Sunrise found Cole taking his morning exercise around his new seat of learning. Dressed in tired sneakers, gray sweatpants, and a comfortable tank top, he jogged through aesthetically pleasing green spaces, past the avant-garde functionalist architecture, and across an empty quad dotted with raised garden beds.
Von Gloot's Private Academy of Fine Arts was certainly picturesque. It didn't sprawl like other college campuses Cole had visited, but the not-so-modest grounds were perfectly designed to showcase the many subtle splendors they held.
...and some not-so-subtle ones, he noted, giving a wide birth to an anatomically exposed statue of the goat-legged god Pan playing his signature pipes amid a decorative shrubbery.
Yikes, it was too early in the morning to cop an eyeful.
Running always helped clear Cole's head. Considering his sudden reversal in fortunes, going from a struggling artist with almost zero prospects to a full-ride scholarship student at an (apparently) illustrious art institute he hadn't known existed before yesterday--in his hometown, no less!--was a lot to process.
That was without factoring in the wild night of sheet-painting passion he'd just spent in the arms of his assigned mentor and muse; Miss Krystal Laurier. The gorgeous, full-figured goddess who'd modeled naked for him then turned from a stern teacher/administrator into a sexually ravenous hellcat in heat after viewing the finished portrait.
The shower and a show she'd promised after their first round of rampant rutting had been steamy by every definition of the word.
They had been filthy with paint and sex. She'd scrubbed down every inch of Cole, soap suds coating her rich curves as she writhed against his athletic body, paying extra attention to his restless anaconda swaying under the jets of hot water.
The fat-bootied brunette had stroked and teased him back to full mast with lavish kisses and lust-laden whispers before uncoupling the shower head, pressing it against his throbbing ball sack and carrying him across the finish line.
Cole's sticky load had sprayed her big tits, smooth belly and thicc thighs like a fire hose. Moaning whorishly beneath the deluge of gooey spunk, she'd immediately gotten herself off in an cock-stiffening demonstration of the nozzle's massage setting.
It was the starter pistol for a frenzied night of toe-curling, primal fucking. A marathon of sex that left them both sweaty and boneless with bliss. They'd passed out in the spooning position with his stupendous length nestled snugly in her juicy thigh gap and a sleepy hand sandwiched between her creamy cleavage.
Cole thanked his lucky stars for the vigor of youth and the appetites of beautiful older women. Despite the few hours of rest, he felt energized--reawoken--as though he'd snoozed away the months since losing his high-school sweetheart Lisa and was only now returning to reality.
For all their short acquaintance, Krystal had rekindled a flame in his chest that had been sorely missed. The sex was amazing too, sure, but that took a backseat to the burning need to express himself artistically after so long.
It hadn't been twenty-four hours, and Cole was already chomping at the bit to get back into that well-stocked studio, to daub color onto canvas, to capture a hint of that glorious angel's inner spark.
To
create!
But he couldn't lose himself to the impulse yet. Everything was happening so fast. Golden as this opportunity was, he still needed to tell his parents, pack his few belongings, and move out of home. That was a lot of organizing...
"Out for a brisk morning constitutional, my boy?" A chipper voice cut through his ponderings. "Good to see, good to see! Does the heart no end of benefit to get the blood pumping and kick start the day."
The elderly Dean; Viktor Von Gloot appeared beside him, popping out of nowhere like a jack-in-the-box, clad in a neon purple sweatsuit complete with a striped wristband and headband set stolen straight from the 80's.
His bald dome reflected the sunrise, and his beak of a nose thrust forward, presumably for better aerodynamics. The man was built like a scarecrow, dressed like a gigolo, and was surprisingly spry--easily keeping pace with Cole.
"Dean! I didn't... uh, where did you--"
"Call me Viktor, lad. That title is so stuffy." He guffawed, a wide grin splitting his flapping beard. "We're just two buddies out for an early jog. No one around to poo-poo us for being informal. How was your first night in the new digs? Did Miss Laurier get you settled in okay? She's a peach, I tell you. Been trying for years to get a peek behind those curtains, if you catch my meaning."
The ancient lecher wriggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively, aiming a jaunty elbow at Cole's ribs which he dodged with a nimble sidestep.
"The accommodations are great, sir. Krystal--um, Miss Laurier was very helpful in showing me the ropes." Cole would need another shower to wash off the greaseball's slime. "She's a credit to your academy, sir. A fine, upstanding lady."
Providing dirty details to a horny goat like Viktor was the last he wanted. The older coot didn't seem perturbed in the least by his tactful reply.
"She is, that she is." The Dean sighed wistfully, steering them in a loop back towards the housing quarter. "A better administrator than I deserve, really. I had hoped... Well, never mind. Plenty of other fish in the sea, eh, my boy?"
"Sir?"
"Victor, you must call me Vicktor! No matter. I am alight with anticipation to see what evocative pieces you produce inspired by the many forms of beauty I have cultivated here in my institute. Wonders of nature, innovations of design," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "and the
women.
Speaking of which..."
Cole realized they had returned to the lane of single occupancy abodes to which he had been assigned. Two doors down from his compact studio was a spiky-haired blonde stretching on a yoga mat with her fat, heart-shaped ass propped up over the token fence line bordering her small front yard.
The picture of a punk rebel, she was naked except for a nearly invisible flesh-toned bikini bottom that rode the crack of a shapely booty that was equal to--if not larger--than his teacher-turned-lover, revealing lightly tanned acres of heavily inked skin. Cole nearly tripped over his slackened jaw. An elaborately detailed tattoo of a mythical beast ran from the backs of her extended legs, over the full contours of her delicious rump, up her exposed back to disappear over a downward-facing shoulder.
Von Gloot sucked his teeth in appreciation. A foul slurping sound that made Cole wince with disgust.
"Whozzat?" The raised butt dropped out of view to be replaced by a scowling face. "I see you, Von Gloot! I've warned you--"
