To make sense of this submission you will need to have read the first part, which was posted on May 8th. Thank you to everyone who posted such kind comments. I have not visited this site for a couple of months because of the pressure of end of year exams. Here is the next chapter, if you like it I will write further.
Lucy has a boyfriend, Charles. She tells me all about him, and how much she misses him. She makes no secret that she is shagging him; nothing too graphic mind, but not coy about it either. That's Lucy, very natural and open about everything. Charlie will be staying as houseguest for the weekend, sleeping in Lucy's room. She has permission. On her eighteenth her Father said to her, 'You are a young woman now, your mother and I trust your judgement. This is your home, so feel free to entertain a young man in your room if you wish.' How cool is that? Personally I am just looking forward to having our little cell to myself for two days.
Friday comes and Lucy heads of home after lunch. She takes the train to London where she is meeting a friend of her Father's who will give her a lift the rest of the way. I decide to stay in and finish all my outstanding study projects so that the rest of the weekend is free. I work steadily through the pile; by midnight I am so nearly finished it's not worth stopping so I plug on to the end and sink exhausted into bed at two am.
Saturday I play hockey on the Uni team. It's a tough match and we come from behind to win 2-1. In the changing rooms afterwards I am tired but elated. The other girls are going to the disco at the Students Union that evening and I decide to join them. I have no date, but the team group are great company. The place is full of teams from other sports as well. We have a few wines and a good laugh. There is no shortage of guys asking us to dance. I dance several times with a seriously dishy chap. He has intense eyes that seem to look into my soul. We go to the bar, where it is quieter, and I hear his voice properly for the first time. This is ridiculous, he is French and plays left wing for the Uni Rugby team. This is too much fantasy territory and perversely it puts me on my guard.
We finish our drinks and go back to the dance floor. He is very confident and when a slow number comes on he pulls me effortlessly to him and moulds his body to mine. I lay my head on his shoulder and melt into him. His body is sculpted from pure muscle; we are just swaying to the music and his thigh is between mine, nudging my pussy in time to the music. I look up and he smiles and stoops to whisper in my ear, 'I walk you to your room, n'est pas?'
We get our coats and head out across the campus, arms linked. I am so tempted, and Lucy is away, I have the room to myself, but I know that I mustn't. I despise casual sex and I know I will hate myself in the morning. What am I to do? I know that once he is in our room one thing will lead to another and eventually I will weaken. I stumble, and as he steadies me I kiss him deeply. We move off the path and snog earnestly for several minutes. I reach down and unfasten the front of his trousers. He stills my hand with his own and gives me a questioning look. 'I am sorry, you can't come back to my room.' I lie, 'My roommate, you understand.' He nods and I reach into his fly.
I can't sort out the tangle of shirttails, shorts, and him. He has to help me get it out. It is only the second one I have ever touched and I pause to look at it. He is so erect it points up and I swear it is pulsing with his heartbeat. I grip it the way Sam taught me and we resume kissing while I gently stroke it. After a few strokes he grabs my wrist and brings my hand to his mouth. I think I am doing it wrong until he licks my palm wetly and returns my hand to duty with a smile. I understand. Soon he starts to make little noises in his throat. He adjusts his stance, splaying his feet for better balance. I shift to the side slightly and get his leg between my thighs. My left arm hangs round his neck for support, my right hand strokes him by my right hip as I gently undulate my mound back and forth on his leg. My arm aches fiercely, but I can tell he is close and I want it to be good for him so I grit my teeth and keep going.
'Oiu, oiu...ah oiu. Oiu...Mon Dieu!' He gasps, thrusts his hips spastically and he shoots his load out onto the grass, all over my hand, down the side of my skirt. We stand gasping for breath, clutched to each other for support for a couple of minutes. I find my handbag on the ground and fish out some tissues. We clean up as best we can. He reaches for the hem of my skirt and tucks it into my waistband. His other hand has followed it upwards along the inside of my thigh and is now nestled in the soaking crotch of my panties. This is not the first time he has played this game. This time it is my turn to grab his wrist. He smiles shyly, 'For you now Cherie,' he says. I shake my head, 'Next time.' I reply. I am still high if not exactly dry, but suddenly I don't want to be felt up by a stranger in the middle of the campus. He kisses me on the forehead and says I am trés jolié and can he see me again. I give him my mobile number on a scrap of paper. Why do I deliberately transpose two of the digits?
We kiss and part at the entrance to my dorm block. I walk up the stairs. There is a girl I know vaguely walking towards me in the corridor. She grins from ear to ear and gives me a big wink as I let myself in. When I look in the mirror I know why; my hair is plastered to my forehead with sweat, my lipstick is smeared all over my face, and there is a large blob of what can only be semen on my hipbone! I strip my clothes off, leaving them strewn where they fall, and climb naked into bed. Moments later my fingers are stroking my lips, going slowly, trying to make it last. I am thinking of him, his strength, his aroma and his throbbing penis. The way his hips jerked and shuddered just before he came. The look in his eyes as it poured out of him. Oh God his eyes! Those knowing eyes! He knows; he knows what I'm doing now! He's watching! He can see my fingers flying frantically, my hips thrust up off the bed to meet them. Grunting and gasping as I come in a massive flurry of frigging.
I lay there slowly coming down. My breathing starts to subside. I wonder if the girls next door heard me through these cheap walls. I decide that if they did they will probably think I pulled at the disco. I don't care. I realize I was fantasising about being watched. Watched doing the most private act it is possible to do; that I would rather die than be seen doing.
