A Game of Consequences

Chapter 13. A home-from-home

Freshers' Week is madness. You're an immature kid, fresh out of school, and every society, club or team is touting for new talent - a role you might just fill. And because this was Oxford, these weren't the kind of clubs and societies that you might find just anywhere.

Most universities would boast a photography club, maybe some musical societies and sports like martial arts, hockey or fencing. But at Oxford, there was a particular focus. So there was no football, but there was rugby. There was a dance group - 'modern', not ballet, to Phoebe's disappointment - and a jazz club, which we both signed up for out of curiosity. At Cambridge, there would have been the famous Footlights, alumni of which went on to successful careers in the media, but there was no equivalent at Oxford. And there seemed to be no swimming club, but there were more rowers than you could throw a pair of rowlocks at. Out of sheer desperation, I signed up.

And, inevitably, there was the Debating Society. Where Cambridge graduates became famous comedians, scientists and spies, Oxford tended towards politicians and journalists. And that was fine by Phoebe and me, because we'd always assumed that would be where our chosen subject might lead. So we signed up, I added a French conversation group to keep my skills going, and then we went for a punt.

The weather wasn't conducive to us repeating our outdoor adventures from earlier in the year, and anyway, there were too many people about, so we returned the punt and went to try the food - and, in my case, the excellent beer - at the Turf Tavern. We spent some time exploring our new home - the college itself, some of the neighbouring colleges and the city as a whole. Then back to the bookshop to buy a couple of the fiendishly expensive recommended textbooks - Phoebe bought three, I could only afford one and hoped to be able to either borrow hers or get a copy from the library.

We'd wanted to share a room, but it still wasn't college policy for mixed couples to share. We had separate rooms in different blocks. Worse, the rooms had single beds! But we worked out a plan. We stowed an inflatable double mattress under Phoebe's bed, and on the evenings we decided to fuck in her room, I used the built-in foot-pump, we laid a sheet over the top, took the pillows from Phoebe's bed and, well, fucked. On these nights, we'd experiment with whatever positions we hadn't tried - Phoebe's flexibility meant that some of these became quite novel and adventurous - and I'd stay until morning. (We reasoned that it would be better if I were to be caught sneaking out of a girls' dormitory block than Phoebe trying to sneak out of a boys' block.)

We'd been trying an inverted position one night - Phoebe doing a shoulder-stand, legs spread, while I first ate her pussy and then fucked it in a standing position. She really seemed to enjoy this; my cock-head was pressed tightly against her G-spot, my hands were free to rub her clit and even to reach underneath to tease her arsehole, and the head-stand meant that she had an excess of blood in her head, which somehow provoked a sequence of early and strong orgasms. For me, it wasn't so wonderful, as my cock was being pulled downwards when its natural preference was to point upwards. But Phoebe's cunt was tight and slippery, and her vocal performance was appropriately filthy. To the accompaniment of cries of "Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" And "Fill me up. Fill my cunt with your spunk!" I - well, I did exactly as she demanded.

Afterwards, lying on the mattress with her skinny body cradled in my arms, I looked into her big brown eyes and at her strangely appealing features. She smiled at me.

"I love you, baby," I said, smiling. Her reaction wasn't quite what I'd expected.

"Jesus Christ! About fucking time!"

"Sorry?"

"How long have you known me?" she asked, sitting up.

"Er - about - about three, nearly four months," I replied, somewhat surprised.

"And when did you make this startling discovery?"

"Well, I guess I've - er, maybe a couple of months ago."

"Richard, I knew I loved you before you left my house. I've been waiting all this time for you to tell me you feel the same. What took you so long?"

"Phoebe, baby, it's - it's complicated. When I met you, I was still in a relationship with Jill, my teacher. OK, so I was naïve, but I thought, at the time, that I loved her."

"Which didn't stop you fucking me!"

"Sorry, but you pretty-well insisted I did. And - well, I knew my feelings weren't being reciprocated by Jill, and she told me a week later that it was over between us, so..."

"Ah, so you fucked me on the rebound!"

"Phoebe, for fuck's sake! Look, my infatuation with Jill was exactly that. When I met you, I knew that you were so different. I liked you from when we first met. Then you seduced me..."

"I seduced you? Really?"

