The first time was an accident really. I must have left my bedroom ajar, and I guess she heard me dealing with my morning wood.

The timing was terrible – or perhaps it was perfect.

Her bare feet hardly made a sound as she padded along the carpet, but anyway, I was lost in the moment, oblivious to everything except the great dam of pleasure about to burst open. Those feverish final strokes, every part of me coiled and tense, and then the jolt, the spasms, the first jet splashing onto my chest, that blissful hiatus before the second spurt, massive and powerful, into my face and even onto the headboard, and that’s when she couldn’t help but gasp in surprise, delight, or astonishment, and even though I heard her, I was too far gone; you just can’t just stop when you’re that far past the point of no return.

At breakfast, she was her normal self: unflappable and poker-faced in front of all the others in the communal kitchen of our halls of residence.

That night, I left the door ajar on purpose.

My 6.00am alarm cock woke me up as usual. A pulsing siren, silent but impossible to sleep through.

I managed to avoid the urge in a way I’d never done before, to delay until I heard those footsteps coming down the hall towards my room again. Were they slightly heavier today? No, 'bolder' was a better word.

This time I didn’t try to be discreet, the opposite in fact. Rough, fast jerks, my fist slapping into my belly at the bottom of each stroke, the bedsprings squeaking at the force of my wanton wank.

Her footsteps stopped, the door came open. Her shadow fell across the floor, one hand sawing brazenly between her legs as she matched my frantic rhythm until a dozen monster pumps emptied every crevice of my balls in a fountainous eruption.

Her soft sighs and trembling shadow told me that she’d climaxed too, and then the bathroom light came on, and I heard the shower run.

When I got home that night, there was a little plastic bottle on my bedside table.

‘Liquid Silk’.

It was all I could do not to open it there and then, such was the surge of arousal between my legs, but I had to save myself for her, make sure I did her present justice as a way of saying thanks.

I woke up early and got things ready; the curtains drawn a little back to illuminate my nakedness, and the door was wide open now, overt, inviting.

I prayed she’d be the first one up. I was not just hard but rigid, with thumping pumps of blood attempting to inflate my cock to even more obscene proportions.

Footsteps, hers (thank fuck), and I heard her catch her breath as she saw the scene I'd set.

I drizzled her present all along my swollen length, the cool viscosity delicious against my blazing meat.

My long, wet strokes were languorous, a performance just for her, the distant echo of my impending eruption already building deep within me.

Barely audible, I heard her pleading, “Come for me.” The seismic rumbles surged to the surface and erupted from my summit.

Another morning's faux detachment, another day that passed at a snail's pace until I could rush home to see the waiting gift: a blindfold.

That night was torture, lying beneath the cotton sheet wearing nothing but the blindfold, my hard-on unrelenting and my balls two churns of creamy sperm.

Some time, perhaps around dawn, while all the others slept, she came to me.

I heard the light switch flick and the door latch click.

A moment’s silent stillness before she peeled back the sheet. A gasp, another pause: admiring? Considering?

A movement on the bedside table, and then, from height, a stream of lube onto my burning bulb.

She was close to it. I could feel her breath on it, and then a fingernail tracing oh so slowly along my purple vein from the root of me to the tip and then around my coronal ridge as more lube dripped along my shaft.

She was toying with me, teasing me, prolonging the ecstasy of that most powerful of aphrodisiacs: anticipation.

Finally, her little hand attempted to encircle me.

“So hard,” a little whisper then, “So big,” a little laugh.

Impossibly slow strokes up and down my stone-hard length, forcing me to relish the delicious denial.

How could she be so good at this?

With both hands now around me, she upped the pace until, so soon, my inner floodgates opened and then my stifled cry as the banks were breached and my creamy river spilt high into the air before raining down onto my legs, my belly, my chest and face.

As the waves of bliss subsided, her fingers pushed into my mouth for me to taste what she’d produced.

The door clicked, the switch flicked, and she left me there in the afterglow.

The following day was filled with feverish anticipation of what she had in store for me.

I rushed home after class to find… nothing. The lube and blindfold had both gone.

All night I lay awake, erect and aching for her, but there was nothing until, eventually, the routine morning bustle of the others getting up.

At breakfast, she caught my eye. Her look was … quizzical.

At first, I was bewildered, but in the afternoon, the seed of an idea became a thrilling understanding. Her look had said, ‘Where were you?’

It was my turn….

As soon as the house was quiet and dark that night, I got up and tiptoed towards her room, my swollen erection pointing the way like a meaty jousting lance.

My rational mind had long since been defeated by primitive lust; fear of discovery recklessly ignored in my primal urge to fuck.

Her door was ajar; of course it was. The room was dimly lit by the glow of her phone.

She was on all fours with the blindfold on, ass up and legs apart, with the lube on the bed beside her. Crude, obscene, the message impossible to misinterpret.

Gluttonously, I feasted on her teenage cunt. My mouth stretched wide to encompass her entire vulva, greedily sucking, kissing, and chewing on her before, finally, the initial madness of my appetite partly sated, my tongue slowly circled her anus, making her gasp in astonishment that my craven lust prompted me to lick her in that sacred place.

My face is still sticky with her nectar. I rose up behind her, my penis bouncing and dancing with a life of its own.

Taking hold of that little bottom that she’d teased me with so often, I slowly started to run my dick up and down her bum cleft, feeling her heat, hearing her wetness, until at last I grasped my shaft and pulled down my cock to rest my massive crown against her cunt hole.

I didn’t want to hurt her, but I simply had to fuck her. Would this be her first time at 18? Implausible but possible.

I emptied the remaining lube onto my shaft and then into her cleft, slapping her lips with my heavy weapon as it dripped down into her already soaking folds.

“You want this, you want to get fucked you little tease?”

I pushed against her, and she grunted as she realised my size was going to ruin her. Barely audible she whispered, “Do it to me.”

Time was precious, and I pushed against her, breaching her defences, her moan half muffled as she bit down on the pillow.

There was no time for gentleness or letting her adapt. The entirety of my outsize column slammed into her until my balls swung up to hit her clit.

Relentlessly, I pounded her, hammering into that molten tunnel, her cries of ecstasy now so loud, too loud, but I couldn’t stop; the sperm rushed up my swollen vein, and….

The landing light, a worried voice, “Sophie, are you ok in there?”