The Uni

The university's main quad was a kaleidoscope of human movement, but to Emily, the light no longer seemed bright, the air no longer felt clean. It was all a greasy smear of new normal. She clutched her dense, offensively glossy textbook, The Art of Sex, and How to Indulge in Sex Through Art, its weight a leaden reminder of the morning’s absurd, rage-inducing changes. Her thighs were still slick beneath her micro-skirt, her pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of five bus-ride orgasms and three more from the café chair. The chip nestled in her butt cheek, a tiny, demonic liaison, never truly let her rest.

“Emily! Hey, you look like you just finished a double shift on the city bus,” a cheerful voice called, cutting through her anxious thoughts.

She looked up to see Mia, her best friend, waving from the granite steps of the Liberal Arts building. Mia, a curvaceous woman with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes, had a face that turned heads—but it was her mouth, her full, naturally plush, incredible lips, that had always drawn a certain, knowing glance from men and other women alike.

“I did just finish a double shift,” Emily grumbled, stomping the last few steps, her C-cup tits bouncing angrily beneath her tight blouse. “Psych 101 was cancelled, the government just banned all non-erotic texts, and my professor is mandating this fucking manifesto,” she thrust the textbook forward, its cover a lurid, abstract depiction of coitus.

Mia’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily piercing her usual easygoing demeanor. “Banned? Seriously? I thought the Curricular Integrity Act was just for ‘Sensual Studies’ classes. They got rid of my Comparative Literature?”

“Gone. Dumped my notes, my sociology texts, everything, into a sidewalk bin. Zia at the Naughty Nook said it’s a ‘Curricular Integrity Act 4.2’. Now it’s all ‘The Clitoris and the Calculus’ and Sade’s accounting guides ,” Emily’s voice was a ragged whisper of disbelief.

Mia shifted her weight, and Emily could see the faint glistening on the denim of her own short skirt. “I hate this. I hate this new rule. It’s only been, what, two hours? And I already saw a waiter at the coffee cart get so distracted he squirted the espresso machine with his cum.”

“Tell me about it. I nearly had three simultaneous orgasms in the cafe while trying to ignore the other new rule ,” Emily spat out, her hand flying to her cheek, remembering the shock. “All cafe waiters must offer oral sex to male customers. Who the fuck is writing these?”

Mia linked her arm through Emily’s, her full lips twisting into a frown that was quickly replaced by a weary, practiced neutrality. “Look, Em. It’s a mess, but we still have class. Art of Sex is in the main lecture hall. Come on. Don’t let the government win, even if they are trying to fuck us at every turn.” She offered a small, knowing wink.

They entered the large, tiered lecture hall. It was already half-full, mostly men and women over the age of eighteen, which meant a low, sensual hum of machinery was already filling the air. The chairs were dark, plush velvet—a luxurious upgrade from the normal wooden seats, and Emily felt a pang of dread-laced hunger as her chip detected them.

They found two seats together in the middle row. As they neared, the whirring of the retracted dildos intensified, the sensors reading the chips in their right butt cheeks.

Emily flipped her skirt, exposing her bare, slick pussy lips. She lowered first. A thick, veined dildo, curved to hit the G-spot, rose smoothly, glistening with lube, and breached her with a brutal, familiar stretch.

“Mmmph,” Emily managed, biting her lip until it was white, a familiar wave of intense fullness making her vision swim. The medium vibes she’d set on her app kicked in, a low, relentless buzz against her clit. She grabbed the armrests, her nipples hardening instantly as she settled, the velvet cushion sucking against her ass cheeks.

Next to her, Mia mounted her own seat. “Oh, fuck me,” Mia sighed, a long, drawn-out moan that turned into a whisper of contentment. “They put in the ‘Experienced’ model. Nine inches, spiraled ridges.” Her hips shifted, settling into a familiar, rhythmic grind. “A little rougher than the bus, actually.”

“Just try to focus on the class,” Emily panted, her voice tight, already feeling a wave of juice leak onto the cushion. Her pussy clenched the dildo instinctively, the ridge scraping her walls like a lover’s cruel tease.

The professor, a bulk of a man named Dr. Valerius, marched to the podium, his face flushed with the kind of intense focus.

“Good morning, class. Welcome to Sex and Art 301,” Dr. Valerius announced, his voice clipped and professional, despite the wet, muffled squish that accompanied his every shift on his stool. “As you know, the Curricular Integrity Act 4.2 has officially revised your reading list and your focus. The human body is the first canvas, and our pleasure is the ultimate study. Open your texts to Chapter One: The Penile Brushstroke.”

On the screen behind him, a holographic image of a man using his penis as a paintbrush was projected. Emily’s mouth dropped open, and her pussy clenched violently, triggering an almost immediate, sharp orgasm. A small cry escaped her, muffled by her hand, and a fresh burst of cum squirted onto the chair. The nano-cleaners immediately whirred to life, a faint, hissing mist absorbing the mess, but her face was scarlet.

Mia, however, was unfazed. She was rocking her hips gently, a soft, sensual hum in the back of her throat, her eyes fixed on the professor. The pleasure in her seat seemed to deepen her concentration.