"If I remember rightly - and I believe I do - your precise words were 'So, are we going to fuck or what?' I'd never met a girl like you. I thought you were sexy, intelligent, fun and adventurous. You were also a great fuck, and clearly enjoyed sex. And as I began to realise that I didn't really love Jill, my feelings for you kept growing. I've liked you a lot from the beginning. I began to think I loved you months ago, probably after the weekend at your place, and I've now realised how much I do. I'm sorry if it's taken me a long time to tell you. I guess I felt rather crushed when my feelings for Jill weren't returned, at least not in the way I thought I wanted. I didn't want the same heartbreak with you until I was sure that I loved you and believed that you felt the same."

She looked into my eyes, then threw her arms around me and kissed me. It was what I might call aseriouskiss; one that conveyed her feelings for me, despite our earlier disagreement.

"By the way, I do love you, Richard Watson. I have for months. And you're not a bad fuck yourself."

****

The weeks went by. Phoebe and I worked hard at our coursework; neither of us was going to squander the opportunity that a place at Oxford represented. We scheduled our time carefully, keeping up our respective hobbies. I tried to swim whenever I could at the local public baths, but I also began to enjoy the rowing. OK, so I ached from head to foot after the first few sessions, but gradually my muscles got used to the new demands being placed on them, and I found a lot of satisfaction when my crew beat a personal best - or another crew.

Meanwhile, Phoebe seemed to be getting on well with her modern dance group, as they prepared for a pre-Christmas performance. I doggedly maintained membership of my French group, trying hard to improve my language skills, but we both had to give up the jazz club quite early on. Not only were the demands on our time getting too great, but we found that some of the more experimental stuff was a bit too avant-garde for us, while the 'Trad' jazz was a bit too pedestrian. Yes, I could relate to most of Miles Davis's and Courtney Pine's material, but as my guitar skills were somewhat rudimentary, I didn't feel I'd ever be able to play like Django Reinhardt or Pat Metheny, and something had to go.

Then the Christmas break was almost upon us. There was a round of parties, entertainment - including Phoebe's dance group, of which she was undoubtedly the most proficient member - and a fair amount of boozing before we all headed off for the holiday. Phoebe and I had decided, very reluctantly, to spend the time apart at our respective parents' homes, on the basis that it might be the last time we would. We agreed to meet up in London over the break, and we set up a tentative arrangement for me to visit her before we went back to college. So I spent a rather dull Christmas with my family.

Then the invitation came through, and on the 30thJanuary, I headed to Leamington to spend New Year with Phoebe and her parents. Again, everything was very friendly and cordial, though I could sense a slight undercurrent of Roger keeping an eye on me to ensure I wasn't a freeloader. But Phoebe's enthusiasm for me and my - I hoped - obvious devotion to her seemed to ensure his goodwill.

Phoebe had bought a ball-gag, which was just as well because, when I fucked her in just a pair of high heels, bent over her bed and wearing, at her insistence, handcuffs behind her back, her cries would've woken up the house. As it was, she grunted and squealed on every stroke, and jiggled like she'd been electrocuted when I started stroking her clit. When she came like that, I had no option but to blissfully fill her tight, wet little cunt with sticky cum.

New Year's Eve was rather tedious, to be honest. Roger had invited some friends around for a Hogmanay-style celebration, even though nobody had any Scottish connections. Fortunately, we weren't forced to eat haggis; Alison had prepared an excellent roast beef, with all the trimmings. The wines were, unsurprisingly, excellent, and we had real champagne at midnight, while Roger and a friend called Gerald set off some fireworks.

I admit I didn't take to Gerald. He was a 'free-market Thatcherite' through and through, whose whole attitude was 'if you've got it, flaunt it, and if you haven't, fuck you.' He clearly thought he was someone special because he'd 'worked hard to be where he was', ignoring the fact that his father owned several factories and had set him up in business with a generous, tax-deductible, interest-free (and probably repayment-free) 'loan'. And, of course, Daddy's connections gave him lots of free sales leads.

Gerald's wife, Miranda, and their daughter, Imogen, were far more interesting. Both of them flirted with me throughout the evening, and while under other circumstances I'd have happily fucked either or both of them, I was deeply aware that I had a girlfriend. Not only that, I was in that girlfriend's home, and her father was keeping a careful eye on me. I knew that there was a ton of bricks that would fall on me if I put a foot - or more especially, a cock - wrong. So I tried to be polite while signalling that I wasn't interested.

