Melanie's New Life at College

NOTE: This story is a sequel to Melanie's New Life. As such, you will understand some of the characters better if you read that first, although it is not necessary to follow the story. All characters are over the age of 18.

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I first saw Eileen Wilhoit from the back row of an auditorium style classroom in Kenworth Hall. She was the guest speaker at a lecture sponsored by the Women's Business Students Association, not the sort of thing I normally attended, especially not on a Thursday night. Like many college students, I start my weekend on Thursday nights, usually hitting the happy hours with a few friends or heading to a dance club looking for a hot hookup. Even my quiet Thursdays generally involve chilling with some wine or weed.

So I wasn't too pleased to be there that evening, but my academic advisor, Prof. Bonner, had all but demanded that I attend. She was the faculty advisor to the group and had been lobbying me for more than a year to join. But I'm not really a joiner. I love my independence and besides, my limited experience with these kinds of organizations is that they are full of self-important wanna-be politicians padding their resumes and lording over lower ranking members. Thanks, but no thanks.

But I didn't think I could pass on this one, especially since Eileen Wilhoit was an alumna who'd succeeded in the cut-throat venture capital field, which was where I hoped to end up some day. Emily, Prof. Bonner that is, had just gushed over this woman's experience and how her lectures were always so fantastic and informative. Seriously, I thought she was just going to cum right there in her office while we were discussing it earlier in the week.

But I sat in the back, near an exit, so that if Prof. Bonner's idea and my idea of what constituted a fantastic lecture differed greatly, I could just sneak out. When I saw Eileen Wilhoit enter the room with Prof. Bonner and a very attractive black woman whom I recognized as Prof. Marengo, a member of the finance faculty, I figured I would probably be staying. I have a thing for hot, older women in their 40s and 50s and while I didn't know for sure how old she was, she could definitely play center stage in almost all of my masturbatory fantasies.

Even in a room full of attractive women, and more and more hot students were filing in by the minute, she stood out like a diamond surrounded by cheap quartz. She was wearing a black pant suit that fit her to a T with what appeared to be a white silk blouse beneath. Her black pumps managed to be both practical and sexy at the same time. Long, dark hair fell in waves to the middle of her back and her jacket was stretched just the perfect amount by her breasts, which I imagined to be firm and perky. When she turned to put her purse down on a chair, those of us lucky enough to have arrived early were treated to the sight of her perfectly shaped ass outlined by her form fitting slacks. My libido, which I admit never drops much below third gear anyway, suddenly shot into overdrive.

Once she started talking, it was clear she was not just a pretty face, either. She gave a fascinating and detailed talk about the challenges facing women in business and strategies for how to succeed. She was sharp, witty, and focused, using real-world examples from her own career. She spoke from experience, having put together multi-million dollar deals and provided initial funding to startups that nobody else thought would ever amount to anything. One of those companies was now worth more than a billion dollars, making her a very wealthy woman. Not many people can hold a roomful of college students in such rapt attention that hardly a single cellphone is visible, but she did.

I was so impressed, and even a little bit awed, that by the time she was done, I'd decided to go down an introduce myself. Yes, I know, it's kind of a cliché, kiss ass move but it's also playing the networking game and if anyone's ass was worth kissing it was hers, especially since it was such a delectable ass. Besides, I knew Prof. Bonner would want me to. She'd spotted me early on and from the look she gave me, was clearly not pleased by my choice of seat.

Once she had finished, and received a very enthusiastic round of applause - even I clapped, which I rarely do - there came the obligatory question and answer session. I would have skipped this, as no matter how great the lecture, the Q&A rarely rises to the same intellectual level, but obviously, I'd have to endure it. I glanced around the room, letting my eyes roam across all the fine female flesh in front of me. Being in the back, I didn't have a great view, but it was good enough to spot Azar sitting a few rows down on the other side of the room. She was seated just behind a short, blonde girl with a pixie hairstyle and huge hoop earrings who had just asked some really inane question.

