- 3 months ago
- 58 min read
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I was still at university when the long summer lockdown was announced. Most people had already gone home, but I didn’t get on with my family and I couldn’t think of anything worse than being trapped inside with them for months. It was my vision of hell. So I stayed.
I thought everyone had left the shared apartment in the university hall of residence I lived in. I assumed I’d be stuck in there for a couple of weeks by myself. I liked spending time on my own though and I had a high-speed internet connection; it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. I was actually looking forward to some alone time. But on the first morning of lockdown I realised, to my dismay, someone else was moving around inside the apartment. I just hoped it wasn’t Camille. Anyone but Camille.
The hall of residence I lived in was divided into apartments that housed seven people. Each person had a private bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, but we shared a joined kitchen and living room. I got on with the other first year students I shared my apartment with, luckily, except for Camille that is. Camille was a nightmare.
When we all first met, that first Saturday in September as our families dropped us off, I was mesmerised by Camille, I don’t mind admitting. She was stunning, absolutely gorgeous. Camille was beautiful, petite, but with a thick, curved arse and an ample chest. She had glorious dark blonde hair that cascaded down around her shoulders. She was confident and brash and made us all feel immediately at home. But then that all changed. Quickly.
It soon became apparent that Camille was obsessed with only one thing, and that one thing was herself. She couldn’t bear to talk about anything else. Whatever the conversation was, she found a way to turn it around to herself. If two or more of us were talking in the kitchen or living room, she’d butt in and take it over. It got impossible to talk about anything other than Camille.
To make matters worse, I soon realised how dull Camille was. Her opinions were vapid and usually mildly offensive. She was a snob, she was judgemental, and she was so superficial. There was nothing underneath, nothing of any substance to her. Camille was teeth and hair and tits and fake tan, and that was all, apparently.
I found Camille annoying, then boring, then repellent. I grew to hate her. It didn’t matter how hot she was, I despised her. As I lay in bed that first morning of the lockdown and listened to someone moving around the apartment, I prayed it was anyone else but her.
There is no god though. There can’t be. I pulled some jeans on, I walked out into the corridor and headed to the kitchen. I froze as I heard her high voice.
“Oh, you’re here too.”
Camille sounded both bored and disappointed. I turned to look at her and the expression on Camille’s face only reinforced that impression.
“Yep. Are you leaving today?” I asked. Please say yes, please say yes.
“No. My family have all decamped to our house in Greece without me. I’m stuck here. You?”
Fuck. “Yeah, similar situation.”
I cut the small talk short after a few more excruciating minutes and headed back to my room. Camille looked even more disappointed when I left her. Whereas I enjoyed my own company, Camille couldn’t stand time by herself. Whenever anyone in the flat emerged from their room, she’d dash out and corner them and talk and talk and talk about herself. She couldn't bear to be alone.
OK, this was bad. I didn’t know how long we were going to be in lockdown, but however long that was, I was going to be trapped in the apartment with the person I despised most in the world. And that person got bored easily. This was even worse than being stuck with my family. Fuck.
I spent the rest of the day in my room, streaming films and TV on my laptop. Whenever I walked down the corridor to the kitchen to get something to eat or drink, Camille would bounce of out of her room and try and talk to me. I wasn’t exactly rude with her, not quite, but I broke off our ‘conversations’ quickly and scarpered back to the safety of my room. I could feel the nervous energy coming off Camille already, I didn’t know how long she’d last before she had some sort of outburst.
The second evening. That was how long Camille lasted. I spent the best part of two days ignoring her and hiding in my room, but on the second evening I heard a weird wailing sound coming from the shared living room that adjoined the kitchen. It sounded like a cat had climbed in the window and got stuck and was making a real fuss of itself. I left my room to investigate.
As I crept down the corridor, the noise came louder. Not a cat. Not even a group of cats. The noise vacillated from low moans to high cries, and as I reached the kitchen door, I heard the sobbing sounds as well and I realised what it was. Oh god dam it.
I contemplated turning around and slinking back to my room. She probably wasn’t even that upset. I’m sure Camille was just doing it for attention. But even for me, that would be heartless. I decided to investigate further. I crept into the kitchen.
I planned to poke my head around the doorway to look into the living room and spy on Camille. Just to see whether she was genuinely upset or being a drama queen. But as I peeked around the door, I found Camille looking directly at me. She was sitting there, staring right at the doorway. Waiting for me. The bitch.
“Oh god, sorry.” Camille stifled a sob. “Did I disturb you?”
“No, not at all,” I lied. “I just came to see what was going on.”