And honestly, I wasn't. I'd realised that Phoebe was far too precious to waste on a quick-and-dirty fling with anyone, least of all the wife or daughter of a friend of my girlfriend's father. During the evening, I tried to stay close to Phoebe and show that she was the only one I wanted.

Phoebe's friend Sophie had come along with her boyfriend, Paul, in tow. He seemed alright to me. Sure, he moved in upper-middle-class circles, while I was a rung or two below him socially, but he was a decent-enough guy. He, like Sophie, was studying law at Durham, and like my girlfriend, seemed to have left-leaning tendencies.

So we all drank too much, and Phoebe and I staggered off to bed around two in the morning. Sometime before seven, I awoke to the sensation of having my cock sucked. I'd been having this weird dream where I was surrounded by naked women - Phoebe, Jill, Sophie, Imogen, Miranda, Sharon and even Alison - and I was being urged by Roger to service them all. I kept moaning, "No! I only have one cock!"

"Of course you do. And it's in my mouth!" Phoebe said as I awoke, and though it wasn't true at that precise instant, she soon rectified that. It was still dark, but there's no better alarm clock than one that wraps a soft, hot, wet mouth around your cock and sucks it until it's hard. Which didn't take long.

Once Phoebe was satisfied that her work on my cock was done and I was hard enough for other duties, she slid up the bed and kissed me.

"Morning," she said brightly. "You haven't paid much attention to my nipples lately. How about you remedy that?"

What Phoebe said was not strictly true. Every time we fucked - or occasionally made slow, passionate love - I made a point of sucking her nipples. In fact, I made two hard, pink points out of them, as they reacted to my attentions. But I guessed that she felt they needed some more protracted attention than the usual minute or so they usually got before I moved south, so I let her press each of the conical pink nubs into my mouth alternately, while she used a hand to keep me hard.

Of course, I wanted to test her wetness, so my hand snaked down to her pussy and a questing finger probed. As expected, very moist. I was still intrigued and very turned on by her hairless mound and slit. Remember this was 1989 - or to be precise, January 1st1990 - and the idea of shaving or waxing wasn't a thing back then. But there's something so blatantly sexual about the sight of bare, inviting pussy lips - maybe the inherent implied vulnerability, some adolescent fantasy or long-lost Ruskinesque memory - that, certainly in those days, was enough to get me instantly hard.

I also think that Phoebe relished the feel of that lack of hair. Almost every time I'd slid my finger in there, which was many times, she was wet - sometimes extremely so. At that moment, I couldn't see her sweet, bald pussy with her body pressed close to my face - remember, her tits were tiny, so with a nipple in my mouth there wasn't much space between my chin and her ribcage - but I could most certainly feel the rising damp between her legs. So I spent a significant length of time licking and sucking each nipple in turn as she casually stroked my cock and I carefully teased her slit. I didn't want her to come too soon, not before...

Abruptly, she changed position, straddling my body, carefully lifting and inserting my cock into the socket where we both knew it fitted best, and then pressing down on me. She held still for a moment at the point of maximum penetration before leaning forward again to present her nipples for more attention. This time, I had to curl my upper body to reach them, but it was worth it. As I sucked and nibbled and licked, she began to ride. Her hips took on a rolling motion, making sure that my cock made contact with every interior surface. I put one hand behind her to bring her close enough so I could keep up the attention on her nipples, and then slipped the other one back into her slit.

She seemed determined to make it last. "Not on my clit. Not yet," she breathed. Each stroke as she climbed up and sank onto my eager meat-pole was slow and deliberate. Meanwhile, my mouth was leaving her nipples wet and hard as I alternated between them. It was joyous, but my neck and back were starting to ache after a couple of minutes. I slumped back and moved my hand around her to cup each tiny tit in turn and gently squeeze and tug on the livid pink buds. It was just beginning to get light, and I could see her face, her big eyes closed, her mouth open and pouting as her breathing became more laboured.

"Harder!" she gasped. "Pinch them harder!"

I'd always tried to be gentle with Phoebe, even on the occasions she wanted some BDSM scenarios, when she insisted on being tied up or handcuffed, or when she begged to be spanked. I've never been into pain, giving or receiving, so it was difficult for me to adjust to being more forceful, but even as I pinched her nipple, she gasped, "Harder!" So I squeezed a little more. She moaned loudly.

