Anything He wants

SUGAR DADDY STUDENT

The lights are dimmed down low, except for the spinning array of sparkly lights from the strobe machine.

Scattered orbs of colored light dance across the walls and dusty furniture pushed off to the sides of the room. Shadows of distorted dimensions grow and writhe as people come and go from the improvised dance floor.

The pulsating glow matches up with the driving bass beat of the music playing.

I can feel the musty old wooden floor of the fraternity house thrumming with vibrations under my feet.

The beat pulses up through the pointy spire of my stiletto heels. I feel it in every white cord and buckle of my white strappy heels, all the way up my calf.

The music is so loud, so intense, it’s almost like a second heartbeat thumping next to my own. I love this song. It’s a remix with a great rhythm for dancing, and that’s primarily what I came here to do tonight: dance, drink, and look hot.

This music is the soundtrack to my life, and the frat house makes a perfect setting for another episode of my own personal soap opera.

I’m surrounded on all sides by my friends, who would form the cast of my life as a TV show. We make a pretty gorgeous picture, the five of us all dancing close together on the crowded dance floor.

I have my hands up in the air, one open with fingers waving, the other gripping a drippy red plastic cup of watery party beer. I feel a bead of sweat roll a ticklish straight line down my back. I feel dewy and hot all over, as the combined body heat of the dancers keeps the temperature up.

Exhilaration pumps through my veins. My body is coursing with endorphins from dancing, laughing, and drinking. I’m three beers deep on an empty stomach and it’s got to be pushing two in the morning, but I’ve never felt so alive. I shimmy my shoulders and roll my hips, swaying side to side as my feet move to the beat.

I let the magic of the moment wash over me, rinsing away any selfconsciousness. I have no reason to be nervous. I know how good I look right now, with my curvaceous, petite frame undulating to the music.

I’m wearing a slick, form-fitting satin dress in a bright shade of bubblegum pink. It shows off my deep cleavage and pushes together my ample, soft breasts so they look even more spectacular.

The hem falls barely to the middle of my thigh, which makes it easy to entice the boys with a flash of my long, shapely legs or, if he’s lucky, a glimpse of my lacy black thong underneath.

A delicate gold necklace encircles my graceful, slender neck and draws attention to my collarbone and shoulders. I toss my long, wavy brown hair over my shoulder with a carefree giggle. I cast my gaze out across the room, fluttering my long lashes and flashing my catlike hazel eyes at some of the cuter-looking guys skulking around the walls.

From the kitchen I can hear the occasional shout or cheer out of the people playing beer pong. Tucked away in the dark corners of the room or strewn across the furniture are pairs of tipsy lovers. People are entwined, fully focused on each other, too hazy-headed to care what’s going on around them.

Whether they’ve been dating forever or just met tonight, the couples are heating up. Chatting evolves into holding hands which transforms into kissing which morphs into making out passionately on a stained futon in the middle of a party.

I must have done the same thing countless times, although I never let it get too far. Some guys come here to get wild and play beer pong, just get up to mischief with their buddies.

But others arrive with the sole purpose of watching the hot girls and trying to hook one of us to take home. I didn’t come here tonight to find a mate; I learned long ago that this environment is more of a free-for-all than a potential meet-cute. At least I can enjoy the thrill of dancing sexy with my little group.

In front of me is my best friend and roommate, Paisley, who’s wearing a similar outfit in black. We like to coordinate when we go out sometimes, just for added cuteness.

We’re both fashion students, so it’s in our blood. The other girls in the group I don’t know as well. In fact, we pretty much only hang out in situations like this: hazy, boozy, and loud.

We don’t get a lot of time to actually chat or get to know each other, but that’s okay. We don’t have to be confidantes; we can just be dance partners.

My friends and I are in the very center of the big, open-plan downstairs living space of the fraternity house. We are the crux of the party. We provide the pretty faces, nubile bodies, and enthusiastic woo-hoos that keep the shindig rolling high and hot. My friends and I are like a pretty centerpiece.

We draw the eye, we set the scene, but you’re not supposed to touch us.

However, we’ll make you really, really want to.

There’s a feeling of sensual chaos in the air. Like anything could happen at any moment, all doors are open. People kissing and rutting against each other, fully clothed and unashamed.

The DJ is playing only the sexiest, hottest beats. I run my fingers back through my soft brown hair and shake it out as my body sways and spins under the whirling strobe lights.

