wasn’t going to stop me.
My hand slid in down my knickers and I closed my eyes, imagining how Stephen would feel knowing that I’d danced naked for other men, perhaps waiting for me outside some sleazy club while I performed a slow dirty striptease within. It didn’t work, not with Stephen. He was too nice. Giles was better, so arrogant, yet I couldn’t actually imagine him caring one way or the other.
He would if I did it in front of him but he was unable to touch. That worked. I imagined that I’d told him to stop in some quiet lay-by on the way back from Les Couleurs, promising him that he could have me if he did as he was told. We’d leave the car headlights on, making a tiny stage for my performance, invisible from the road. I’d tease him, kissing him and touching him gently, promising everything, until I’d managed to persuade him to allow me to tie him to a tree. His wrists would be secured behind the trunk with his tie, leaving him helpless as I began to strip in the pool of light. I’d do it slowly, teasing as I gradually exposed myself, before finally showing it all.
By then he’d be struggling in his bonds, demanding that I release him, then begging as I began to dance naked in front of him, posing to show off every rude detail of my body, nothing hidden. I’d come in front of him, my hips pushed forwards as I stroked my breasts and sex, or ruder still, with my bottom stuck out so that he could watch my fingers work and imagine where he’d like to stick his straining cock.
He’d have been erect from the start, and desperate for my touch as he watched me come. I’d have obliged, after a fashion, pulling his cock and balls free, tugging briefly at his shaft, perhaps kissing just the tip. Then I’d leave, walking away with a last taunting wiggle of my bottom, throwing my clothes casually into the car and driving off, to leave him helpless with his raging erection still sticking out of his fly.
I was on the edge of orgasm for real, and ran the whole glorious fantasy through my head one more time, hitting my peak at the point when I finally lifted my bra and holding it all the way to that last cheeky wiggle. It was very good indeed, and only slightly spoiled at the very end by the thought that, whatever the details, I had just come over the thought of Giles Lancaster.
For a long while I lay still, my warm satisfied feeling slowly giving way. It was to all intents and purposes the end of Freshers’ Week, with the majority of second- and third-year students arriving, so that the college was full of bustle even at ten o’clock in the morning, with friends calling out to each other and people bumping cases up the stairs outside my door. I knew I was wasting my day and ought to be out and about instead of playing with myself. There would be new people to meet, new things to do, while my essay had to be in on the Wednesday. Then there was the debate, which meant finding out exactly what Giles had dropped me into, meeting Dr McLean and the rest of our team, preparing my speech and generally running around and being enthusiastic. From Monday onwards there would also be lectures to attend, so I really needed to get my act together.
If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s making myself work when I know I have to. My technique is to promise myself a treat once I’ve completed a certain amount; my favourite sweets when I was little, pieces of chocolate for my GCSEs, cans of lager for my A levels, and now that I was at Oxford glasses of old port, which seemed appropriate. By the Tuesday evening I not only had my essay done, but also had compiled several pages of notes for my speech, all between lectures, study groups and three brief but passionate liaisons with Stephen.
One thing that quickly became clear as I did my research on prostitution and the state was that Giles Lancaster had set me up, both in the hope of gaining an easy victory for his side and to ensure I made a fool of myself. It was
My hand slid in down my knickers and I closed my eyes, imagining how Stephen would feel knowing that I’d danced naked for other men, perhaps waiting for me outside some sleazy club while I performed a slow dirty striptease within. It didn’t work, not with Stephen. He was too nice. Giles was better, so arrogant, yet I couldn’t actually imagine him caring one way or the other.
He would if I did it in front of him but he was unable to touch. That worked. I imagined that I’d told him to stop in some quiet lay-by on the way back from Les Couleurs, promising him that he could have me if he did as he was told. We’d leave the car headlights on, making a tiny stage for my performance, invisible from the road. I’d tease him, kissing him and touching him gently, promising everything, until I’d managed to persuade him to allow me to tie him to a tree. His wrists would be secured behind the trunk with his tie, leaving him helpless as I began to strip in the pool of light. I’d do it slowly, teasing as I gradually exposed myself, before finally showing it all.
By then he’d be struggling in his bonds, demanding that I release him, then begging as I began to dance naked in front of him, posing to show off every rude detail of my body, nothing hidden. I’d come in front of him, my hips pushed forwards as I stroked my breasts and sex, or ruder still, with my bottom stuck out so that he could watch my fingers work and imagine where he’d like to stick his straining cock.
He’d have been erect from the start, and desperate for my touch as he watched me come. I’d have obliged, after a fashion, pulling his cock and balls free, tugging briefly at his shaft, perhaps kissing just the tip. Then I’d leave, walking away with a last taunting wiggle of my bottom, throwing my clothes casually into the car and driving off, to leave him helpless with his raging erection still sticking out of his fly.
I was on the edge of orgasm for real, and ran the whole glorious fantasy through my head one more time, hitting my peak at the point when I finally lifted my bra and holding it all the way to that last cheeky wiggle. It was very good indeed, and only slightly spoiled at the very end by the thought that, whatever the details, I had just come over the thought of Giles Lancaster.
For a long while I lay still, my warm satisfied feeling slowly giving way. It was to all intents and purposes the end of Freshers’ Week, with the majority of second- and third-year students arriving, so that the college was full of bustle even at ten o’clock in the morning, with friends calling out to each other and people bumping cases up the stairs outside my door. I knew I was wasting my day and ought to be out and about instead of playing with myself. There would be new people to meet, new things to do, while my essay had to be in on the Wednesday. Then there was the debate, which meant finding out exactly what Giles had dropped me into, meeting Dr McLean and the rest of our team, preparing my speech and generally running around and being enthusiastic. From Monday onwards there would also be lectures to attend, so I really needed to get my act together.
If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s making myself work when I know I have to. My technique is to promise myself a treat once I’ve completed a certain amount; my favourite sweets when I was little, pieces of chocolate for my GCSEs, cans of lager for my A levels, and now that I was at Oxford glasses of old port, which seemed appropriate. By the Tuesday evening I not only had my essay done, but also had compiled several pages of notes for my speech, all between lectures, study groups and three brief but passionate liaisons with Stephen.
One thing that quickly became clear as I did my research on prostitution and the state was that Giles Lancaster had set me up, both in the hope of gaining an easy victory for his side and to ensure I made a fool of myself. It was
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