I drift off and sleep fitfully. I wake midway through a dream so vivid that for a moment I think it real. Lucy is on the other bed with Charlie, they are both naked. They start to shag, but its not Charlie, its my Frenchman. He can't find his way in; I walk up behind him and reach between his thighs. Grasping his penis with one hand I spread Lucy's lips with the other and slip him in. She gasps; I am feeding it in forever, it is like a hose. Finally it is all in and he starts to thrust. Lucy is moaning, 'gently, oh yes, like that, don't stop.' I am caressing his balls with one hand as I frig myself with the other. I am looking over his shoulder and looking deep into Lucy's eyes as she gets close. He has disappeared; Lucy is lying there legs akimbo, cords standing out from her neck as she strains towards orgasm, an unattached penis thrusting at her on its own. I come to my second earth-shattering climax of the night, a kaleidoscope of images flashing through my mind. Have I become a sick pervert?
Sunday morning is spent cleaning up. My bed linen is stinky and slightly disgusting; I feel the same about myself. By mid day I have everything sorted; I have even done Lucy's washing for her as a sort of act of contrition for involving her in my mucky fantasies. I have only just finished tidying up when Lucy returns. I can barely look her in the eye. Fortunately she is so full of her weekend with Charlie she doesn't seem to notice.
The rest of the term follows the same pattern; each weekend Lucy goes off home and I surf for porn; have prolonged self-induced orgies with my fingers. If the need becomes too overpowering mid week I slip down to the bathroom at two am for some short sharp relief. I see my Frenchman around the campus (I realize I didn't even know his name, its Guy. Or Ghii as he pronounces it.) But I am wary. I can't trust myself with him. We go on dates twice. He is charming, my friends all say how lucky I am, and I remain slightly distant. My story is still always that my roommate is in.
He borrows a car, we go for a drive out of town to park up and snog. I finish up kneeling on the floor taking him in my mouth the way I learnt to do it with Sam. I just take the tip in my mouth, swirling my tongue round his big purple Victoria Plum, while I languorously stroke my hand up and down his length. He whimpers and sighs, his thighs outstretched and quivering, begging me not to stop. Guy cries out and comes without warning, I have to swallow or choke, its almost tasteless, like swallowing oysters. The power is so intoxicating. I am very aroused and considering allowing him to return the favour. I miss being licked out by Sam, I have fantasised about it several times recently. At that moment a set of headlights sweep across the car park, it's the police! They stare across as I give them a haughty look as Guy struggles to zip up. They leer at me and drive off. Routine patrol, just checking everything is okay etc. The moment has gone; we drive home in silence. I am gagging for it.
I have been in bed for half an hour and sleep is not going to come unless I do! Its only 12:30 but I can't wait. I slip out of bed and down to the bathrooms. A quick check reveals all the stalls are empty; I lock myself in the end one as usual and start to caress myself. Freeze! The end door has opened! I lift my feet off the floor and breathe shallow. I hear each door opened, a pair of feet appear under my door, it is rattled, the feet move back as if checking, there is a pause. The feet have decided they are alone; their owner sighs and locks herself in the next cubicle to mine. Under the partition I see a pair of tartan pyjama trousers float to the floor. The seat creaks as the feet settles herself. I hope she isn't constipated, I have unfinished business to attend to. There is another sigh and then I become aware of a tiny noise, too indistinct to identify, but slowly, inexorably, rhythmic. It intensifies, My Lord, it's a finger slurping between wet lips! This is too weird; yet why so? Its what I come here to do in the middle of the night!
I shouldn't sit here listening to this poor girl's intimate secrets! It's too late to leave without embarrassing her, I rationalise. Truth is this is exciting beyond words; I strain to hear every nuance. She moves her left foot to the edge of the cubicle to spread wider; her toenails are painted dark green. She grunts and the wet slurping takes on a different familiar quality; she is using her fingers for penetration. She starts to pant. The poor loo seat adds a creak of protest to the symphony. I watch fascinated as the green toes stretch and flex with each stroke. I am perched, legs crossed Red Indian style, on top of the loo to avoid my feet being seen. I don't even know how my hand has got back between my thighs; it resumes a gentle frigging of its own volition.
My unknowing partner is close now, the slurping, panting, creaking is rising to a crescendo. I start to work towards my peak, confident that I wont be heard over her noise. The strange position is good for me, something about the tension in my thighs, or an unfamiliar angle of attack, I am building to a big one. Her foot starts to tremble; there is a soft knocking as her knee bumps rhythmically against the partition. My fingers fly. I want to be there with her. She is muttering, 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,' endlessly. The note changes, 'Like that! You bastard! Don't stop! FUCK ME!' I am moments behind her; it is so good it takes me by surprise, I have to bite the ball of my thumb to keep from crying out; it is bruised and sore for days after.
We sit in silent isolation, regaining our composure; fortunately she is snorting like a Derby winner. I find it an affirming experience. We all know the old joke, 'A survey has found that 80% of women admit to masturbation ~ and the other 20% are liars.' Yet it is somehow comforting to KNOW one is not alone! I hear her get up; she picks up her pyjamas, I hear a tap running as she cleans up, the door, she is gone. I too get up. My thighs are cramped; as I limp to the sinks I wonder who she was. I am to spend the next two days checking out feet for green nail varnish! I slip silently back to my room and blissful sleep. Claire