Whitewood University: Campus Rager

This is a very, very soft pseudo-sequel to the older 'Gender Studies' story. I just wanted to make a callback to the professor from that story in this one. Also, this one is a little risque so it might be slightly Not Safe For Work.

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Camila closed her eyes and listened to the pounding music, feeling the heat of the late summer night and the heat from the huge crowd of people around her. A thin sheen of sweat covered her fair skin. Her long dark hair hung heavily on her swimming head as she took another long drink of the delicious booze that she couldn't get enough of. She was totally drunk, and totally horny. She danced to the thumping music, her breasts bouncing free in the damp tank top as her hips gyrated in her cutoff shorts without a care in the world beyond just enjoying the epic party that she'd been invited to. That's what she had loved about being able to come here from Mexico, Whitewood University was a KILLER party scene!

"Nice moves!" A male voice said, and Camila opened one eye, spotting the slightly spinning and somewhat effeminate looking boy staring at her, a red solo cup just like hers in his hand. He wasn't really her type, Camila liked the big, strong jocks on campus, she loved it when they filled her up, but eh, why not make this scrawny little boy's night? She'd gotten here a little late after all, and all the big boys were taken by other girls.

"You like what you see, papi? Come show me what you got!" The Latina slurred, turning away with a flirty shake of her hip as she invited the boy to come join her. she'd make his night...If he could light her fire here on the dance floor. The boy's eyes went wide and a stupid grin crossed his face as he scooted in closer to the smoking hot foreign girl, doing his best to not be so drunk that he couldn't dance. He couldn't believe it, his first frat party and he had a chance to hook up with one of the hottest free girls on campus!

It wasn't long before Camila was grinding away on his crotch, a little too drunk to be super judgy. She could feel his cock straining against his jeans and she pushed herself harder against him, her large butt teasing the caged snake further. His hands slip down around her wide hips as she spun around, pressing her barely constrained breasts against his scrawny frame as she steered him out of the crowd and towards a shadowed corner of the frat house. He thumped against the wall, his hands squeezing her ass tight as she pushed her full lips against his barely more than peach-fuzz beard, her tongue snaking it's way into his mouth as the two young adults began to furiously make out. He was a little handsy, but at least he was a good kisser. She pulled away from him with a breathy giggle, grabbed his hand with hers and led him through the crowd towards the stairs to the frat's bedrooms. Most were taken, but Camila found a secluded spot in the house; a bit small, but she didn't need a lot of room. She shoved him against the wall of the closet before shedding her sweat-soaked top, letting her girls swing free in the dim light while the boy, whoever he was, fumbled with his pants. He was clearly inexperienced, but that was okay with her as she helped him along, her own shorts and panties sliding off her hips with practiced ease as her hands slipped around his own and then into his pants. They gripped the somewhat disappointingly average shaft as the Latina helped the boy slide his pants off, guiding the 'joystick' toward her 'controller port. Gawd, she sounded like SUCH a nerd for thinking that! But it didn't really matter, she had come to the frat to party, get drunk, and get fucked. This was all that mattered.

An hour before...

Winston Fischer was known as (and proud of) his reputation as the 'tight-ass on campus'. He was a stickler for the rule of law and order, and a rare conservative that thrived in the liberal lands of higher learning. While he wasn't officially in charge of policing the sororities and the fraternities that nested on the edges of Whitewood University's campus, he had made it his business to either bring what he saw as 'dens of sin and pride' into what he felt was 'appropriate'. Which in his mind was bland and lifeless. He tolerated the liberal arts the university taught, but if he was given total control of the place he would have run every non-Caucasian, and definitely every non-American out of the school. And he would have stripped the funding from everything save for the subjects of math and sciences. Students were here to learn applicable things, not waste time with foolish things like the arts. He probably would have put the kibosh on the inclusivity as well; no more of those RIDICULOUS Gender Studies with that awful Professor Thorne, no more LGBTQA+ representation. He wasn't fully against it, but it had no place in the halls of higher learning. The fact that he was extremely efficient at his actual jobs of dealing with budgets and resources, as well as the compliance and accredation processes meant that he was relatively safe from being removed for having such opinions, and because of his immunity he had turned his free time towards trying to entrap the student organizations so that the university's leadership could no longer ignore how 'awful' they were.

So here Winston was, disguised in an oversized 'hoodie' (a far cry from his extremely prim and proper looking suits and ties) and jean pants, with a fake beard and sunglasses, hunched over and trying to act like he was a student as he snuck into the raging party of the Gamma Upsilon Psi fraternity. Dean Fischer sneered at the rampant displays of young adult hedonism being displayed around him. Girls in what could barely be called clothing and gaudy makeup rubbing up against males of all shapes and sizes as the noise that could barely be called music shook the Dean's very bones with the erractic thumping of the bass. He discreetly snapped photos of the scene where he could, gathering all the evidence that he'd need for this frat to either fall in line or get wiped from the face of the earth. The process was exhausting, but he finally finished after an hour and a half of dodging questioning glances, shoving away drunken harlots that shoved their butts against him, and doing his best to sound like a 'bro' when questioned and then hurrying away from the strange looks. But it was done; by this time tomorrow the frat would be no more! Winston helped himself to one of the red solo cups from the kitchen, deciding that at the very least he deserved a free drink for all his hard work. The problem was that, as he made his way towards the exit, back through the sea of raucus young adults, he didn't see a slender, almost ethereal hand tap the cup, causing the drink to shimmer with magic for the briefest moment when he looked away.  Or the eyes that sparkled with delight as the stuck up disguised conservative asshole took a cautious sip during a momentary pause in his trek towards the exit.

"Wow!" The Dean muttered as he licked his lips, "This shit is good!" The usually clean spoken man blinked in surprise as he took another sip, and then a longer drink, the alcohol flowing down his throat and leaving him feeling rather...tingly. "I've got to have more!" He said, turning around and heading back towards the kitchen where all the drinks were kept. He had no idea that every sip and every step he took was changing him, erasing the bigoted old stick in the mud with a carefree woman who would make the most out of her college days.

Hannah Thorne giggled before she vanished from the frat. She didn't need to stick around to see the end result. Maybe she'd see the former Dean in class on Monday! Or maybe mark him absent; after all, sex-fueled college ragers could take a lot out of a girl!