Ecchi020-Priscylla Prizzell - Cram Session

Hey everyone,

The collaborative project with Mina to make more Priscylla art is underway, and you're all invited to contribute your thoughts into the mix -- to influence the 'influencers', so to speak. For starters, I have a slate of quickie shots depicting Prissy coping with the mundane ordeals of college life through the awesome power of caffeine. We're thinking of making a sticker sheet or other merch. Here's a work-in-progress.

Nothing too nasty here. Are nefarious and illicit activities secretly at play in the background? I can't say… What I can say is:

All the cartoon characters are IDed, 18+ (even when drawn chibi or super deformed), and have filled out their enthusiastic consent forms.

And because everyone waited around, you get the deepest lore to go with imagery. Story below. Drink it up!

But before that, a little lore on the lore. This all stemmed from a note I jotted down about Priscylla's personality:

Anyway, Mina read the note, and her positive reaction was all it took to prod me into throwing the next week away developing a short story.

Would you kindly give it a glance? You could always have Microsoft's Zira or Speechify.com's AI doppelgangers of Mr. Beast or Snoop read it to you in the background while you're making breakfast, driving to work, or doing 100 lb. bicep curls at the gym.

--Ecchi

P.S., Priscylla image packs coming soon. I just need to clean up the directories a bit and rid the world of redundant autosaves and other junk. See ya!

Also, one final word. After a meeting of the Cutepet grand council concluded, the board elected to permanently revise Priscylla's last name to Prizzell. This change is retroactive and binding. If you currently possess any art or stories with the previous version of her name, please destroy it at your earliest convenience. Replacements will be available soon. Thank you.

Now, for our feature presentation.

Cram Session

By Ecchistar
Edited by Mina Cream

 “Beware the illumination of wisdom, the light guides but alters your path forever.”
-Beatrice Geistalt

Priscylla couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the strange and foreboding chapter quote from her sociology book.

 "I don’t know where research took you, Beatrice," she thought, "but I’d rather see where I’m going than stumble around in the dark.”

She marked the chapter with a sticky note and placed the book atop a pile of academic texts she’d poured over throughout the night. She’d done it, reread all the relevant study materials. She rubbed her eyes as she stared at the stack, and noticed a change in the light. She glanced towards the single window at the far end of her room. Dull blue hues crept around the edge of the blinds, alerting Priscylla to the fact her exhausted body already knew: it was rapidly, relentlessly, becoming morning. Pulling an all-nighter was a terrible decision, but anxiety had gotten the better of her. Somehow three quizzes were falling on the same day, and in a tizzy to anticipate and overcome all that her cruel professors had prepared, she’d spent the night cramming.

Another sleepless night, another shot to prove she was a good girl. That’s just who she was. Always trying to set an example for her younger siblings, even when they were nowhere around. Here at university, among the best of her peers, she found meeting everyone’s expectations exhausting. Even more exhausting than taking care of her troublesome family back home.

Aching from hours hunched over books, she reached for her massage wand, flipped it on, and laid into her back. This device was a constant companion, but the stupid thing had caused her so much trouble. She mostly kept it hidden away, as every time a friend saw it, they'd leer and call it her vibrator, which led to a string of incredulous denials and unwanted conversations. Why couldn't things be simple anymore? She looked at the psychology, philosophy, and sociology texts surrounding her on the floor. They all seemed to shout the same idea: nothing was ever simple, everything was steeped in symbolism, metaphor, mysticism, and hidden truths. All was complexity and duplicity. A cigarette was rarely just a cigarette, but couldn't a massager just be a massager?

The machine provided some relief but not enough to rouse her or soothe her sore muscles. Setting aside the massager, she grabbed her phone. It was 5:30AM. Classes were starting soon and sleep was off the table. She stood up, stretched, and then collapsed into a nest of plush pillows and throw rugs.

