Jane was sitting on her dorm room bed, naked, furiously rubbing her clit with her middle finger. Her perky breasts were jiggling on her chest, and her pussy was glistening with her moist juices. Her gaze was focused: she was staring across the room at my erect cock.
I was sitting on the other dorm bed, also naked, and stroking my stiff dick with one hand while squeezing my balls with the other. My eyes were glued to Jane's beautiful, slender body, and the longer I watched her, the stiffer and longer my cock grew in my grasp. I feasted my eyes on her as I pounded my pud, from her beautiful face to her long brown hair, to the way her breasts hung and swayed on her chest, to the milky skin of her thighs, the pink lips of her pussy, and the slight trace of brown pubic hair framing her juicy snatch.
She was watching me at the same time, watching how my hand rose and fell on my erect cock, how the glistening head popped up and down repeatedly from my fist, and how my balls flopped and swayed in time with my strokes.
I fantasized about how it would feel to touch her; the creamy softness of her breasts, the coolness of her thighs, the slick wetness of her pussy; I imagined feeling that hot moisture on my own finger, and better yet on my cock as I thrust it in and out of her soft wet cavern. At the same time, I felt my own stiffness, the throbbing and pulsing of my cock in time with the beating of my heart, and the tightness in my balls as I reached ever closer to my eventual climax.
I focused on the sounds; her breathing, sometimes in short rhythmic gasps, other times in deep moans; the sloshing of the moisture in her crotch, being stirred by her hot fingers; the squeaking of the two beds in time with our motions; the occasional gasps and moans in my own throat.
I sensed the smells of sensuality; the muskiness of her sex as her juices leaked out of her pussy and moistened her thighs and the mattress below her; the faint odor of sweat as we each got hotter and hornier and closer to climax; the palpable smell of naked flesh which filled the room.
I even brought the sense of taste into my consciousness: I imagined the taste of her mouth and tongue and breath if we should dare to kiss; I thought about the taste of her pussy: her lips, her stiff little nub of a clit. I fantasized about the tangy, salty flavor of her pussy juices, the rubbery taste of her nipples between my teeth, of the taste of semen on her breath during a post-blowjob kiss. Of course, these were all to remain fantasies.
As I watched her, she paused in the frantic flicking of her clit. Instead, she inserted her finger as deeply as it would go into her pussy, and began sawing it in and out, all the while increasing the volume of her moans. Then she inserted two fingers, and then three. Watching her fuck herself so deeply, I reversed my hand position on my cock, sliding my palm up over the head and back down again, thumb-first, making it feel even more pussy-like to my throbbing, pulsating member. The feeling of my palm sliding over my throbbing cock-head brought moans and shudders from my body and inched me ever closer to the inevitable.
Jane threw her head back as her moans became a steady wail of pleasure. Her shoulders heaved, and her fingers sawed in and out of her pussy with a savage ferocity. I gritted my teeth and focused my inner mind on the rising, burning pleasure in my cock and balls. I felt a wave of heat begin to rise from my crotch, starting at my anus and billowing up through my abdomen like a mushroom cloud of pleasure. I leaped to my feet seconds before my cock began spurting its ropes of pearly cum, all over the linoleum floor of the room. At the very same moment, Jane was consumed by her own orgasm and screamed in ecstasy. Her knees clamped together, and she rolled onto her side, quakes of pleasure wracking her body.
*************
Jane and I were masturbation buddies—Beat-off Buddies, as she liked to say. We never screwed; we never even kissed or touched each other. But, we got together several times a week to share the pleasures of our own flesh.
It was all my horn-dog roommate's fault. One day early in the semester, he cornered me after dinner.
"Hey, Donny. Can you clear out of the room tonight? I have that hot chick, Britney, coming over."
"Another chick? Dylan, it's Tuesday night," I said. "I need to study."
"C'mon, man. You know I'd do the same for you."
"You know you'd never have to. My girlfriend is back home and I'd never cheat on her."
"Yeah, but she might come to visit someday, couldn't she? Then, you'd be the one needing privacy. C'mon, man, can't you study at the library?"
I rolled my eyes. "The library is a zoo," I said. "I need peace and quiet."
"Hang on," he said. "I've got an idea." He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned back to me. "Great news! Britney said you can study in her room."
"Doesn't she have a roommate?"
"Yeah, but she'll be studying too. She's a nerd. You know, like you. Plenty of peace and quiet. And hey, maybe you'll get lucky!"
I wasn't thrilled by the idea, but there was always the hope that I could talk my girlfriend Donna into coming to campus for a visit one of these days, and then I would want the room to myself. So, I agreed. "Okay, okay. What's her room number?"
"Thanks, dude! I owe you one. They're in room 1721"
Dylan went off to shower and douse himself with body spray, in anticipation of his evening of meaningless sex with his bimbo du jour. Grumbling, I stuffed my books and my laptop into my backpack and took the elevator down to the first floor of the dorm building. I crossed the lobby to the girl's wing and rode the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. I found the room and knocked, half hoping there would be no answer.
The door swung open, and I found myself staring at a beautiful brunette. She was tall and slender and had her long brown hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. She was wearing a long, floppy t-shirt and shorts. She also wore glasses, red fingernail polish, and a large ring on one pinkie. She looked like a hot librarian.
"Donny? Come on in. I'm Jane," she said. I looked around. The room was pretty much the same as Dylan's and my room: two twin beds, two desks, two chairs, one mini-fridge. The only difference was the posters on the walls. Oh, and this one was a lot cleaner.