month to month."
"It might cause some talk; can't be good for your reputation." He smiled and leaned back. "I can imagine the jokes."
Vixen laughed and covered her mouth. "You wouldn't mind, personally or professionally?"
He shook his head. "Vixen, I doubt that's anyone on this campus better qualified to deal with a bunch of high-testosterone young males than you are. Good luck." He stood and shook her hand. "I have a appointment." He held the door for her and she whispered, "See you tomorrow " as she left. The dean's cock fluttered and so did Vixen's pussy.
Back across the campus Vixen jogged, attracting numerous unbelieving stares for she was, as usual, braless.
"Dave," she told the fraternity president when she found him in the big kitchen pantry raiding the Oreos, "I'll give it a try. Now what?"
"Now we vote on it, but that's just pro forma; it's in our by-laws. Come back tonight about eight and meet the guys."
"Should I dress up?" Vixen asked, looking up at the handsome young man and wondering if he was going to grab her and how he would be in bed.
"That would be nice, and if any wiseguy asks how old you are, tell 'em it's none of their business."
Vixen laughed and left. She told her landlady that she had found a better place and started packing. She got so busy she lost track of time, and it was almost quarter of eight when she noticed the clock. She had worked boxing up clothes and books right through her usual mealtime.
She got out of her sweater and peeled off her jeans and underpants. She donned her tiniest pair of Victoria Secret string V's and then tugged on her little green dress, got the splits onto the sides and slipped on her gold sandals. She looked in her mirror and made a face. Wrong, she decided, and she changed quickly back to jeans and put on a clean Seaside polo shirt and brushed her hair.
She screeched her Mustang into the fraternity's driveway at five of eight and trotted up the wooden steps, smiling. Dave was waiting at the door and took her elbow.
"You look great," he said as he led her though the hall, quickly tumescent.
She smiled up at him, globular jugs bobbling.
"I'm hard already," he said, leading her to the front of the room and pointing at a wooden chair. She sat and kept her knees together, feeling as if she were in an episode of Little Annie Fanny.
A small crowd of young men sat on folding chairs, all of them looking at Vixen, some of them open-mouthed. Their president, Dave, stood and told them that, as he had warned them, the housemother got sick of the loud, drunken parties and she had quit. Then he said, "This is Vixen. She's a junior. Some of you may have seen her around. She's willing to give it a try if we behave ourselves. What to you think?"