Brooke Price had one of the most incisive legal minds on campus according to her
academic advisor. Brooke was a straight A student in this, her second year at
law school. She was aiming to graduate first in her class, a guarantee of her
choice of offers from the nation's best legal organizations. She worked hard,
and then worked harder at keeping her grades up. Late at night, any night, her
tall, graceful form could be found in the library, bent over obscure and
complicated legal problems in the old, dust covered leather records. Her crisp
brown suit jacket would hang neatly on the back of her chair, her crisply
starched white blouse buttoned to the throat and adorned by a thin tie, would
puff outward as she bent forward across the table to closely study the words on
the decades old pages. Beneath the table, her legs, encased in the sharply cut
slacks would sometimes fold around the legs of the chair she sat upon, the
plain, though well polished black shoes rubbing against the floor. Her hair was
habitually tied into a pony tail down her back, but after some hours at study,
her perpetual, unconscious stroking and twisting and combing would have undone
the knot and her thick, long, luxurious brown hair would cascade down around her
shoulders, back and chest, to be irritably shoved out of her face time and time
again. Then, at a warning of imminent closing from the librarian, the young
woman would stand up, carefully replace the books on the shelves, even more
carefully place her own books and notes within her leather briefcase, then
stand, draw on her jacket, and gracefully walk down the long rows of books to
the front door and leave. Her dignified, straight backed form would walk quickly
down the long concrete paths that led to her dorm building, neither pausing nor
hesitating, then climb up the several floors of stairs, for the exercise, before
arriving at her room. Once there, she would hang up her jacket, and then sit
down at her own desk to study some more. Her mind, her complete attention, was
on her studies, and had been for several years. There was no room, none, for
socializing or entertainment. The room she lived in had no television, nor even
a radio. Her name was Brooke Price, and her father was a supreme court judge.
Her grandfather had been the chief justice of the Massachusetts state court. Her
great, great, great, great, great, etc.,... grandfather had founded the state's
court system, and every generation in between had been occupied with various
legal affairs. Brooke was as certain to become a lawyer as the sun was to rise
in the morning. To her family, it was an hereditary occupation. She had no
friends, only acquaintances. She was a virgin, and was likely to remain so. She
did not date and did not socialize. Her sole interaction with other students was
for educational purposes, in mock courts and study groups, in arguments over
legal ethics and principals. She did not reject this solitary concentration.
Indeed, she was almost unaware of it, and would have been slightly surprised had
it been drawn to her attention as odd. Late into the night her solitary light
beamed out onto the darkened courtyard below, as she continued to plumb the
depths of torts, common law, criminal law, and contracts. Finally, when her eyes
simply refused to focus, she undressed, carefully dressed in a crisp pair of
white silk pajamas, and crept beneath the covers of her bed. Dawn was already
breaking as she fell instantly asleep, the first rays brightening her dark
curtains as her breathing evened out in deeper and deeper sleep. Four hours
would elapse before she rose again, to once more begin the day's round of
lectures and studies. Yet tonight, as on more and more nights of late, her sleep
was disturbed by troubling images and visions, none of which had anything to do
with her studies. When the alarm blared, bringing her back to wakefulness, her
pajamas clung moistly to her sweating body, as did her damp, tangled hair. Her
eyes were wild and her breathing ragged as she came awake, the visions not
disappearing, still clear and precise, taunting her, frightening her. She shook
herself loose from their embrace and jumped out of bed. She shoved the tangled
folds of her hair out of her face, going to the window and opening the blinds to
stare out at the new day. Then she turned away, pulling off her pajamas and
stretching out on the floor, falling forward and beginning her pushups. She did
one hundred of them, followed by one hundred pushups, then one hundred deep knee
bends, then finally, ran in place for several minutes. She used to jog, but no
longer had the time. She used to work out at the campus gym, but again, no
longer could spare the time. She finished, and went to the closet, pulling it
open to draw out her robe and bath towel. She caught her image in the full
length mirror on the back of the door and hesitated. She straightened, examining
her form in the reflective glass. She could be proud of her figure, hourglass
perfect, with high, round, firm breasts, a gracefully curving throat and a
beautiful, firm jawed face with piercing, intelligent green eyes and a small,
upturned nose. Her legs were exquisitely long and tapered, flawless and eye
catching, were eyes to catch sight of them. Her belly was flat and firm, the
ridges of her ribcage visible when she straightened fully and held her breath.