She'd refrained from caffeine all night, hoping the whirlwind study session would end before long, leaving her with at least a few hours of rest. But reading begat reading, and before she knew it, pages were filled with notes, and night gave way to morning.  She may not be an academic beast, but determination, studiousness, and stubbornness had taken her this far. Though she couldn't afford school, or ride a scholarship, she’d earned the prerequisite qualifications, and with the help of a sizeable loan, attending university became a reality.  She’d get through this, earn her degree, and make something of her life. She’d fix her family and start solving the problems of the world... somehow. Her eyelids drooped, feeling cold and heavy. She pinched at their corners, rubbing at the weariness. If only she wasn't so sleepy.

“I can't let this place beat me,” she mumbled as she lay there, her bleary gaze cast at the ceiling’s empty white expanse. She rested a hand on her thigh, and there in the silence, she felt the twinge.

“Oh no… seriously?” It was that unwelcome feeling again. It always crept in at inopportune times. “No, I’ll just feel exhausted,” she thought, begging her body to desist.

It was all so stupid. It reminded her of an online listicle a fellow psychology track classmate once sent her. One factoid read, “People Who Spurn Sex Overcompensate Everywhere Else!” She'd never felt so seen. The blonde virgin with huge boobs, diligently studying through the night to prove herself intellectually worthy. The whole premise was annoying.

More factoids flashed in her mind. Things like, “Sex in Public is America’s Most Popular Fantasy!” or “Teen Step-Sisters Top the Chart for Male Desire!” or “For Women, Girth Matters Most!” God, is this what most people dwelled on in their downtime? Yet was she any better? Here she was criticizing other people’s weird yearnings in her own horny thoughts. It was so disappointing, after all the studying, and all the material she’d poured over throughout the night, this was the garbage that registered in her memory. Her hand crept to her crotch.

Horniness, she felt, was like a virus that could slip into her mind and take over. It was never like this back home. Sometimes it felt like the mere exposure to college was a vector. Maybe she’d write a paper on the proximity effect of educational institutions and their impact on sexual desire. That made her chuckle. It was a perfectly normal sociopsychological observation, but also suggested some dark secret about the school that made the students go crazy with lust. Fruckingham University, what a name. She imagined hooded figures conducting arcane sexual rituals deep in the Psych Department’s hitherto unknown secret second basement. It was all so stupid.

“I wonder if ‘Getting Annoyed at Other People’s Dumb Sexual Fantasies’ is on the list of America’s Hottest Fantasies,” she thought, sliding her hand into her panties.

“No, probably not.” 

She stopped, withdrew her hand, and forced herself to stand up. Yes, admittedly, she was horny, but she was also exhausted, and facing an arduous day full of tests. Coffee was the answer. She quietly stumbled down the dark hallway to the shared kitchen to grab a cup. Returning, she rummaged through a treat stash and retrieved a bag of heart shaped candies. They’d been a peace offering from a girl down the hall. A marshmallow olive branch after yet another strange and sour interaction with The Gremlin, as some of the others called her. What was up with her? What was up with any of the girls in that dorm room? They were all so strange.

Her mind was wandering again.

In any case, the sugar would sharpen her. She dropped a pale pink heart into the coffee cauldron, and watched as the marshmallow dissolved, leaving behind a frothy white puddle in the inky pool. The coffee's bitter bouquet mingled with the heart’s syrupy sweetness, offering a tantalizing aroma. Each breath of the saccharine steam felt invigorating, even intoxicating. Lost in the pleasant fragrance, she stirred the creamy froth, creating a spiral pattern in the cup that swirled around and around and around.

Another listicle gem hit her. “Women with a Strong Sense of Smell Experience the Most Powerful Orgasms.” This coffee smelled pretty good. Maybe she’d been experiencing blockbuster, S-tier, 5-star orgasms this whole time, and never knew it. Maybe that’s why she was so preoccupied with experiencing another.

That thought… Clearly, the coffee wasn’t helping with the horniness, but at least she felt very calm watching the hypnotic cyclone twirl away in her cup.

She took a sip, and the impact of the warm creamy sweetness hit her immediately, but rather than jogging her focus, the sensation hit lower.

