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."
I stammered something stupid, like "Emily... from nowhere special," but he laughed, a rich sound that sent vibrations straight to my core. We talked—or rather, he talked, and I hung on every word. He told me about growing up in the city, the thrill of the game, how the team was stacked this year. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, and I felt exposed, like he could see the dirty thoughts bubbling up. "You ever been to a college party?" he asked, leaning in closer, his cologne—a mix of musk and spice—invading my senses. I shook my head, my nipples hardening under my bra as his arm brushed mine. "Stick with me, Emily. I'll show you how to really enjoy campus life."
As he walked away to grab drinks, I overheard two girls nearby whispering. They were sorority types, all blonde hair and fake tans, giggling behind manicured hands. "Did you see Jamal talking to that fresh meat? Girl, she's in for it if she hooks up with him." The other one leaned in. "Oh yeah, his dick is legendary. BBC all the way—big black cock that ruins you for white boys. My friend hooked up with him last semester and said she couldn't walk straight for days. Stretched her pussy so wide, she came like five times just from him bottoming out." My face burned, but between my legs? A flood. I pressed my thighs together, imagining it: Jamal's massive cock, thick and veined, splitting me open. I'd watched porn back home, hidden on my phone late at night, and the interracial stuff always got me off the hardest—the contrast of dark skin against pale, the way those huge black dicks made white girls scream in ecstasy. Was this what I craved? My clit throbbed at the thought.
The mixer dragged on, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying those whispers. Jamal came back with a drink, his fingers grazing mine as he handed it over, sending electric jolts up my arm. We flirted more—innocent on the surface, but my thoughts were pure filth. I wanted to drop to my knees right there, unzip those jeans, and worship whatever monster he was packing. "You should come to the gym sometime," he said casually. "Team's practicing tomorrow. Could use a cute cheerleader like you." I nodded eagerly, my voice breathy. "I'd love that." Love to see you sweat, love to imagine you naked, love to feel you destroy my virgin holes.
That night, back in my dorm, I couldn't shake it. My roommate was out, thank God, so I stripped down to my panties and tank top, lying on the narrow bed. The room was stuffy, the fan whirring lazily overhead. My pussy ached, slick with need from the day's teasing. I pulled up my phone, searching for Jamal on social media. His profile was public—pictures of him on the field, shirtless post-workout selfies that showed off his chiseled abs and that V-line dipping into his shorts. One pic had him in swim trunks at a pool party, the fabric clinging wetly, outlining a bulge so prominent it made my mouth water. "Fuck," I whispered, my hand slipping under my panties.
I spread my legs wide, fingers circling my swollen clit as I scrolled. Imagining his BBC—long, thick, probably 10 inches or more, with a fat head that would pop into my tight cunt with a wet smack. I'd rub my thumb over my nub, dipping lower to tease my entrance, already dripping. In my fantasy, he had me bent over the locker room bench, his strong hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto his cock. "Take it, white slut," he'd growl, thrusting deep, his balls slapping against my ass. I'd moan, my walls clenching around him, stretched to the limit, every vein dragging against my sensitive spots. Faster now, my fingers plunged inside, two at first, then three, but it wasn't enough—nothing compared to what he could give me. I arched my back, pinching my nipple through my shirt, gasping as waves built. "Jamal... fuck me... breed me with that big black dick..." The orgasm hit hard, my pussy squirting a little onto the sheets, but it left me wanting more. Real more.
The next day, fueled by that post-nut clarity turned horniness, I headed to the gym. The team was wrapping up practice, and I lingered outside the locker room, pretending to check my phone. Voices echoed from inside—laughs, showers running. My heart raced; what if I peeked? Just a glimpse. I pushed the door open a crack, the steam hitting me like a wave, carrying the scent of soap and sweat. There he was: Jamal, towel around his waist, but as he turned, it slipped. Holy fuck. His cock swung free, semi-hard even, easily 8 inches soft, thick as my wrist, with heavy balls hanging low. Dark chocolate skin, veined and perfect, the head flared like a mushroom. I stared, transfixed, my pussy clenching involuntarily. It was bigger than anything I'd imagined, and I wanted it—wanted to feel it grow in my mouth, choke on it, have it ram into my cunt until I screamed.
He caught me looking, a smirk playing on his lips as he wrapped the towel back up. "Like what you see, Emily?" My face was crimson, but I didn't run. Instead, I bit my lip, nodding shyly. "Maybe," I whispered, my voice husky with lust. He chuckled. "DM me later. We'll talk."
Back in my dorm again, I couldn't wait. My body was on fire, nipples hard as diamonds, clit begging for attention. I stripped naked this time, spreading out on the bed with my legs hooked over the edges. Phone in one hand, the other diving straight between my thighs. I rubbed my slick folds, teasing my hole while I typed a DM: "Hey... about earlier. Sorry for staring. But... wow." Send. My fingers worked faster, imagining his response, his cock in hand as he thought of me. I grabbed my pillow, humping it slowly, grinding my wet pussy against the fabric, moaning softly. "Mmm, Jamal... I need your big black cock so bad..." In my mind, he was here, flipping me onto all fours, spanking my ass red before sliding that monster in inch by inch. The stretch would burn so good, my walls fluttering around him, juices coating his shaft as he pounded deeper. "You're my little white slut now," he'd say, grabbing my hair, forcing me to take every thrust. I'd cum hard, squirting all over him, but he'd keep going, flipping me over to fuck my tits, then my mouth, until he exploded down my throat.
My phone buzzed—his reply: "No need to apologize. You want a closer look?" Attached was a pic: him in boxers, the outline obscene. I came instantly, fingers buried deep, body shaking as I typed back: "Yes. Please."
But that was just the beginning. The craving had taken root, and I knew I'd do anything to satisfy it. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.