Turning, her behind was small and as softly rounded as a child's. Her dreams
returned, impossible to repulse, raw, carnal, erotic dreams. Visions sped before
her glazed eyes, visions of herself in crude, passionate embraces, hands pawing
her, male organs piercing her body, penetrating her, using her, pleasuring her.
Other visions swept before her, chains and ropes, blonde women with large
breasts, dogs and horses and giant sexual instruments, dildos and vibrators,
whips and leather corsets like the ones she saw in the window of the sex shop
she passed each week when she went to buy toiletries at the pharmacy. She shook
her head, fighting free of the visions, trying desperately to ignore the heat in
her loins, the swelling of her breasts, the hardness of her pink nipples. She
slammed the closet door, drawing on her robe and almost running down the hallway
to the women's shower room. There were eight shower nozzles on the left side of
the room, all empty. Brooke hung up her towel and placed her soap and other
toilet articles on the counter by one of the sinks on the other side of the
room. She took off her robe and hung it on a hook, then stepped up onto the
elevated shower stall floor and turned on the water. It poured down around her,
soaking her, plastering her thick hair to her head. She turned it off and began
to soap herself up, coating herself from throat to feet with a slick, soapy
layer. Again, the images flashed before her, images from the dreams that
assaulted her night after night, images of lust and sexual promiscuity. She saw
herself and other women naked, in each other's arms, kissing, fondling each
other, grinding their lush bodies together. Then she was on her hands and knees
as a muscular, though faceless male took her from behind, his loins hammering
into her buttocks, his mighty organ thrusting again and again into her tight,
quaking vagina. Another man knelt before her and she took his penis between her
lips, running her tongue against the underside of the head. Unconsciously, her
hands began to stroke her slick young body, cupping and caressing her proud
breasts, skimming along her smooth flat belly, down between her legs to her
soft, pulpy cunt mound. She rubbed a finger up and down her slit, pressing
against her clit as she leaned back against the wall beneath the dripping shower
head. Her legs eased further and further aside as her finger rubbed harder,
digging in between her cuntlips, mashing down against her sensitive clitoris.
Her head rolled against the wall, her ass bouncing as she humped forward against
her finger. A low groan escaped her lips, interrupting the panting flow of
hissing breath. She squeezed her breasts harder, digging her fingers into the
soft, soap covered mounds, twisting and pulling on her nipples as her soap
covered finger slowly twisted upward into her vaginal sheath. "Oh God!" she
moaned, her legs spreading further apart as she finger fucked herself. Her head
rolled slowly against the hard tiles and her buttocks ground and mashed against
them as she humped her loins against her fingers. She felt the heat rising
within her, pulsing up through her body from the furnace between her legs. She
felt the slickness of her soap covered body, stroked her hands across it,
caressing her smooth belly as her ass cheeks slapped against the wall. She
brought both hands up beneath her swollen breasts, cupping them, then mashing
upwards and back against her ribs. Breath hissed out between clenched teeth as
her rock hard nipples were ground into her palms. Her fingers dug deep furrows
in the malleable flesh as she kneaded the firm meat. Her right hand slid back
down her belly and in between parted thighs, cupping her pussy mound, then
dipping a finger into her cleft. She rubbed two fingers up and down her slit,
sawing them between the wet, pulpy cunt lips, then her fingers curled and eased
into her twat tunnel. Her ass humped forward again as she slid the two fingers
in to the knuckles, then ground the knuckles against her clitty. Her mind was
screaming at her, warning of the danger. What are you doing? What are you
doing?! Are you mad? Any moment one of the other girls could walk in on her. The
door was only a few feet away and only a small divider separated her from the
entrance. Nothing was as precious to her as her dignity and pride and she could
think of fewer ways of utterly losing both than to be caught masturbating in the
public shower room. She couldn't stop herself. Her cunt burned to high. Her head
was too full of sensuous visions. Her fingers pumped in and out, grinding over
her mashed clitty on each pass. Her free hand roved across her slick body,
cupping and squeezing her breasts, caressing her belly, sliding behind to fondle
her buttocks, then easing up through the wet strands of her hair as her back
arched in pleasure. Her feet slithered apart on the wet floor and her body
slowly slid down the wall until she was squatting against it, her fingers still
pumping in and out of her moist cunt tunnel. Her buttocks grinding on her heels.
