More from Rory

• Slots Limited – Book Your Time!

  September 8, 2026

  College Coed Confessions

  Hey… I’m Rory. And Yes, I’ll Let You Use My Pussy for Extra Credit

  Okay, so I’m just gonna say it straight because I’m tired of pretending I’m some pure little study buddy.

  I’m a college coed who figured out the real way to stay on the dean’s list. It doesn’t involve all-nighters with a highlighter. It involves black sheer Chanel panties, thigh-high stockings, and a very specific kind of “tutoring.”

  You know those nights when the library is too quiet and your brain is fried? That’s when I slip into the good lingerie, the kind that barely covers anything, and I wait. Sometimes on the cream couch in the loft with the brick walls. Sometimes right on the floor with my legs spread and the sheer fabric pulled to the side. I like the way the Chanel logos sit right over my pussy like little stamps of approval.

  I’m not here to be subtle. I’m here to be wet, willing, and available for extra credit.

  The Night I Stopped Studying and Started Spreading

  Last week I had this professor who kept “accidentally” brushing my arm during office hours. Cute. Harmless. Until I showed up in black sheer stockings, gloves that went past my elbows, and those tiny Chanel panties that leave almost nothing to the imagination.

  I laid back on the long cream couch, one leg stretched high, the other bent, black stilettos still on, and let him take in the full view.

  

  This is exactly how I looked when I told him I needed a better grade.

  He didn’t even pretend to hesitate. I kept the long sheer gloves on the whole time. There’s something filthy about feeling someone touch you through black mesh while you’re half-naked and completely shameless. I arched, I moaned, I told him exactly how good his mouth felt on my clit. College coed dirty talk is underrated — especially when you’re the one setting the rules.

  By the time I left, my panties were a soaked little mess in my bag and my GPA had suddenly improved.

  What You’ll Get If You Book Time With Me

  I’m not some stiff, clinical escort. I’m the girl who will text you “come over, I’m already in the stockings” at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday. The girl who will lie on her back, pull those sheer Chanel panties to the side, and let you watch her fingers disappear while she talks about how she needs an A.

  

  This is the view you get when I decide you’ve earned it.

  Want me on my knees with the gloves still on? Done.
  Want me bent over the arm of the couch with the stockings still up and the heels still on? Even better.
  Want me to look at you with that soft, flirty little smile while I tell you how wet my pussy is for extra credit? That’s my favorite part.

  I’m nasty when I want to be. I’m sweet when it makes you harder. And I never pretend I don’t love every second of it.

  Pussy for Extra Credit — Limited Spots

  If you’ve been thinking about it, stop thinking. I’m not the girl who waits around forever. I’m the college coed who already has her legs open and her sheer black panties halfway down her thighs.

  You can book a private session or just leave a tip if you like what you see. Either way, I promise the view is better in person… and a lot wetter.

  Book Rory’s Minutes Tip Your Favorite Coed

  Both links open in a new tab. I’ll be waiting in the sheer black Chanel panties… don’t keep me waiting too long.

  — Rory
  College coed. Professional distraction. Available for extra credit.

• Poolside Cock Magnet

  August 16, 2026

  God, these days are perfect for a dirty little slut like me. Sun beating down, sweat sliding between my tits and pooling at the small of my back, and these ridiculous barely-there shorts clinging to every curve of my ass like they’re begging to be pulled aside. I don’t even bother with a top most of the time—just the shorts, the string of them digging into my hips, the thin fabric already soaked between my legs before I’ve even picked a target.

  I stretch out on the lounge chair like I own the fucking place, legs spread just enough that any man walking by gets a clear shot of the damp outline of my pussy lips. Barely any fabric left covering me. One wrong shift and everything’s out. I love that. I live for the stares, the way their eyes lock on the crease where my thigh meets my cunt, the way they adjust themselves when they think I’m not looking.

  I start slow. A little arch of my back so my ass lifts, shorts riding up until the bottom of my cheeks spill out. Then I run my fingers along the inside of my thigh, higher, higher, until I’m openly rubbing the soaked fabric over my clit right there in the open. No shame. Just a filthy smile when I catch them watching.

  The first one today was some married-looking guy with a wedding ring he kept twisting. I crooked a finger at him, spread my legs wider, and mouthed “come here.” He did. Of course he did. I pulled the crotch of my shorts to the side and showed him how wet and pink I already was. “You gonna just stare, or are you gonna feed this hungry little hole?” He dropped to his knees between my legs right there by the pool, tongue diving in while I held the fabric aside and watched other men pretend not to notice. I came on his face with my thighs clamped around his head, grinding and moaning loud enough for half the deck to hear.

  Then I made him stand up, yanked those shorts down just enough, and sat on his cock in full view. Bounced on it hard, ass cheeks clapping, the thin material of my shorts stretched around the base of his dick so everyone could see exactly how deep he was buried. I didn’t let him pull out. Made him fill me until it was leaking down my thighs and soaking the lounge chair. Then I fixed my shorts, wiped the cum with my fingers, and licked them clean while he scrambled away looking terrified and hard all over again.

  Next one was younger, cocky, thought he was in control. I bent over the edge of the pool, shorts tugged down under my ass, and told him to fuck me until I couldn’t walk. He did. Hard, nasty, one hand fisting my hair while the other slapped my cunt every time he bottomed out. People walked past. Some slowed down. One guy just stood there stroking himself while he watched me get used. I came twice, squirting around the cock slamming into me, then told the young one to pull out and paint my face. He did. Thick ropes across my tongue, my cheeks, dripping onto my tits. I left it there while I went looking for the next one.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon like that. Shorts barely covering anything, pussy swollen and leaking, collecting loads from any man willing to step up. Some I sucked right at the edge of the water. Some I bent over for. One I rode reverse while he fingered my ass, the shorts pushed to the side so both holes were on display. By the time the sun started dropping I was a mess—cum drying on my thighs, shorts ruined, cunt aching in the best way.

  This is how I do summer. Barely-there shorts, zero limits, and a body that exists to get used by whoever wants it. If you’re at the pool and you see a girl in almost nothing with a filthy little smile, that’s me. Come closer. I’m already wet enough for you.