Azar is a pretty girl of Turkish descent whom I'd met the previous year. I knew it was her because I recognized the Antep Bayan Escort brightly colored hijab she wore. She was, like me, a junior and, unlike me, active in a number of organizations including the Progressive Muslim Students League, the finance club, and student government. She was also, I knew from personal experience, a skilled and enthusiastic licker of pussies. Since she didn't seem to notice me, being focused on our esteemed speaker, I whipped out my phone and sent a quick text.

'In back row to your left. Plan on coming home with me. Hope your tongue is well rested, cause it's getting a workout tonight.'

Within a couple of seconds of hitting send, I saw her discretely pull out her phone and check it. She casually looked behind and across the room, scanning the seats until she saw me. I was pleased to see a look of lustful hunger on her face and I gave her a wickedly lewd grin which, after a second's hesitation, she returned with the subtlest of nods. My pussy, already tingling, began to throb. I returned her nod with one of my own and then turned back to the podium only to find myself staring straight into the eyes of Eileen Wilhoit. I could swear she was smirking and If I hadn't known better, I would guess that she knew exactly what had just happened. We looked at each other for just a second, then I, and I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, blushed and looked away.

As soon as the final question had been answered, and a last enthusiastic round of applause given, I made my way down, pushing past several slower, more passive women, until I was part of the small group crowding around our speaker. Prof. Bonner grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side.

"Mel, I'll introduce you when the crowd has thinned," she whispered in my ear. "What did you think of the lecture?"

I smiled up at her. "It was great. I'm so glad you encouraged me to come. She seems like an incredible woman and I really appreciate your introducing me."

"Yes, she is. I've known her for several years and was thrilled when she agreed to speak tonight. I really think you two will get along great."

We stood there for a couple of minutes, waiting for the crowd to clear. I glanced over to the door and was pleased to see Azar standing off to the side, patiently waiting for me. I held up a finger to indicate that she should wait for me there. Just as I turned back, Emily took my arm and stepped forward to Eileen Wilhoit, whom she gently tapped on the shoulder. The woman turned and fixed her cool, cobalt blue eyes on me and I felt a flash of heat rip through my body.

"Eileen, this is Melanie Ross, the student I told you about," Emily said, nodding toward me. I stepped forward and extended my arm, giving her my winningest smile as we shook hands.

"It's a real honor, Mrs. Wilhoit. I loved the lecture and really feel like I learned some important strategies for success," I said. Her grasp was firm but not overpowering and she graciously accepted my praise.

"Thank you very much, Ms. Ross. It's always nice to meet an enthusiastic and talented young woman such as yourself. Emily has actually been praising you quite a bit to me. I think she's angling for an internship offer for you," she said, smiling at me before shooting a glance at Emily. I looked over at my advisor, who's pretty face was now a brilliant red, which contrasted sharply with her short, golden blonde hair.

"Well, I certainly would be very honored to even be considered," I said. "It's definitely additional motivation to keep up my grades this year."

"I doubt you need much external motivation. You strike me as a self-starter, the kind of young woman who knows what she wants and does what she needs to get it."

Eileen gave me a penetrating look, her blue eyes burning into mine. I actually felt a little unnerved, and that doesn't happen to me very often. Then she grinned widely before reaching into the pocket of her suit jacket and extracting a card.

"Take this. The number goes directly to my executive assistant, as does the email. Please, contact me if there's anything I can do for you," said Eileen, then leaning forward, she whispered in a soft, husky voice, "Well, I guess I better let you go. I think your...friend...over there is most anxious for your company."

She straightened up, locked her eyes on mine again, and then, to my utter astonishment, winked at me. She knows, I thought, feeling my own face flushing with embarrassment. I had no idea how, but I was as certain of that as I'd ever been of anything in my life. I turned and gestured to Azar to follow me. I could feel Eileen's eyes following me out the door.

All the way back to my place, I puzzled over how she had known. She must have read the look in Azar's face when she got my text, I reasoned, and saw me when Azar looked over. But to have the balls to actually say something? I mean, what if she had been wrong? I was lusting after her big time as I drove home, Azar trailing me in the red BMW her father had bought her for college.