Camille’s face brightened. “That’s so kind of you. It’s just so hard, isn’t it? All this isolation.” Camille patted the seat on the sofa next to her for me to come and join her.
Fucking hell Camille, it’s only been two days, I screamed internally. The weak fool I was, I found myself walking into the living room and sitting next to Camille though. She turned to face me. She talked, she started crying again. I put my arm around h er.
I spent the whole evening in the living room with Camille. She talked non-stop for hours. At one point she suggested we watch a film together on the TV in there, but she talked over every minute of it. I barely said a word. I just sat there and bared it.
Camille sat right next to me on that sofa the whole time though. She sat close. Her body was pressed against mine; I felt the heat of her through our clothes, the shape of her. It was more than distracting. I felt my mind straying back to her body as she jabbered away, to the feel of her thigh against mine, the shape of her breast against my chest. I could smell the fresh shampoo in her glossy hair; her light, flowery perfume too. I cursed myself for how I reacted. How hot I got, how hard she made me. I hated Camille, detested her, but she was undeniably gorgeous and I guess I couldn’t help my body reacting.
On the third day, I managed to keep away from Camille, I stuck to the safety of my room, the evening too. I knew she was brewing away in her room though, getting more desperate and unhinged with every passing hour she had to spend by herself. I waited to see what her next outburst would involve. I was surprised when it came. Even for Camille.
I must have fallen asleep on my bed because I woke in a state of confusion, still dressed in my clothes, my laptop resting half on my stomach, half on the bed. Then I heard the noise that had woken me up.
Camille was wailing again. I looked at my phone. Jesus girl, it was 1:16 am. I didn’t have to get up though at this time, at least, I could pretend I was asleep. No matter how much noise Camille was making.
But as I laid there in the dark and listened, I realised Camille sounded different. Very different. Her wails were more uniform, more regular. I got curious. I knew I should have stayed in bed, but, honestly, I was getting a little bored too. Three days of isolation, even for a hermit like me, was starting to drag.
Fuck, Camille was being so loud too. As I opened my bedroom door, the volume of her wails leapt up a couple of decibels. They echoed down the corridor as I crept towards the kitchen.
My hairs stood on end when I realised what sounds Camille was making. I doubted myself, surely I was imagining it, but as I drew closer, there was no denying it. I was shocked, but my feet kept carrying me towards the kitchen like they had a mind of their own.
I couldn’t believe what Camille was doing. I couldn’t believe how loudly she was doing it. I stepped as quietly as I could as I reached the kitchen, as I tiptoed into it. The noises came louder, even more intense sounding. My heart was pumping like I’d been running.
This was dumb. I should turn around, run back and hide in my room. I knew that. But the feel of Camille’s body against me last evening must have left an impression on my subconscious. I wanted to see more. I wanted to see what was happening.
I’d learned a lesson from last time though. Rather than poking my head around the doorway to the living room at head-height, I bent down low and got on my knees and looked around the doorframe somewhere around knee-height, just in case Camille was looking. She wasn’t though. I forgot how to breathe when I saw Camille.
Holy fucking shit. It took my mind long seconds to process what I was looking at. Camille was crazier than I ever guessed. She was insane. She must have known I’d come to see what she was doing. Maybe that was the plan? But… it couldn’t be. Not with her doing... that.
Camille was on all fours on the living room sofa. She was wearing what looked like a pyjama top, but her bottoms were crumpled on the floor by her feet, like she’d pushed them down in a hurry. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.
I still couldn’t believe what I was looking at. Camille’s naked, bent bum was part side-on, part facing me. And fuck, it was heavenly. A work of absolute art. Camille was thick and round and wonderfully curved. She flared out from a narrow waist in a flowing arc that spoke to something deep inside me, something primordial. Her arse was so round and full and heavy, but smooth and firm looking, like a huge, ripe peach. Her thighs were thick and toned beneath her perfect bottom. Her skin was clear and fresh and flushed, I swear she glowed with an inner vitality.
If Camille looked like an angel, what she was doing definitely wasn’t angelic. She had a big, pink, silicon cock in her cunt. It was wide and solid looking, the broad base of it was on the sofa, the top half of it was buried in Camille. She pressed herself back onto it quickly, urgently, I watched it disappearing and emerging over and over from between her plump arse cheeks. I moved a touch around the doorway, I saw it stretching her pussy open. The shaft of it was glistening wet from her cunt.
It didn't feel real. I was watching Camille ride a large, fat, fake cock. And she was fucking it fast, with what looked like growing desperation. She took more and more of it into her each time she pressed down, she made yelping, high-pitched moaning sounds that made my blood run hot.
