The Tipping of a Roommate - Chapter 1

I knelt on the yoga mat my knees shoulder width apart, thighs tensed, my breath coming in small sighs. I wore loose shorts, a t-shirt that showed U of A across my chest and a ornate rosary wrapped around my neck. Not that I cared much about religion, but I had taken it from the desk of the religious studies sophomore I met last night. I had slipped from his room at 3 a.m. and had left him whimpering on his bed the marks on his back this time from my hand holding his own whip. It hadn't taken me long to get him to open up about his love to self flagellate. But really I could do such a better job of cleansing him of his sins with the pain he desired after I made sure he had committed some decidedly naughty sinning.

I knelt there with a large toy pushed deep inside my pussy vibrating so deliciously. Holding it with a strength that came from doing this particular exercises three times a week. Yes, yoga and sex, they seemed together effortlessly. I was already fit, my body was already strong and lean from being on both my high school's volleyball and track teams. It was a track scholarship to this college that allowed me to at last escape my small hometown. And I was so eager to explore all the possibilities, new adventures available here to me now. Kneeling there I felt the little orgasm ripple through my body, just a small bit of pleasure that I simply took for granted. Orgasms came to me easily which was one reason I sought out the darker and often rougher sides of sex. I reached down into my shorts and pulled the pink toy from my body, turning around I slipped it under my mattress and just as I turned back around the door to my dorm room opened. Standing there in the doorway was a large, imposing looking man. His clothes were clean, but clearly not new. He looked like a farmer dressed up to go to town.

He stepped into the room. His eyes took notice of me still there on my knees directly in front of him. I could feel his judgment upon me as he looked at me there. But then, suddenly there was the smallest shift in his demeanor and I knew somehow I had passed this silent inspection.

“We are sorry, to interrupt your prayers,” he said to me.

Ah, so that was it, me on my knees, the rosary, my head bowed from the exertion of the exercises I had just finished, I have always loved those who make incorrect assumptions about me and this man thought I was innocently praying. Well in a way I was, just to my own gods of pleasure and desire. But I will admit I do tend to look sweet and innocent to those who don't know me. Long straight blond hair, pale skin that lends itself toward freckles across my nose and cheeks, and a slim strong body from years of sports. I was very girl sweet and nice next door.

As I rose to my feet I watched as from behind him two women, one old and worn, one young and clearly shy slipped into my room. Neither said anything, and both held their heads and eyes downcast.

“Becca come introduce yourself to this good young woman,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

“Hello, I am Rebecca Turner,” the girl said softly while holding out her hand to me. Here dirty light brown hair fell forward over her puffy little face. She was a small girl, but slightly overweight, just a bit but the extra weight made her seem soft all over.

“And this is my wife, Margerie.” The man put a hand behind the other woman's back and propelled her toward me. She too shook my hand but never really looked up at me. Then he said to me, “I see you are a good Christian girl. That is very pleasing. We were worried about what kind of girl our Becca would be put with.” And he gave a nod in the girl's direction.

I didn't correct his misconception of my religious leanings. Clearly it would be better if these people thought I was what they wanted me to be.

“We will be going to Africa on missionary work now that Becca is to be settled here. We have been wanting to spread the faith to the heathens for many years, but never wanted to expose our girl to their ways,” he said, then turned to his daughter again. “Get your bag and get settled. We don't have much time.” She scurried out the door at his order and was quickly back with one large duffel bag. Becca's father reached into the bag and pulled out a large worn bible that had obviously been put on top. He placed it on the bed and then grabbed both their hands pull them down to their knees with him as he knelt there next to her bed. He turned to me and said, “Will you pray with us?” I smiled and knelt again on my little mat. I could play this game, often enough back home I would sit quietly in church only really waiting to meet Billy Peters the preacher's son in the woods for a bit of tickle and tease.

I knelt through Mr. Turner's long winded prayer about watching out for his daughter's soul while they spent the next four years in the wilds of Africa. I knelt while he went on about giving me strength to help guide their daughter in the proper behavior of a good Christian girl. I knelt while he spoke of keeping her past wicked ways from her mind and body. I perked up a bit at this bit of interesting tease. But he was quickly droning on more about having their journey be safe. Many long and boring minutes later we again stood and with very little affection to their daughter Mr. Turner led Mrs. Turner out the door and they were gone.

“Well, I already took this bed, so you can have that one.” I said to her and she just nodded and began unpacking. I tried a bit of small talk. But my questions were answered with only yes and no whispers and after just a few minutes I was bored with it all and decided to go see who was hanging out down in the quad.

For the next week we only really said hello and goodbye in passing. Well, I think this is what she was saying, as her verbalizing to me was barely audible. We each started classes and soon I was going out with new friends, she stayed in and studied and studied. Then a week and half in to our first meeting I heard more then a hello,goodbye, or a yes and no, I heard a moan.

It was almost to two in the morning. I was still awake, reading in bed with a little book light. I had set a little curtain around my own bed so I was certain she couldn't tell if I was up or not. When I came in earlier I realized I had to get some studying done if I was going to keep up my grades and keep my scholarship. Laying there reading I heard what almost sounded like a small animal mewling from across the room. I smiled to myself and thought this might be that wickedness that Mr. Turner was talking about in his prayer. This timid little thing was having some fun on her side of the room. I got up and went and stood over her, I was never shy about this sort of naughtiness. She was laying there with her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and biting her bottom lip.

“Becca, dear are you okay? You sound as if you are in pain.” I shook her shoulder none to gently and her eyes flew open, clearly panicked. “Let me see dear, are you sick? Is your stomach upset?” And I tossed back her blanket. I knew exactly what I would find, but I did want to see where this particular wickedness might lead. There under the scant privacy of her blanket her ugly flannel nightgown was wadded up around her hips and her awful granny panties were pushed down at her knees and her little plump hand was buried deep in the fur covered folds of her pussy. Oh, this girl needed to trim up this mess of a pussy.

To be continued...