When we got back to my apartment, it took almost no time for me to tear off Azar's clothes and my own. Normally, I'd have ordered her to do a sexy strip tease, but I was just too horny. Instead, I had her crawl over to me and eat me out wearing just her hijab, which I make her keep on because its fucking sexy as hell watching a hijabi lick pussy. She slowly pressed her way past my thighs and began giving my wet pussy gentle licks, which frankly I was not in the mood for.

"No slut, fucking devour me. I need to cum!" I gasped.

And, trained lesbian sex pet that she is, she did so.

By that time, the beginning of my junior year at State, I had been a dominant lesbian mistress for a little more than two and a half years, ever since my final semester of high school. It was then that, on a whim, I'd seduced one of my two best friends, whom I'd long suspected of harboring a lesbian crush on me. In the course of our budding relationship, I thought I detected a certain submissiveness on her part and began researching that particular kink. I learned so much that a few weeks later, I was able to recognize my school librarian, a woman 10 years my senior, as the lesbian submissive she was. Long story short, they both quickly became my loyal servants, serving me sexually almost every night until I left for school. Even now, I still go home at least once a month - it's only a two-hour drive - to enjoy an evening of dominating Ms. Dunne. Of course, before I left, I found her another mistress, a sales clerk at an adult store I took her to early on, but that's another story entirely. Dee, my friend, left for school on the West Coast and since her parents left town shortly after she did, I haven't seen her as much as I'd like. But when we get together, we definitely relive old times.

Once I got to college, I expanded my sexual activities. Some people might say I'm a wanton slut, and that's okay with me. I love sex. My first week in the dorms I quickly found my first collegiate pet, a mousy little girl from upstate who seemed to latch on to me as soon as we met. It worked for me; she had big, billowing tits and a nice ripe ass. She was also a natural submissive. She didn't put up much in the way of resistance when, on a Friday night when her roommate was gone and we were just chilling watching TV, I demanded that she eat my pussy. She laughed at first, but when she saw I was serious, got between my legs. And when I told her she had to pledge her loyalty to me before I'd let her lick me, she didn't hesitate, even though her licking me had been my idea in the first place. She wanted it bad.

Unfortunately, she only lasted one year at school and I have no idea where she is now. Shame, really, but such is life. And it worked out, because early on in my sophomore year, Azar and I met in an Intro to Econ class. We were assigned to work on a joint project and once I realized that she acceded to my every suggestion for how to proceed, I began to test her limits. Within a couple of weeks, she was basically doing the whole thing and never complained once. I also noticed that she kept checking me out.

Now, I tend to dress pretty skimpy. It goes along with enjoying sex, as it gives potential partners the right idea, which is that yes, I most likely would be willing to fuck you. Azar, on the other hand, dresses like the devout but modern Muslim she pretends to be. You know, full length slacks or skirt, long sleeves, but always in stylish clothes and an appropriately matched hijab. At first, I thought she was judging me for my clothing style, but pretty soon, the looks she was giving me, when she thought I wasn't looking, seemed to indicate an entirely different mindset. So one night, I invited her back to my apartment - one year in the dorms was enough for me - and while we were sitting on my couch working, I told her how sorry I was that I had given her so much work.

Of course, she demurely said that it was no problem, and she was happy to do it. No, it was wrong and I want to make it up to you, I insisted. When she asked how, I just leaned over, grabbed her face, and kissed her.

Well, of course she resisted, for about five seconds. And then her hot little pink tongue was pushing itself past my lips and her arms were wrapped around me while I pawed at her tits, which are very nice and firm. After a couple of minutes of making out, her religious training kicked back in and she pulled away, started to cry, and stood as if to leave. So I stood up and blocked her exit.

"You can leave now if you like, Azar, and I promise I won't hold it against you and it won't affect our project. But if you go, you'll never kiss me again, and you certainly won't ever get to enjoy any of this."

And with that, I whipped off the t-shirt and shorts I was wearing to reveal my naked body. I rarely wear panties and have fairly small breasts, so a bra is not always called for.