Her eyes were glazed, yet suddenly they focused. There on the counter, directly
across from her, was her toothpaste. It was one of those new "pump" types, that
she had dismissed as obviously phallic in nature, yet purchased for the
convenience of their use. The tube was a cylindrical tube with a softly rounded
top. She groaned and rose to her feet, then shakily moved across the floor to
the counter and grabbed the tube off the counter. Almost, she stopped, showered
off and went back to her room, but her excitement was too much. She raced down
the room to a stall and ran inside. Still soapy and soaking, she sat on the
stall and raised her feet, placing them on the seat beside her, then slowly
eased the cock-like tube into her cunt slit. She whimpered a little in pain, her
cunt unused to anything more than a finger, and even that seldom. Brooke was a
virgin. It wasn't fear that kept her that way, well, perhaps it was, but not of
the usual sort. She wasn't afraid of sex itself, instead it was her pride and
dignity that she feared for. All during high school she had been propositioned
by handsome young boys, and always she had rejected them out of fear of them
telling. Tails of her and some boy in bed would have devastated her. She had
something of a reputation of a prude. She was, after all, hall monitor, a
straight A student, and President of the Science, Chess, and Business clubs. She
never wore revealing clothing, not even at the beach, which she seldom got near
anyway. She could be counted on to always take whatever view point was the more
conservative in any argument, which included her being against pre-marital sex,
birth-control, abortion, and sex education. Nevertheless, she had educated
herself about sex, at least, to a degree. She never would have dreamed of asking
her parents, and her friends, such as they were, would have been little help.
Instead, she'd watched late at night, on the family's satellite dish, as lewd
and obscene visions had been displayed for her disbelieving eyes. She'd seen the
women there, seen them on their hands and knees getting fucked and sodomized.
She'd seen them avidly sucking cocks, seen them with their legs pinned back
against their chest, or worse, their ankles pinned up behind their ears. They
all looked so, so, degraded, so shamed and demeaned. How could any man ever
respect her if he were to see her from behind, with her on her knees, presenting
her sex organs to him as though she were a bitch dog in heat. How could he not
deem himself smugly superior as he rode her like that, or shoved her legs back
and apart to pierce her belly with his organ? She was the daughter of J.
Smithers Price the fifth. She had her dignity to uphold. She could neither have
talk bandied about concerning her sex life, nor tolerate the demeaning positions
she must assume for some boy or man to mount her. And yet these visions
persisted. Most were variations of the pornographic movies she'd seen as a
teenage girl, usually with other faces attached to the bodies, hers in place of
the woman, her Torts Professor for the man. She forced more and more of the
thick tube up into her body, wincing a little, but unable to repress a shudder
of delight, either. A superb horsewoman, her hymen had disappeared some time
ago, yet still there was pain, for her unused tunnel was very tight. In her
mind, she was a whore, bar hopping, picking up complete strangers, all of them
handsome and debonair. No. That was not right. Some of them were filthy beasts,
arrogant, macho men with sneering grins who gladly used her body and then left.
She saw herself taken by a procession of men, each more crude and cruel than the
other. She saw herself chained hand and foot, repeatedly violated by muscular
men. Now almost the entire length of the tube was up inside her cunt. She held
on to the bottom with two fingers as she rubbed her clitty with her other hand.
She slowly began to pump the tube in and out of her crotch hole. It wasn't easy.
The tube fit in there like a cork in a bottle. She had to pull very hard on the
plastic to slide it back out of her body, despite the moistness within herself.
It felt so hard up in her gut like that, and she groaned each time she pushed it
fully into her gash. Her legs, bent tightly at the knees, fell apart to either
side of the toilet. Her thigh muscles and tendons sent little signals of aching
pain as they were stretched and strained. Her breathing was coming in harsh
little gasps and pants, and soft little sobs of excitement and dazed pleasure.