And then she increased the pace, rising and pushing down faster and more deliberately. "Now! Rub my clit!"

I'd been skirting around her outer lips and stroking across that tantalisingly smooth mound with its inviting cleft. At her command, my finger slid straight in between those plump lips and homed in on the trigger button. It didn't take long; maybe a dozen more up-and-down cycles of her cunt on my cock, some insistent stroking of her clit and what seemed to me some rather brutal nipple-tweaking, and I heard - and felt - her coming. Her orgasm lasted quite a while - at least, I tried to prolong it as much as I could - while she moaned, rather more quietly than usual, interspersing the noises with the occasional "Oh fuck!"

Then her eyes snapped open, and her cunt suddenly tightened on my cock. She was using her internal muscles to milk my cock of its juices. Resistance was futile. As she treated me to a victorious smile - and a vice-like grip on my penis - I spurted my cream deep inside her.

"Happy New Year. No - Happy New Decade!" she said softly as she lay on top of me afterwards, my arms wrapped lovingly around her.

"Love you, babe," I smiled back.

"Me too," she sighed, as her head fell back onto my shoulder.

*****

It seemed that Phoebe had complained to her father about our accommodation issues at Oxford, and Roger - being Roger - sorted something out. Two days before term started, he drove down to Oxford with Phoebe, picked me up at the station and took us to a place about a five-minute walk from the college.

"I've managed to find you this small flat; one bedroom, with a lounge, kitchen and bathroom. The rent's not much more than your two rooms combined, and I've persuaded the college authorities to terminate your rental agreements, so you'll get by."

Phoebe threw her arms around her father. I just smiled and said, "Thank you, Roger. This is great."

He smiled back and replied, "Richard, can I have a word in private?"

He led me through to the kitchen while Phoebe started unpacking some of the clothes she'd brought with her in the bedroom.

"Now, Richard, you've done very well for yourself. You seem to be a very nice and capable young man, and I suppose I get what Phoebe sees in you. But you've landed on your feet with my daughter. Not only is she intelligent, witty..."

"Talkative," I added with a half-smile.

Roger smiled back. "Yes, that too. I think we both agree that she's a very attractive young lady, and from what I've seen and heard, eager to offer you the delights of her very flexible young body. Normally, I'd feel inclined to throttle the life out of any boy who took sexual advantage of my darling daughter, but as it seems that she has chosen to take enthusiastic advantage of your seemingly not unattractive body, I feel I have to restrain myself."

His smile was friendly, despite his words.

"But Richard, she's not only all the things I've said, but she's my daughter, and I lavish a lot of money on her. Your financial circumstances are well below hers, and it would be easy for you to exploit that. If you stay together and, who knows, in the fullness of time, become my son-in-law, then your social advancement will have been as impressive as a Saturn V. You'll be marrying into wealth and influence. And if you earn my daughter's trust and affection that much, then I'll gladly welcome you into my family."

Again, despite the implied threat behind his words, his smile was still friendly. I could see why he'd been a successful politician.

"But be aware that it's Phoebe's name on the lease. You're subletting from her and, if you split up or my daughter kicks you out, you'll be the one looking for alternative accommodation. Understood? And that will be the very least of your worries. If you ever hurt my daughter in any way, there will be no end to the pain and suffering I'll inflict on you. That girl is my world, and I've lavished all the love and advantage I can on her. If she once complains to me about you, you'll discover just how much influence I can have over your life. It won't be nice. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Of course I understood. Money talks, and the more you have, the louder its voice. But shit, this was getting seriously heavy. I had visions of them finding parts of my body in the Thames if I forgot her birthday!

"Good. Now, for reasons that I partly understand, my daughter seems besotted with you. Keep that up and we'll all be friends." He stood up and reached out to shake my hand. "Glad we've cleared that up. Now, I brought a bottle of Bollinger with me and put it in the fridge. Shall we open it?"

I had no intention of splitting up with Phoebe, and it seemed she had no intention of discarding me any time soon. The previous term had been difficult, our sex life having to include inflating a mattress on the floor and sneaking out before first lecture. But now, with our own place and the rest of the academic year stretched out ahead of us, we were able to relax in one another's company.