I stared into her dark eyes, daring her to walk away. But she didn't. She shed a few tears, and her lips quivered, but she sat down and when she did, I stood before her, legs spread, my neatly trimmed bush at her eye level.

"I know what you want, Azar, what you crave. You've been letting me push you around for weeks because you want to please me, and so now you can. But before you do, you must pledge your loyalty. You must swear to be my loyal, lesbian pet, willing to do whatever, and I mean whatever, I say. Make your decision."

Our eyes were locked as I spoke and despite the obvious conflict being waged between her desire and her upbringing, I knew what would happen. And sure enough, after a minute or so, she fell to her knees and swore she would be my pet.

"Please, let me pleasure you. I will be your willing slave," she whispered up at me.

In my brief career as a lesbian mistress, I'd already noticed that oftentimes, new pets have their submission speech ready to go, because they've been fantasizing about that moment of surrender for years. Azar's wasn't great, but she delivered it with confidence and certainty. When she was done, I just smiled, put my hand on her head, and guided her to my soaking pussy. We spent the whole night in my bed, ignoring my two drunken roomies when they came in later, both in the company of equally drunk boys. If those guys had only known what was going on behind my closed door, they might have abandoned their one-night stands and listened at my keyhole all night long.

Ever since, Azar has been an occasional but steady fuck, someone I can summon when I'm feeling horny but don't have the energy to go out to the bars and pick someone up or let myself be picked up. To her credit, she comes whenever she's called, is always very enthusiastic and obeys every order, although on occasion not as quickly or as thoroughly as I'd like. But I suspect that's because Azar enjoys a good punishment - all true submissive do - which of course I'm happy to provide.

My approach to being a mistress is to push my pets to engage in activities I know they yearn to experience but lack the courage to do so. So I made it my mission to expand Azar's sexual horizons, which I did. On her own, she'd have never thought to join me in a gangbang with that intramural basketball team, or been willing to seduce our obviously lesbian teaching assistant at semester's end. So really, I've been good for her. She no longer runs the risk of looking back at her time in college and having to wonder what might have been.

And that night, as she always does, she showed her appreciation. After a fast, hard tongue lashing of my sex, which brought me to a very nice orgasm, we retreated to the bedroom where I had Azar put on the strap-on and lie down. I then rode her for a good twenty minutes before I came again. She's so well trained now that she pinched and sucked on my nipples without any encouragement from me. As a reward, I belted on the strap-on and gave her a hard fucking as well, which, judging by her passionate cries, she seemed to enjoy. Another session of cunninlingus followed and then a cool down period of long, leisurely but passionate kisses and soft stroking of naked flesh before we drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, after waking me up with several minutes of soft, gentle pussy licking leading to a pleasantly subdued orgasm, Azar dressed and headed back to her apartment while I showered and got ready. I was just extracting my keys from my purse when I saw the card Eileen Wilhoit had given me. I held it in my hand, gazing at it like it was some sort of coded message that, if I could just decipher it, would lead me to a treasure of immeasurable riches. Really I was just trying to come up with a good excuse for calling her. But nothing came and I headed to class.

I considered the problem off and on throughout the week, and thinking about her kept me in a heightened state of arousal that I eased by two visits from Azar and a quick fuck in the office of my freshman year English lit professor. He and I had, needless to say, hit it off right from the beginning and he became the first but hardly the only professor I fucked during my time at school.

By Thursday afternoon, I was growing increasingly frustrated by my inability to come up with a really good reason to contact Eileen Wilhoit. It would be lame to call just to tell her again how much I enjoyed the lecture. Somehow, I knew she would lose respect for me if I didn't have a reasonable justification for reaching out to her. I was sitting out on our balcony, sharing a very long, fat joint with my roommate, Belle, when the problem solved itself. I had just released a lungful of smoke and handed the blunt to Belle, a chubby redhead with a fetish for muscular black guys, when my cell phone rang. Looking down, I at first didn't recognize the number, but then realized it was the same one on Eileen Wilhoit's card.

My stomach did a nervous flip and I stepped into the apartment, sliding the balcony door closed behind me, before answering.