She was working the tube in and out with some speed now, even approaching the
forceful stroking she'd seen in the porno movies. Her eyes were closed and in
her mind she lay on her bed, legs apart, a muscular man, chest hairless, face a
mixture of Professor Landis and Rob Lowe, was thrusting into her body. Her head
slid backwards onto the tank and rolled from side to side. Her breasts thrust
outward, straining against the tight skin as she arched her back. Her cunt gave
a powerful shudder and then sent a bolt of pure electric excitement deep into
her belly. She gave a little cry of pleasure and slid her left hand up her body,
caressing her flesh as it followed the contours of her body and eased up over
the full round hillock of her left breast. Then there were voices in the room.
Her eyes opened wide and her lips closed tightly against a gasp of shock. Two
girls had come into the room. They were chatting about some date one of them had
had the other night. Brooke didn't know either by the voice. A long minute
passed as she slumped unmoving, then the sound of the water coming on from a
pair of showerheads filled the room with its steady hissing patter. Brooke's
pussy was so hot, she wondered it wasn't melting the tube, which was half buried
in her crotch. She pulled it a little ways out, then thrust back into herself.
She grunted in pained pleasure, her loins spewing fire as an orgasm approached.
She pumped the tube in and out of her hole, increasingly heedless of being
found. Her body shuddered and trembled as she flew upward and was caught in an
orgasmic hurricane, her body jerking and humping and shaking on the toilet as
she skewered her box with the toothpaste tube. Even if a crowd that included
both her parents, her grandparents, her brothers and uncles and half the student
body were to crowd into the stall with her and stare in shock, she couldn't have
stopped the furious pumping motions of her hands as she soared through an
incredibly powerful, prolonged orgasm. The tube poisoned in and out of her tight
slit, her ass jerking and humping back up at it, her head thrashing from side to
side as she whimpered and whined and grunted in ecstasy. Ferocious starbursts of
white and yellow and red burst before her eyes as her body convulsed in orgasmic
pleasure. She didn't hear the showers go off, or rather, her ears heard, but her
mind was occupied elsewhere. Her cries, soft and almost inaudible before, were
now quite audible in the quiet room. She didn't know or care. Her orgasm was
consuming her. She pulled her legs back, slumping even further in the toilet
seat, drawing her knees back to her chest as she savagely pounded the tube into
her boiling, fleshy cunt slit. She didn't notice the feet under the door, nor
the shapes that appeared before the cracks. She arched her back again, her legs
straightening, shooting out into the air to fall against the corners of the
stall before her. Air puffed out between her lips, her cheeks bulging outward,
then another shocking bolt of pure, white hot pleasure seared her body. She
cried out, her legs bending and drawing back again, her hand still desperately
punching the makeshift dildo into her cunt. Two heads pressed themselves against
the crack of the door in front of her. Giggles could be heard above her groans
and sighs of pleasure. A pair of eyeballs stared through the crack as she jammed
the dildo into her cunt and shook violently. Her knees were again drawn up
against her and she had slumped down to such an extent that she was practically
lying on the seat, her knees up above her head. For this, she would later be
thankful for. The orgasm gave her body another harsh shake, then spit it out.
She slowly began to come down to earth, now hearing the giggles of the two girls
outside the stall and noticing as they hurried out of the room. Her mind began
to coalesce into one piece and her body stopped its twitching and shaking. Oh
God!! What have I done?! Her bleary eyes focused after several attempts and she
looked around her, now remembering all her ears and eyes had seen, including the
faces pressed against the crack of the stall door. She closed her eyes against
tears of humiliation, her skin flushing a terrible beet red. She got to her feet
and opened the door, then peeked out. There was nobody else there. She rushed
across to the rack where her robe was hanging and threw it on, heedless of the
soap still coating her body. She grabbed her towel and other things and went to
the door, listening for any sound. She could hear nothing. She put the towel
around her hair and head, then opened the door a crack. She could see two girls
down the hallway, hanging around an open door. Surely they had seen her? Surely
those were the ones. What were they waiting for? She gulped fearfully, then
covered as much of her face and head as she could with the big towel, and still
see, and jerked the door open, running down the hall in the opposite direction.
"Wait!" she heard. "Hey! When's the next show!" "Who was the guy?" There was a
lot of giggling as well as she turned the corner and arrived at her door. She
fumbled with the keys, then opened the door and hurried inside, closing it
behind her.
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