“That’s…. real weird,” she thought. She had some chemistry and physiology in her background, but anyone who’d ever sipped tea or downed an espresso shot could tell you that caffeine’s stimulant jolt didn’t trigger the libido. Sliding her free hand into her panties, she petted her mound. Was it her imagination or was she getting warmer down there?

She took another sip and sighed. Strangeness aside, the coffee was undeniably delicious, and only made more so by the candy. She closed her eyes and swayed in place, enjoying her hand’s soft strokes, vibing in the feeling. “Ahh…” she exhaled with relief. “This is good.”

She never expected any type of apology from The Gremlin. It seemed to go against her nature. The girl was such an annoyance. She all but clung to Priscylla, running her mouth at a mile a minute, while spewing a deluge of strange, filthy, and totally inappropriate comments. “Hey,” she started her introduction, “I’ve been wondering… Are you fat, or is that just your tits?” Then excitedly, “Wow! I’d love to feel those. Are they even real?” Absolutely stunning. How could someone come out and say something like that, any of that?

Violence wasn’t in Priscylla’s nature, but even she was surprised by her restraint. Apparently, The Gremlin was some sort of brainiac blessed with connections and a legacy admission, so she did whatever she pleased. No one ever tried to stop her or correct her behavior, least of all Priscylla. Wait. All the comments and the touching… Was this The Gremlin’s awkward way of flirting? It certainly cast the candy in a suspicious light. The candy… She thought it was an apology, but maybe it was some type of romantic overture. Hearts! They were hearts!

She tried to imagine a guy, let alone herself, getting involved with The Gremlin, but it was just too cringe. Yet, as she diddled away with her fingers, her mind strained to engineer some type of ideal fantasy scenario. With a little editing, makeup, some softening and blurring of reality… maybe a gag in her mouth, or a complete personality transplant, even that purple haired runt with a bad attitude and no filter could be cute, or even objectively bangable… by a dude’s standards anyway.

Considering the girl’s brazenness though, she probably had been banged, plenty of times. “She’s experienced. That’s why she’s so confident.” It was true for everyone she knew in school, at least she thought it was. “They’re all so experienced.” The thought stung.

Priscylla was no stranger to being hit on, but she always floundered in indecision, too scared to move forward, too polite to say no. It was a wonder she’d ever gotten into a university. Well actually, it wasn’t. Her friends dragged her along. Reflecting on her personal failings only added to her frustration.

“I’ve gotta let someone fuck me already!” she blurted at full volume to no one in particular. Her hand shot to her mouth as if to catch the words and stuff them back down, or at least keep any more from spilling out. She reflexively spun around, checking if any lights from the hallway crept underneath the bedroom door. Her dormmates were still asleep, right? It’d be bad if someone heard her… but would it, really? Was she kidding? Yes, it would definitely be bad! With her hand still resting at her lips, she could smell the salty fragrance of her juices. As it turned out, her hand was soaked, and so were her panties.

She marveled at the stickiness coating her fingers. “What’s going on with me?” she shuddered. Horniness was one thing, but this was a whole different level. Maybe she was starting to crack under the pressure. She took another long sip of coffee. No, something wasn’t right. What about all her precious facts and datapoints. She tried to recall the reading material.

Chapter 3, Section 2 – The hypothalamus, located under the thalamus, aids in the regulation of body temperature, thirst, sex, sex, and sex. It responds to Priscylla’s fingers by making her feel good when she strokes her snatch and gets all sticky with cum.

She shook her head. This wasn’t good. There had to be something causing this sudden descent into degeneracy. Was the coffee spiked, or the candy laced with something more than sugar? She looked down at the bag of marshmallow hearts. She couldn’t have!

Her mind raced. Earlier in the semester she studied a list of psychoactive drugs and their effects. She wasn’t hallucinating, at least she didn’t think she was. It was just her room, with her books, blankets, and trusty vibrate-- massager. She was nude, having just taken off her pink sweater and drenched panties. Were these feelings just the stimulant effect of caffeine or something more like amphetamines? She’d never done anything harder than coffee, so how could she say?

