Willowbrook never stood a chance against what lived inside Liam Hale.
Eighteen years old, six-two, shoulders carved from years of hauling hay bales and splitting firewood, he walked through the dusty streets like a wolf forced to wear a leash made of boredom. Every girl in the village wanted him. They batted lashes, wore their shortest sundresses, "accidentally" brushed their barely-there tits against his arm when they passed him at the feed store.
He felt nothing.
Because none of them had weight. None of them had ripeness. None of them had the heavy, swaying breasts that spilled over bras, the wide hips that promised they could take every inch of what he carried between his legs and still beg for more. None of them had the slick, mature pussies that clenched and dripped when a real cock finally filled them after years of neglect.
Liam's cock was a curse and a crown. Nine inches long, thick enough that his own hand couldn't close around it, veins like cables under velvet skin. And it never quit. He could fuck for hours (he knew, because he'd tested himself with his fist and stolen porn on the barn laptop until his balls ached and his abs were painted white). He wanted to ruin a woman with pleasure. He wanted to watch a real MILF's eyes roll back while her neglected cunt spasmed around him again… and again… and again.
But Willowbrook had no MILFs. The older women were either grandmothers or married to beer-bellied farmers or bitter spinsters who smelled like mothballs and regret.
So every night he locked himself in his room, shoved his jeans down, and punished his cock to the filthiest MILF videos he could find. Stepmom seductions, professor office hours, lonely divorcees begging the pool boy to stay. He came so hard his vision blacked out, but it was never enough. The hunger only grew.
One night, after shooting rope after thick rope across his chest to a scene of a busty 42-year-old riding her son's best friend until she squirted, Liam made the decision.
"I'm getting the fuck out.
Imperial University. The most prestigious school in the country, smack in the middle of the capital. A city crawling with exactly what he needed: elegant professors in pencil skirts, rich bored housewives dropping off their spoiled sons, yoga-pant-wearing PTA mothers with asses that could make a priest renounce God.
He studied like a man possessed. All-night cram sessions, cold showers to kill boners that distracted him, protein shakes and push-ups until his body was a weapon. His parents thought he was chasing a better life.
They had no idea he was chasing pussy. The wettest, most experienced, most desperate pussy on earth.
When the acceptance letter came, his mother cried and his father clapped him on the back so hard it stung.
"We're so proud, son. Top of the top."
Liam hugged them both, his cock already half-hard at the thought of what waited for him.
"I'll be back for holidays," he lied smoothly. "Love you guys."
The bus pulled away from Willowbrook at dawn. Liam watched the fields disappear in the side mirror and felt the leash snap.
He was free.
The capital hit him like a drug.
Skyscrapers clawed at the sky. The air smelled like coffee, exhaust, and expensive perfume. Women everywhere (real women). Heels clicking, hips swaying, cleavage deep enough to lose yourself in.
Liam's cock throbbed the entire bus ride. By the time he stepped onto campus with his duffel bag, pre-cum had soaked through his boxer briefs.
He'd arranged off-campus housing to maximize hunting ground: a room in a beautiful old brownstone owned by a recently divorced woman named Veronica Hayes.
The ad had said "mature landlady, quiet house, female tenants only preferred."
He'd jerked off twice to the thought before he even applied.
When Veronica opened the door, Liam almost came in his jeans.
Forty-four years old and built for sin. Sun-kissed blonde hair in loose waves, green eyes, lips painted red like she wanted them wrapped around something thick. A white silk blouse strained against tits that had to be 36E, maybe F, the kind that overflowed bras and begged to be fucked. Her waist dipped in, then flared into wide hips and an ass so round and firm it made his mouth water. She wore high-waisted jeans that hugged every curve, and when she turned to lead him inside, the fabric stretched over her cheeks like it was painted on.
"Liam, right?" Her voice was honey and smoke. She looked him over slowly, lingering at his broad chest, then lower, where the outline of his half-hard cock pressed against his jeans. Her tongue touched her bottom lip. "Welcome home."
He swallowed. "Thank you, Mrs. Hayes."
"Veronica," she corrected, smiling like she knew exactly what he was thinking. "We're very… casual here."
She showed him the house. Three other female tenants (all college girls who eyed him like fresh meat), but Liam barely saw them. His gaze stayed glued to the way Veronica's ass moved when she walked, the soft bounce of her tits when she reached up to point out the crown molding.
His room was on the second floor, right across the hall from hers.
Door open policy, she said with a wink. Anytime you need anything, day or night.
That first night, he unpacked for exactly four minutes before he locked his door, shoved his jeans down, and fucked his fist raw to the thought of marching across the hall and burying his face between Veronica's thick thighs. He pictured her wedding ring still on her finger while she spread her legs on her marital bed and begged her new tenant to split her in half.
He came so hard his knees buckled, thick ropes hitting the wall above his headboard.
It still wasn't enough.
Orientation week was torture wrapped in silk.
Everywhere he looked: MILFs.
The registrar in her early fifties with silver hair, pencil skirt, stockings with the seam up the back, tits like fucking cantaloupes.
The academic advisor, Dr. Elena Voss, thirty-nine, raven hair in a severe bun, glasses, lab coat over a blouse that couldn't hide her heavy, pendulous breasts. When she leaned over to sign his forms, he saw straight down to black lace and pale, creamy flesh.
And then there was Professor Sophia Langford.
Creative Writing elective. Required for his scholarship. First lecture, Monday, 2 p.m.
She walked in five minutes late, heels clicking, cheeks flushed like she'd just been fucked in the supply closet.
Thirty-six. Married (he noticed the ring immediately, and his cock jerked). Curvy in the way that made clothes look obscene. A burgundy wrap dress that tied at the side, clinging to a tiny waist and the kind of hourglass figure that should be illegal. Her tits were impossibly full, the deep V of the dress showing the inner curves and the faint outline of lace beneath. Her ass was a masterpiece (round, high, swaying like she knew every eye in the room was on it).
"Good afternoon," she said, voice like aged whiskey. "I'm Professor Langford. You may call me Sophia if you earn it."
Her eyes scanned the room and stopped on Liam.
He was already rock-hard under the desk, thick shaft pulsing against his thigh. Pre-cum leaked steadily.
She smiled (slow, knowing) and continued.
Throughout the lecture, every time she moved, his balls tightened. When she wrote on the board and her dress pulled tight across her ass. When she leaned over a student's desk and her tits nearly spilled out. When she licked her lips absently while thinking.
By the end of class he was in agony.
He stayed in his seat while everyone filed out, pretending to pack his bag slowly.
Professor Langford approached, hips swaying.
"Mr. Hale," she said softly. "You seemed… very focused today."
His cock throbbed so hard he saw stars.
"Just really interested in the material, Professor."
Her eyes dropped to his lap (no way she missed the obscene bulge), then back up to his face again. She leaned in, perfume wrapping around him, expensive and dirty.
"I hold private office hours for students who show… exceptional promise," she murmured. "Thursday evenings. My house. My husband travels frequently."
She slipped a card into his hand. Her home address was written on the back in red ink.
"Eight o'clock. Don't be late."
She walked away, ass rolling under that dress like a promise.
Liam didn't make it out of the building before he found a bathroom stall, yanked his cock out, and came in under thirty seconds, biting his forearm to muffle the groan.
It was the hardest he'd ever come in his life.
And it was only Tuesday.