Camille was absolutely lost to her pleasure too, devoted to it, totally oblivious of me. I noticed she was supporting herself with one arm as she leaned forwards, but that the other was between her thighs. I could see by how that arm was moving that she was frigging herself frantically.
My cock was throbbing against my thigh. It must have gone from soft to hard as a rock in seconds. I found myself rubbing it through my jeans as I watched Camille fucking her toy. As I watched her tremble, and groan, and totally lose control. Can you blame me?
Camille pressed herself down hard onto that cock, she was taking almost all of it into her now, she was on her haunches, practically sitting on it. She started shuddering and bucking her hips quickly, she started making this high-pitched noise like she was about to cry. She became a frenzy of judders and yelps, she rubbed her pussy madly, she pushed her other hand up her top, it looked like she was squeezing her breast, she got louder and louder, and then she came.
I found myself edging out on my knees into the doorway to get a better look at Camille as she went into spasms. Her face went red, I could see from the side, she made so much noise as she rode that cock, she looked like she was having a fit. She looked she hadn’t come in years and had suddenly remembered how. I’d never seen anyone climax with so much intensity, so much drama.
Camille came for what must have been minutes, but as her climax fell away, I inched back around the doorway until just my head was exposed. She’d finished, she’d come back to reality now, this was the time to sneak back to my room, but I just wanted a few more seconds of her heavenly body, of this insanely hot scene.
But Camille wasn’t done. She caught her breath, she fell forwards onto all fours, but she started fucking her toy again.
Camille moved more slowly now, her urgency was gone, but she moaned deep, she looked like she was drawing as much pleasure from that rubber cock as she could. Post-orgasmic aftershocks kept making her quaver and gasp.
I edged back out into the doorway to get the best view I could as Camille began to pick up the pace again, to get noisy once more. I assumed she was going for round two, probably more by now, by the looks of her. I admired her stamina. I pulled my belt apart and undid the front of my jeans so I could get my hand in and hold and squeeze my cock to ease the throbbing tension there.
Camille dragged her top off over her head and let it fall to the floor as she rode her toy. She was totally naked now, the top half of her as perfect as the bottom. Her back was slim and taught, her shoulders narrow, her breasts looked heavy and round from the side. Sweat was glistening on her skin, she was so beautiful, she didn’t look real.
I pumped my dick as I watched Camille fucking her fat toy with mounting need. She squeezed her breasts again and rubbed her cunt, she moaned loud, she looked so wanton, so absolutely enslaved to her desires. And then Camille did something that was a surprise even now, even after everything I’d just seen her do.
Camille spat on the hand that wasn’t on her pussy. I couldn’t understand why, but then she reached back and rubbed the saliva between her arse cheeks. A touch higher than were the toy was flashing in and out of her stretched cunt. I rubbed my cock, I shuffled forwards on my knees to get a better angle from behind Camille.
My belief in reality was tested again as I watched Camille slide a finger slowly, carefully up her bottom. I saw the tip of it press into her arsehole, she rubbed and massaged herself, she groaned louder as it disappeared into sphincter. From my position on the floor, I saw perfectly as Camille eased that finger all the way into her arse. I heard her moan in a way she hadn’t moaned before, deeper, more guttural, more primal.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, by a long, long way. Camille fucked her toy with frenzied resolve, nearly the full length of it disappeared into her. She worked her finger in and out of her arse, she fucked herself slowly with it, then faster and faster, in time with the toy in her pussy.
This had to be a dream, I told myself, it couldn’t be real. I stroked my cock faster as Camille slid a second finger up her bum alongside the first. I pulled my prick out so I could pump it properly as Camille fucked herself in both places.
I was enraptured by Camille, I can't deny it. She was so hot, so consumed by her pleasure, so uninhibited, so wild. I sidled even closer on my knees, I wanted to see absolutely everything as best I could. But it turns out Camille wasn't quite so absorbed by what she was doing.
Maybe I made a noise? I didn’t think I did though. Or maybe Camille just sensed I was there? Whatever happened, one moment I felt invisible, the next Camille was looking over her shoulder at me. Her face was red and sweaty, her mouth hung open, her eyes locked on mine and narrowed.
I froze in horror. Fuck. I was on my knees, my hard cock in my hand, watching Camille doing something so intimate, so private. This wasn’t one I could explain away. Not that I could speak, my chest had tightened like iron bars had been wrapped around me. In that moment I wasn’t even breathing.
Camille stopped moving, but she didn’t get up. She sat on that toy, panting, staring at me, two fingers up her arse, her other hand still moving slowly between her thighs. She didn’t look angry though, I realised. Camille was giving me an odd look, one I didn't understand, and then she spoke.
To be continued...