This story was told to me by a reader who, though young in the story, is now a Grandfather several times over.

You might think it an unlikely tale but, having myself been a student at a top University during the eighties, and having been in all-girl shared houses for two years, I know with certainty that encounters of this kind really did take place.

They took place surprisingly often too, with surprising girls and for surprising reasons. And it wasn’t just the men who initiated them by any means.

The girls that I personally know were involved are now married and like me, have adult children. One is a very senior figure in her chosen career; if you are in Britain and watch TV, you will probably have seen her.

I do not condone or condemn the actions or attitudes of any of the characters. They are symptomatic of their time and, as my own sexual history is not beyond reproach, I will refrain from passing either judgement or comment.

I simply offer the story and leave that to you.

***

“That much?” the short, slightly overweight blonde girl asked, a horrified look on her pretty face.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied calmly but firmly, shining my torch into a large hole in the room’s cheap plasterboard wall.

It was just above the skirting, poorly concealed by the large sofa. The girl stared at it, dejected as I continued.

“Look at the amount of damage. It’s as if someone put their foot through the wall, cracked the pipes then tried to cover it up with furniture. The water has run into the floor and the ceiling of the room below. It’ll need a new wall here, new plumbing and maybe a new ceiling below.”

From the worried look on her face, I could tell that not only had she had known that the hole in the wall was there, she knew who had done it too. And it was not her.

What she did not know, was that I too had known the hole was there. I had known for two weeks, but had kept the knowledge to myself, waiting for an opportune moment to ‘discover’ it.

And the final end-of-lease checkout inspection, alone in the house with its last female tenant, was the most opportune time of all, so I had made sure this house was the last on my list for the day.

“There’s minor damage all over the house. It must have been one hell of a party!” I added, unimpressed.

From the look on her face, I had hit the spot with that comment.

“But that’s a huge amount of money,” she protested.

“The deposit will cover some of it,” I interrupted her. “But there will still be a big surcharge.”

“But I haven’t got that much…” she began, then ground to a halt.

“Your friends will have to pay their share too,” I added.

The look on the girl’s face turned from worried to anger; anger that her so-called friends had left her to deal with the final checkout inspection on her own. I could picture them as they left, confidently assuring her that the damage would not be spotted, that all would be okay, and their substantial deposit would be returned in full.

Now, not only would she have to tell her friends that their expected windfall would not be forthcoming, she would also have to get them to stump up a lot more cash.

They would not be happy; some would blame her; others would fail to pay up at all.

I had seen it many times before and could guess how the poor girl was feeling.

“Do you have your chequebook handy?” I asked, rubbing her pretty nose in it mercilessly.

“I haven’t got enough in my account!”

“Well, how much do you have? Can you get your parents to pay?”

Her face a picture of anger, she turned as if going to fetch her chequebook. But as she reached the doorway, she stopped in her tracks, then turned back towards me as if something had just occurred to her.

I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

The girl was very anxious, as if steeling herself to say or do something she found very difficult. Taking a deep breath, she raised her face, but her eyes couldn’t quite meet mine.

There was a rumbling in my tummy as I looked at her troubled expression. Was my plan working yet again?

“I... Um… I heard…” she began, unsure how to proceed.

“What did you hear?” I replied, my voice friendly, trying to make her difficult task as easy as possible.

“Um…” she continued nervously. “Someone told me that you… that you sometimes… um… sometimes come to a special arrangement… over things like this!”

This was a good step forward, but don’t agree too quickly, Pete. Make her work for it. Make her believe it’s all her idea.

“What sort of special arrangement?” I asked as blandly as I could manage.

The girl blushed deeply and fidgeted awkwardly from one shapely leg to the other.

“Um… sort of… if I did something for you… you would deal with the damage… unofficially?”

I paused. It wasn’t enough yet. She had to make the first move; the idea had to come from her.

“What sort of thing do you mean?” I asked.

The blush became even deeper.

“Um… um… something to help you… down there…”

There was no mistaking the way her eyes fell to my groin.

It was indeed working! The first, important step had been taken. But had she committed herself enough yet? In her mind, had she done enough to imprint on her memory that the suggestion had come from her, not from me?

Better play safe and feign ignorance a little longer.

“Who told you that?” I asked, my words not suggesting either admission or denial.

“My friend Susie,” she replied. “She lived here last year.”

I paused for a moment as if trying to remember, but it was all for show. I remembered Susie very well indeed.

“What did she tell you?”

The girl was still fidgeting but having posed the question, seemed a little more confident and in control of herself.

“She said you had let them off the damage they had caused.”