Just then, a lanky male student from the front row, whose eyes were fixed not on the professor but on Mia’s mouth, suddenly stood up. His name, Emily dimly recalled from orientation, was Brandon. He was already fumbling with his belt buckle, his face a mixture of bored entitlement and routine necessity.

“Professor, excuse me,” Brandon said, his voice loud, cutting through the droning lecture. His hand unzipped his pants with a loud zzzzip, and a thick, stiff cock, glistening wetly at the head, sprang out, ready.

Dr. Valerius didn’t even blink. He nodded, his eyes still on the textbook. “Yes, Brandon? A practical application question, perhaps? This is, after all, an integrated learning environment.”

Brandon ignored him, his eyes locked on Mia. He strode down the steps between the rows of desks, his cock swinging with each step. Mia, still riding her chair, turned to face Emily, her eyes wide, but her face held the familiar, practiced look of women dealing with a mundane inconvenience.

“Ugh, him,” Mia whispered to Emily, rolling her eyes as Brandon stopped right beside their seats.

Brandon didn't speak. He simply grabbed Mia’s head by her thick, dark hair with one large, impatient hand, his fingers knotting painfully at the base of her skull. His other hand was on his thick, pulsing shaft.

“Open up, sweetheart. Need to focus,” Brandon mumbled, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, as if demanding a mundane sacrifice.

Mia’s enormous lips, the perfect vessels, stretched and parted easily. Before she could let out a protest, Brandon’s rock-hard cock slammed into her mouth with a wet, brutal thwack.

His hips thrust forward, pushing the entire length of his shaft deep into her throat, the bulbous head scraping the back of her soft palate. Mia gasped, a choked, wet noise, her eyes watering violently as her chin was **** down by the sheer, heavy weight of his ****. Her lips, full and perfect, formed a thick, wet, vacuum seal around the rigid shaft, allowing no air to escape but for the obscene, slick slurp of the penetration.

Brandon ignored the class, his pace relentless. He pulled his cock out just far enough to let Mia attempt a quick, ragged breath—which immediately turned into a panicked, muffled ‘Ngk! Nn-Fuh!’ around the thick, invading meat—then slammed it back down her throat, his thumb hooking cruelly under her nose to keep her jaw locked. His nuts slapped against her chin with each brutal, piston-like thrust, the sound of wet, rhythmic pounding blending with the low, grinding hum of the chair-dildos throughout the room.

Mia's hands, pinned to the armrests as her spiraled dildo worked her relentlessly from below, flew up in a frantic, useless gesture toward her own hair, as if trying to pull free, but Brandon’s grip was absolute. She locked eyes with Emily, an intense, pleading look of genuine disgust mixed with the **** neutrality of this new, horrifying normal. Her eyes managed to convey the message she couldn't speak: I hate this. It’s so fucking rough.

Emily watched, a sick, fascinated horror chilling her bones, even as her chair’s G-spot-pounding dildo pushed her closer to a third orgasm. She could hear the awful, wet sounds of the brutal facefucking, the thwack-squish-thwack that meant Mia’s perfect lips were being violated. She was terrified for her friend, yet her pussy clenched the dildo violently in response, an involuntary betrayal of lust.

“H-He’s so rough,” Emily stammered, her voice shaking, trying to articulate the fear and the new rule for both of them. “Did you… did you read the part about vaginal discharge as an adhesive? I don’t know what I should make of this.”

Mia could only respond with a sound like a drowned kitten, a thick, gagging ‘Mmmph! Ah-ghk!’ as her throat convulsed around the hard, grinding cock. Foam and drool mixed with the pre-cum glistening on his shaft, running in streams from the corners of her stretched, glistening mouth, dripping down her chin and neck onto the front of her blouse. Brandon’s face was contorted in a mask of intense, mechanical focus.

“You’re doing great, Brandon,” Dr. Valerius called out casually, still lecturing on the ‘Aesthetics of Anal Pleasure’. “Remember, the objective is connection. Don't waste the medium!”

Emily cried out, a sharp, ragged sound. Her body arched, her hips lifting off the cushion slightly as a huge, messy squirt erupted from her pussy, soaking the already damp velvet. The nano-cleaners whirred frantically, trying to keep up.

Brandon finished immediately after, his cock suddenly going slack. A torrent of thick, sticky cum shot out of the tip and into Mia’s throat. She gurgled, her lips sealed tight, swallowing it all down in a single, painful, wet gulp.

He pulled out with a loud, wet pop, wiping the spatter of cum and drool from his cock onto the sleeve of her blouse without a word.

“Thanks, Torres,” he said, his voice still flat and functional, zipping up his fly as he walked back to his seat, picking up his textbook as if nothing more than a brief note exchange had occurred.

Mia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes still watering, her lips swollen and glistening with his residue. She shook her head, a familiar wave of embarrassment mixing with a strange, undeniable flush of arousal.

“See? Just focus on the lesson,” Mia whispered, her voice husky, still mounted on the spiraled dildo that was now pushing her to her own quiet climax. “But seriously, Emily, vaginal discharge as an adhesive? That’s just vile.”