She was a raven-black haired girl, a mismatched of outfit of Kinks t-shirt, black skirt, and torn fish nets. She lived a few doors down from me in the dorm. I think I liked her because she drank whiskey straight. She had two posters on her half of the room, The Cure and The Smiths. She was a pierced punk rock Dorthy Parker. I never could resist an alt girl.
Despite tasting like cigarettes I had to kiss her. I loved the feel of her in my arms, her tiny, curvy body. I wanted to devour her.
"Lay back," she said.
She worked at my belt and opened my jeans and freed my thick hard cock from my boxers.
She got on her knees on the messy floor in front of her bed and wrapped her lips around me and sank down my cock. Her tongue teasing my shaft while her thin fingers weighing my balls.
Reaching down, I pushed up her skirt, and insinuated my fingers between her creamy thigh and white cotton panties. My fingers were just barely able to reach her lips, but my fingertips soon became slick and her moans vibrated the length of my cock.