“Why would I have done that?” I asked, disingenuously. “It can take hours to fix and cost hundreds of pounds.”

I could see her desperately trying to avoid using the words that would commit her absolutely. Having got this far, I knew she would probably go through with it, but nevertheless, she still wanted it to be my idea.

This was something I had to hold firm about. I must not suggest it; she had to offer herself.

“Susie said she had…” I could see the agony on her pretty face as she forced out the words. “That she had given you… um… had sex… with her mouth and in return...”

Her words faded but having used the words sex and mouth, she had said enough.

“And in return, I had turned a blind eye and signed off the lease?” I finished her sentence for her. “She told you that had happened?”

The girl nodded.

“And you thought I might ignore all this damage here if you did the same?”

She blushed pink and nodded again.

“Well that’s a turn-up,” I exclaimed as if astonished to have been asked. “I’m amazed. I’m genuinely flattered, don’t get me wrong.”

The look of embarrassed horror on the girl’s face was a picture, and exactly what I had hoped to see.

“Do you often do that kind of thing with strangers?” I asked.

“No!” she exclaimed, a look of shock and horror on her face.

“No, of course, you don’t,” I apologised. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Ye...es,” she replied, surprised.

“And do you give him blowjobs?”

I used the coarse word deliberately, partly to see how she reacted. She blushed, looked away and nodded.

“Sometimes.”

“Are you good at them?”

“He says I am.”

“And you’d be willing to give me one if it made all this trouble go away?”

She looked up at me, frowning and nodded again. I pretended to mull the idea over for a minute. I could see her fidgeting awkwardly in embarrassment.

“I’m deeply flattered, but I’m married, Ellie,” I began.

“Ella,” she corrected me instinctively.

“Ella,” I corrected myself. “And even if I was interested, there’s much more damage here than when your friend checked out. Maybe best part of a thousand pounds if we need a new ceiling,” I lied.

The look of desperation on her face showed I was on the right track.

“There’s a Landlord’s Inspection tomorrow too,” I went on. “The ceiling could wait, but the rest would have to be done before then. I might have to work all night to fix it and tonight’s our wedding anniversary.

“I’m on a promise from my wife, and with three kids, those promises are rare.”

This time it was the girl’s turn to look puzzled, but she was bright and my meaning soon dawned on her. She blushed yet again.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you’re incredibly sexy and I’d love to take you up on your offer, but if I miss my chance tonight, I might not get any action in bed for months.”

I looked into her worried face, making sure my own deep brown eyes were fixed on hers.

“Besides, I’m sorry to be crude Ella, but I’m hardly going to swap a whole night working in this place for a five-minute blowjob, however pretty you are and however good a cocksucker you might be.”

Again, my use of the crude word was deliberate, upping the sexual stakes. A look of anguish and consternation crossed her young face as I carried on.

“It’s best I just write up the damage. You can give me a cheque – if you’ve got your banker's card – and be on your way. You’ll just have to tell your friends about losing the deposit and the surcharge.” I drew a deep breath. “But depending on what the Landlord finds tomorrow, it’s going to run well into four figures.”

“No please!” she begged, getting really upset now. “There’s no way I can pay that much.”

“Get your friends to pay their share. Or the kid that did the damage; that sounds best to me.”

I could see the difficulty of this going over and over in her mind. As I knew only too well, once they had left both the shared house and University behind, getting former housemates not only to forego the return of their hefty deposits, but to cough up extra for repairs, was a near impossibility.

“Hmmm. It won’t look great if you want to use us as a reference for your next place either, I’m afraid,” I pondered, hoping to tip her over the edge and make the offer I really wanted. “You might have trouble getting another landlord to accept you.”

I could see the wheels in her mind whirring. It took only a couple of minutes for her to realise that there was only one option left, other than to face the music and pay up. And even then, I could see she wasn’t at all sure how to make that terrible suggestion, or how it might be received. After all, I had just turned down oral sex with her.

I took pity and tried to help put her out of her misery.

“I’m sorry. I’d like to help, really I would. Like I said, you’re a very sexy girl and I’m sure you do give great blowjobs, but if I let my wife down tonight, I don’t know when I might get another chance to… to relieve my frustrations properly.”

There was a long pause before she made her move, and when she did, it was as awkward and uneasy as I had ever seen. The girl moved closer, touched me lightly on the forearm, then looked up into my eyes.

“What if... what if I helped you relieve your frustrations instead?”

I frowned as if puzzled, pretending not to understand what she meant.

“What do you mean?” I asked disingenuously.