“Priscylla,” she thought, “let’s face it. You’re just a horny slut who needs it bad.” Well, yes, that was true! Her mind had been in the gutter all night. All that reading on the psychology of sexuality was taking her thoughts naughty places and loosening the choker on her inhibitions. Speaking of which… she removed her choker and set it on the floor with her clothes.

They say that a lack of sex can make a person go crazy. Was that from a textbook or an academic journal? Was it even true, or something she just made up? Whatever the case, with the caffeine buzz and a needy ache from her clit, she felt pretty crazy at the moment.

Hand trembling, she lifted her cup, took another sip, and marveled at how feverish she felt. Why had she held back all this time? “I’m actually pretty hot!” she quietly observed in a rare moment of appreciation for her absurdly shapely figure. “I’ll do it. I’ll just give myself to the first person who sees me,” she concluded, fully prepared to unceremoniously end her maidenhood forever. With that proclamation, her hand charged forward, fingers claiming her prize. Her hole was warm, wet, and inviting. The perfect home for someone’s cock.

“I need to be fucked, right now!” She whined, doubling over on the floor and working both hands around and inside her gloopy, glistening mound.

Abstract filthy thoughts spun in her head like swirling cream. As she knelt there, overwhelmed, she scanned the room for a lifeline to save her from an all-devouring lust. These books, her education, it meant nothing. She could feel so good, and do so much more for the world by simply turning her body over to others, becoming a willing sacrifice on the altar of their pleasure. That seemed like a brilliant plan. She moaned with delight as she vigorously pumped her fingers in and out. “Fuck school!”

No. No. No. No. No. She’d managed to keep that outburst inside. “But my loans… My GPA!” She almost screamed as her resolve fought back, but it was only momentary. Coffee! That would straighten her out. It wasn’t too late. There was still time to fix everything.

“I can be at class at 7:45, spread out on the desk, get fucked by everyone, then take my tests and everything’ll be fine. It’ll be fine,” she thought soothingly, while stroking her clit. She pulled a slick set of fingers from her gushing hole and reached for her coffee, but before she could grab it, she lurched forward as a wave of overwhelming pleasure surged through her. She clenched her teeth, and shook, doing everything possible to hold back her screams. Somehow, she’d climaxed without realizing how far along she was.

Catching her breath, she looked in the cup. The coffee was finished, but she wasn’t, not even a little.

She set aside the cup and picked up her massager. It’d been teasing her all night with its potential. How she’d never tried this was beyond her. It seemed almost criminally naive from her current state of mind.

“This is what I need,” she thought, studying the device. “I’ll massage away these feelings." She clicked the massager onto its highest setting and thrust it between her legs. The feeling went beyond bliss. The buzzing rod whirred away at her mound, mashing her love button over and over with furious intensity. She rolled onto her side and arched back while the massager pummeled her relentlessly. She squeezed the device between her thighs, locking it in place, and rode its ceaseless vibrations, coming again and again. Her mind, spinning like that marshmallow heart in her coffee, melted into a puddle and whirled around and around until it blended into sweet molten bliss.

Any hasty plans for leaving her room and living out humanity’s hottest sex fantasies were on hold. No group sex in public. No getting railed by girthy college guys while playacting as their dutiful step-sister. Her body was too tired, her orgasms were too frequent, and her newly christened vibrator, too convenient.

But even after countless climaxes, the horniness hadn’t abated. Was this ever going to stop? Did it even matter? Where did these feelings suddenly come from? This couldn’t be her, right? She wasn’t actually like this! She was studious and proper, a role model, not some sex-obsessed bimbo! She was the good girl, dammit!

This had to be that twisted little gremlin's fault. Well, she wasn't going to get away with it. She'd confront her and get answers. “Later,” she thought, pressing the vibrator against her swollen clit for yet another round.

For now, justice, and Priscylla’s propriety were suspended. Her dorm had become a horny prison and her room a solitary confinement cell. She’d just have to writhe on the floor until her sentence was served. So much for her studies. So much for her precious GPA. College was for cumming, and class was in session.

xxx