The Campus Belle's Ride with Six Guys

"No... stop... I'll break!"

I squeezed into an unlicensed van heading back to the village. They dragged me to a desolate wilderness. Inside the vehicle, six rugged men tormented me until the pain became unbearable.

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My name is Isabella Evans, a student at Business College.

I inherited my mother's good genes—a curvaceous figure and porcelain skin as smooth as a peeled egg.

With 36G breasts and voluptuous hips, I possessed everything a sensual woman could have. Wherever I went, I became the focus of men's attention.

But my boyfriend, Ethan Sullivan, fell short in that department. Though tall and imposing, when it came to actual performance, he resembled an elderly man—limp and ineffective.

My desires far exceeded those of ordinary girls. At eighteen, a demon forced animal aphrodisiacs down my throat and viciously violated me.

Since then, my estrogen levels have been completely unbalanced. I became insatiable, constantly craving to be filled.

This hypersexuality is an addiction. Only a vigorous man could be my cure.

Meeting Ethan offered a reprieve from self-pleasure, but his performance was dismal—even worse than that demon who assaulted me.

Fantasizing about that thrilling night, my soul felt ready to ascend. My legs twisted like pretzels.

Summer vacation arrived, forcing me to visit my grandmother in the countryside. Even Ethan's mediocre intimacy would be unavailable.

"Darling, when will you be as powerful as those legendary men?" I nibbled my red lips, blushing deeply as I gazed at Ethan.

He scratched his head, eyes filled with guilt. "Isabella, I'm sorry..."

Truthfully, Ethan's equipment wasn't bad—resting at a respectable size. But his performance during intimacy remained bafflingly inadequate.

With our parting imminent, I avoided discouraging words.

Yet secretly, I yearned for passionate lovemaking—to offer my delicate, snow-white body and be thoroughly drenched in scorching intensity.

Early the next morning, I bid Ethan farewell and began my journey home.

After a bumpy ride, I reached the township around 7 PM. But my grandmother lived in Riverside Village, another ten kilometers away.

The last rural bus had already departed. Would I have to stay overnight in town?

Our township was tiny, with only one inn. Not only were the accommodations poor, but the owner was an outright pervert who secretly installed cameras in rooms. When I caught him, he denied everything.

Traumatized, I refused to stay there again.

As anxiety set in, a rough hand slammed onto my shoulder. I shuddered violently.

Turning, I found a tall, burly man—over six feet, wearing a gray tank top, exuding rustic simplicity.

His bulging arms were thicker than my thighs.

Even loose trousers couldn't conceal his formidable stature.

"Isabella, is that you?"

"Liam Anderson?"

He nodded cheerfully.

I knew him—from the neighboring village. His license was revoked for drunk driving, so he now operated an unlicensed taxi in town. His driving skills, however, were undeniable.

"I need to get to Riverside. Could you take me?" My eyes lingered on Liam, fantasies swirling. This rugged country man was so robust, his musky scent almost overwhelming.

Liam grinned warmly and led me to a dilapidated yellow van.