“What… um… what if you relieved your frustrations with me here, in case your wife takes it badly?”

I paused as if working it out.

“You mean… not just a blowjob? You mean going all the way? Like, full-on sex?”

She blushed the deepest red yet, but still nodded.

“Here and now?” I asked as if in disbelief.

Another awkward nod.

“And if we did, you’d expect me to sign off the handover and fix everything before tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“So, you and your friends would get all their deposit money back?”

She nodded again.

“Please! Please say yes!”

She was actually begging me. This was better than I had imagined possible. With a loud sigh, I looked ostentatiously first at my watch, then at her, as if weighing up a difficult decision.

I left one last pause for effect before giving her the reply she needed to hear.

“Okay, but I haven’t got much time. Get your knickers off, quickly!”

***

There were few perks of being a property agent in the nineteen eighties but having the chance to fuck young female students from time to time was by far the best. In all the years I was in the business, very few passed without my cock finding its wicked way into at least one upper-middle-class cunt.

And none of them were sluts or slappers. At least they weren’t before they met me.

In those days, the city of Bristol and its educational institutions were little different from what they are now; havens for the spoilt, entitled offspring of Britain’s top doctors, lawyers and rich businessmen, whether at the prestigious University or what was then the well-thought-of Polytechnic.

More than half of these offsprings were female; many of them aspiring IT Girls; West London Sloane Ranger types with long, expensively coiffed hair, slim figures and posh, private school accents, spending Daddy’s money getting an education – or at least trying to look as if they were.

Not being from that section of society myself, the really posh totty was simply out of my class. It was the wannabe girls that made the richest pickings for me. Those were the girls I looked for. Every one of them had a soft, sweet pussy, and a small but significant proportion of those posh pussies could be made available to a good-looking young man, married or not, if he knew what buttons to press, and when and how to press them.

I took care always to be that man; always clean, always dressed to show off the slim, muscular figure I had in those days; always polite but ready to respond in kind to the slightest hint of flirtation that came my way.

In short, I tried always to be the kind of fit, strong, horny-handed, blue-collared, good-looking ‘bit of rough’ that all nice girls fantasise about. Many of them would like to experience in the flesh him too - if it could be done in safety and secrecy of course.

A man like that could never be introduced to parents, let alone become a boyfriend.

But I’m going too fast.

Back in the days of Thatcher’s Britain, money was all-important, and it didn’t matter too much how you came by it. Property prices were booming, as was the student population and professionally built University accommodation of the kind we now see in abundance, was rare.

Students had to fight for the few flats and houses that were available and as a result, the opportunities for unscrupulous landlords and their agents were plentiful.

In Bristol, students used to have to group together and rent flats or houses from private landlords in the city. There were always too many students and too few nice places for them to stay, so groups would form very early on in the year and start looking.

Most of those groups were single-sex; in those days, landlords tried not to rent to mixed groups. Too many couples fell out and broke up, followed by troublesome and costly mid-lease changes in tenancies.

Sometimes the groups would go to agencies, often they would try and make friends with older students in their final year in the hope of taking over their accommodation when they moved on.

My role was to help this happen. The company I was working for when this story starts, was a small agency specialising in student accommodation. We rented out properties in the Clifton and Redland areas of the city. These were nicer areas where the more affluent students preferred and could afford to live, but we also had more bargain basement accommodation across the river in places like Bedminster, which in those days was very far from the relatively trendy, alternative place it is now.

We had a number of private landlords on our books with perhaps eighty properties in total. We only rented to girls in the mistaken belief that they were less trouble, had fewer parties and caused less damage.

Of course, a policy like this would not be allowed these days, but in the eighties, things were different.

Part of my job was manning the shop so that kids could walk in off the street; other parts involved showing potential tenants around properties and, once all the properties had been let for the year, visiting them routinely to perform basic maintenance and to make sure all was well.

This, of course, allowed plenty of time for me to assess the standard of female students in each place in terms of attractiveness and, most importantly, potential availability come year end.

The job came with an attractive, dark blue polo shirt for a uniform which I wore with tight jeans. Just over six feet tall, in those days I played competitive football – soccer to any American readers – so was slim and fit with a good physique.

I spent a good few hours each week in the club’s weight room too and I have to say, I looked pretty bloody good with my short dark hair and very dark brown eyes.

My wife describes them as ‘come to bed’ eyes and says that, along with my soft local accent, they were the thing that had attracted her to me most.

A word about my wife Nicky. She and I met when we were at school, and we have been together ever since. She was only fourteen years old and already pretty when we first met and only sixteen when we got together as a couple, by which time, her curvy figure and...