I can sense the many sets of eyes locked on me from around the room.

Guys are watching my every move, their eyes taking greedy notice of the way my hair swishes down my back and my tits jiggle deliciously when I dance. I raise my arms over my head and turn in a slow, swinging circle to show off my perky, round ass.

I look good enough to eat in my pink satin dress, and I love knowing that these guys get off on watching me. I can feel their longing, how they pine for me from a distance.

They imagine how they would touch me, how they would dance up behind me and drape their arms around me, marking me as ‘taken.’ They fantasize about the smooth, filthy words they could whisper in my ear and how I would blush or giggle in response.

These guys, my fellow college kids and classmates, would leap at the chance to be with me, even for one night. But that’s just part of the fun-delaying gratification. I love to be a little tease. I love to keep them coming back for more, craving for more.

It’s easy to get swept up in the hedonistic flair of the evening. We’re college kids who need to blow off steam, forget about our classes and GPAs and exams. We need to cut loose, let our hair down, and dance the night away.

We showed up around midnight, and my girls and I have been working the room ever since. I look around at my beautiful, happy friends and can’t help but grin. I bat my eyes at a cute boy leaning against the wall with a flask in his hand.

He’s instantly intrigued, his eyes panning up and down my body with desire. I tempt him with a swish of my hips and hold his attention by smoothing my hands down over my full breasts spilling out of my dress. My nipples poke against the slinky fabric and creates delicious friction. I lick my lips and give my audience a little wink.

To amp up the sex appeal, I move up closer behind Paisley and begin to grind against her. She looks over her shoulder at me with a smirk and plays along, the two of us swaying in sensual tandem.

I take her hands in mine from behind and lift them up over our heads. I play with her hair, tossing it around as we dance together. Another of our friends catches on and comes up behind me to join in. The guys are all watching us slack-jawed and half-stiff as we tease them from the dance floor.

They can’t look away– a group of beautiful girls dancing provocatively together? It’s almost too good to be true. It’s soft-core porn for our pervy audience, and we know it. Guys my own age are so easy to please. Too easy, to be honest. All I have to do is shake my ass and they’re putty in my hands.

I long for a man with more substance. With panache. A guy who can take control, who can make me feel like a woman and a naughty little girl at the same time. But I won’t find him here.

None of these guys are mature or interesting enough to hold my attention for long. They’re fun for a little tease, a little ego boost, but nothing more. My friends are always going home with hot guys from parties, but I always go home alone, no matter how many dudes ask me out.

I’m a virgin, and I guess you could say I’m a little bit picky. When I find the right guy, I’ll know it. But until then, I might as well go home alone. Like tonight, for example. Once the music starts to slow down, the hype wears out, and exhausted partygoers start to file out, it’s time to leave.

I give Paisley and the girls a big hug and a promise to text them in the morning, and then I slip out into the cool autumn night. Rubbing my arms to keep warm, I hurry across campus back to the dormitories.

Maybe I should be more careful walking alone at night, but until I find the perfect prince to escort me home, I’ll take the risk. I have enough liquid courage in my body to carry me across campus tonight anyway.

I’m still feeling tipsy and dizzy-happy when I reach my dorm room. I rush through taking off my clothes and makeup, getting ready for bed, and then I crawl under the crisp sheets and turn off the light. As I drift off to sleep, my thoughts of the evening spill over into my dreams.

I find myself dancing just like before, only this time there’s nobody else around. I’m spinning and swaying alone on the dance floor in the middle of the frat house in my pink satin dress. At least, I think I’m alone. But suddenly, there’s someone standing in the corner of the room.

But instead of a run-of-the-mill cute frat dude, there’s a ruggedly handsome man with strong hands and hypnotic eyes.

He watches me dance with a look of pure possession. Like he’s a wolf eyeing up a dainty mouse for dinner, he knows I already belong to him. He beckons to me with a curl of his finger. I am helpless against his command, not that I would want to fight it. I dance closer and closer to him.

Every spin brings me a few inches nearer to the man. He’s tall, he’s strong, and he’s ready to take me on. Everything I am. All of my flaws and all of my goodness.

My heart is pounding. Every inch of my body is burning with desire. Finally, I’m close enough for him to reach out and touch me. The moment his fingertips collide with my bare skin, I feel like I’m flying. It’s pure ecstasy. He pulls me in close and leans down to kiss me. His lips are so close I can almost taste him.