The bright mid-morning sun often illuminates my walk across campus from my morning classes as it fights through the ever-present autumn gray of the east-coast sky. The late September air sends a shuddering chill up my spine as the light breeze occasionally finds it way up my bare legs and under my plaid skirt with my striding gate. Each step along the stone walkways that snake along between the old brick buildings and across the finely manicured lawns bringing me closer to the warm solitude of the dorm-room that I and my dorm-mate Gina now call 'home'. My pace quickens as I near the end of my short trek, becoming increasingly excited, as I've become quite accustomed to my considerate room mate's practice of setting out the makings for a nice cup of hot chocolate for me as she leaves for her Bio-Chem. tutorial.
University life was not how I'd pictured it as I was growing up and preparing to leave my rural home for the first time. Stepping out from under the shadow cast by two loving, yet over-protective parents, and the binds of an all-fine ass teen Catholic school, was supposed to be a liberating and enlightening experience. Yet, beyond the drunken 'frosh-week' grab and grope sessions with a couple of drunken fraternity pledges, I'd not yet experienced the liberation, or the enlightenment that my overactive 18 year-old imagination had promised. In fact, living in such close quarters with someone who, until 3 weeks ago, was a complete stranger, only served to restrict me further, as I had small opportunity to partake in my self-pleasuring practices of my earlier teen years. Except for the morning's that Gina had her Bio-Chem. tutorials.
I spy the results of Gina's thoughtful deed on my desk as I cross the threshold of our dorm-room. The electric kettle is filled with water, placed next to my mug, which contains the packet of hot chocolate and a spoon. I shed my book-bag and coat, closing the seemingly ancient oak door behind me. The kettle, still warm from Gina's earlier preparation of her own soothing mug of dark brown solace, takes small time to heat the water contained inside. My first sip sends a familiar shiver down my spine, creating peculiar distortions to the front of my blouse as my nipples spring to life, as if in an effort to escape the bounds of my lacey lilac colored bra. As the soothing effects of my drink take hold, I relax deeper into my desk-chair, intermittently pinching and plucking at the now erect tissue that rubs and chafes on the inner layer of my pastel undergarment.
Barely able to resist long enough to have one hand distracted long enough to complete my drink, I gulp the last sweet goodness from my mug, and immediately turn all of my attention to alternating activity that my one free hand was made to perform for what seemed like an eternity. The gentle teasing and squeezing that occurred as I drank has now made way for a more urgent endeavor. I unbutton my white cotton blouse down to my navel, and reach between the cups of my bra to release my now engorged breasts from their bounds. Cupping in each hand my swelling white mounds, I work my erect pink nipples between my thumb and forefinger, simultaneously arching my back and squeezing my thighs together beneath my school-fine ass teen skirt to feed the hunger that's arisen between my legs. The fresh, crisp white cotton panties that I'd donned only hours before are now dampened with the juices of sexual excitement that sneak their way from somewhere within my engorged labia.
With one hand moving swiftly from my breast, I first start to pet over top of my moist underwear before coming to the rapid conclusion that more direct stimulation is being beckoned for. In one swift motion, I free myself of my panties, sliding them past my knees and over the white knee-highs and black, thickly soled heels that continue to escape my frantic doffing of attire. It is at this crucial moment that the overwhelming urge to be penetrated overtakes me.
Self-penetration has been a part of my masturbatory repertoire since my sublime discovery of it back in grade school. But having been brought up and educated in the Catholic school system, every fine ass teen clearly understood the sanctity of the preservation of her virginity until marriage. it was a kind with this in mind during a small overnight gathering that several of my friends and I went on a small but important voyage of discovery, learning the enormous waves of pleasure that even the tiniest of cylindrical objects could bring when inserted into the anus. Spying Gina's hairbrush with its smooth round cushioned handle on our first day in the dorm, I knew that I'd be incorporating it into my self-pleasuring routine at first opportunity.
Jumping up from my now warm wooden chair, I frantically rush to Gina's side of the room, and rummage through the rumpled comforter atop her unmade bed in search of her brush. Flipping back the covers, I discover it near the centre of her bed, lying almost entangled with the silky, flower-patterned panties I'd noticed peaking out from under her nightdress the night before. Scooping both objects up quickly, I return to my perch in front of my mirrored desk. Sinking deep again into my chair, I brace my feet upon the edge of my desk, close to the top, providing me an unobstructed view my tightly puckered anus between my widely spread legs. Holding Gina's undies with my free hand, I bring them to my face in order to catch a hint of her sweet scent as I push her hairbrush into my ass for the first time. The visual of it disappearing into my hole as I watch like a voyeur in my desktop mirror is so titillating that it almost causes me to orgasm. The sweet aching between my thighs is beckoning for more direct stimulation, creating a brief dilemma, having but two hands, and both being occupied.
I'm moving my hand down to my now stiff clitoris, having covered my face with my roommate's delicate unmentionables, pressing my swollen breasts against my chest with my upper arms. I'm pumping my ass with the thick handle of my new tool, when I'm startled back to reality by an alarming sound. As if in slow motion, I hear a key entering the dead bolt lock of the only door into our room. Like a deer caught in the headlight beam of an approaching car, I'm frozen in my chair, legs splayed wide atop my desk, skirt up over my hips, blouse unbuttoned to my belly, with my roommate's underwear over my face and her hairbrush buried deep my ass. The door pushes open.
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