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Everyone has a secret desire, our weakness, something dirty and shameful that we hide from the world. An addiction. For me it was sex.

It started out small enough. Well... eight inches is small, right? Size is relative, and all that, but it does matter, and... Getting ahead of myself. Eight inches of black latex, almost as thick as my wrist, with a motor inside that'd make your teeth chatter when set on "Richter scale". It was a Carisbrooke model BR453, "Rocket". To me, it was Bruce. Oh the batteries we went through...

Back in high school, I knew other girls were having sex, and I wanted to too, but the boys wouldn't even look at me. I didn't blame them. A pipsqueak of a mouse, barely any curves to speak of, dressed like a school marm or a nun-to-be, soda bottle glasses, straight As, one of three Valedictorians... I was invisible at best. I ached for all the things a girl does; love, affection, companionship, and a rock hard dick sating my needs. But I couldn't have it, so I settled for focusing on school work and picked up Bruce. I love the internet.

Maybe I focused on school a little too hard. Putting all that frustrated energy and all my loneliness into my studies meant suffering in the friends department. Being an only child with cousins who lived out of state, it meant I grew up surrounded by adults; it's why I relate to teachers much more than my peers. Since I wasn't predisposed to be a social butterfly, there was no incentive to try and no successes, aside from the tiny ring of invisibles and castaways that clung together like survivors on ship debris. But all that achievement scored me enough scholarships to have pick of the litter for schools, which tore me away from the circle of confidants I was so interwoven with.

I always told myself that as soon as I reached a higher level of education, the kids would be different, would appreciate my intelligence and my character and not the fact I looked like I was born to be a librarian. Sadly, middle school proved to be the hormone breeding pit and the real beginning of social stratification, high school amounted to a micro-cultural battle ground, and college became a shadow of high school with harder classes.

Old habits die hard; I stayed in the same rut. Hard work, avoiding any semblance of a social life, and watching everyone have fun outside my bubble of isolation. Except this time, two things were different. First, I discovered online sex. Sure, porn was interesting for ideas of fantasies, but the interactive nature of the internet really opened up to me; I got to roleplay actual hot sex and explore fantasies, and it hit me like a sledge hammer. Since freshman classes were lightweight, I spent a lot of free time on the computer, and upgraded to a new toy (named Duke).

The second exception was the fact I had a roommate. Back home I had my own room and parents who gave space, but now the issue of privacy reared its ugly head. To say the least, there many a long night I wish I could have had Bruce or Duke, especially with the online stuff really taking off. So, mentally I was exhilarated and filled with pleasure and desire and all these new ideas, but now I was really, really getting sexually frustrated. Finally, near the end of the semester, I just said fuck it, grabbed one of my Boys and started blowing off some steam in a bathroom stall.

After spending the summer back home with more quality time between me, my toys and my computer, I came back to college to a new roommate. Carmelita was the opposite of me; athletic, curvy, energetic, and above all, a party girl. A built jaguar on the volleyball team and in a sorority, she considered herself an expert on dating, fashion, and men. Her brand of "encouragement" also reinforced my dismal opinion of my appearance, such as dropping a half-full box of pizza on my homework and declaring, "You have to eat something to get some curves, chica."

Another one of her charming qualities was the belief that spending my weekends in front of a screen was a grave sin. I should be "experiencing the grand opportunity of college". Initially I loved the privacy when she went out, but after the first few weeks, it became a week-long battle to be left behind. She wanted to drag me out to "have fun".

Eventually, I caved.

Naturally, she took me to the worst place possible for a girl with issues of body image who believes boys can't see her: a frat party. Scratch that, a kegger. Carmelita was under the impression that as soon as I dived in head first I'd take to it like an otter to water. Yeah, right. Proving her wrong was no victory I took pride in, and it didn't stop her from hassling me the next weekend either. But something did come of it.

Almost as soon as we walked through the door, Carmelita waded into the throng of people like she belonged. Oh sure, she introduced me to a few of her "sisters" and a boy or two, but the former were too chatty with each other for me to really feel at ease with the conversation, and the latter paid too much attention to my roommate's chest. After that, it felt like we were at some sporting event - my roommate on the court, doing her thing like she was born to do it and me on the side lines silently cheering her on at first, before soon losing interest.

To say the party initially was a drag is an understatement. I played the part of the wallflower for about thirty minutes, tried to take the initiative by diving into a conversation or two and ending up failing with flying colors, and stumbled over myself to avoid a few pledges who looked drunk enough to puke on my at a moment's notice. Eventually I spotted a freshman who looked like she was in the same situation as me. Angelique, I think. We huddled together and talked, and for a while I felt good. That's when things started to really pick up.

I'd been drinking. It was my first time, and in addition to seeing what all the fuss was about, my plan was that after a few beers I'd loosen up. Despite the stuff tasting awful, I downed two or three cups, and after talking with Angelique so long, nature was ringing pretty loud. Seems nature was having a conference call; both the downstairs and upstairs hall bathroom was occupied. The one in the master bedroom of the frat house was thankfully empty.

Once finished, I glanced into the mirror. Carmelita had attempted miracles to give me a makeover, but one is limited by the resources at paw; those thick glasses perched on my sandy gold muzzle, and I still only capped five foot one. Rather than in its braid, my black hair bounced in curls. A snug t-shirt I didn't wear too often, which did nothing to hide my scrawny shoulders, had been carved to complement what little chest I had. Below that hung a skirt I'd been willing to part with, left to the jaguar's artful tearing to show off some thin legs. The big hoop earrings my roommate had lent looked goofy in my ears; they just hung there like coasters. Dress heels ended the little outfit that couldn't.

Staring hard at my reflection, I took a second to step back from my glowering self-pity. I didn't look bad. Not able to compete with the half-dressed bunnies and foxes downstairs, but all right. Maybe it was just my disposition; there I was hiding in the corner and too afraid of that look on someone's face when I fumble, can't think of anything to talk to them about, and stutter to silence. Other people, especially in crowds, were scary.

That sounded pretty insightful. Or it could be the beer talking.

My thoughts were shattered by a slamming door. In the bedroom adjacent to the bathroom, I could pick up hushed whispers and rustling. Staying as quiet as... well, a mouse, I listened. More of the same, with the occasional wet smack. Cradling the doorknob, I eased it in a turn, and slid the door open a crack.

A couple was sexually mauling one another. From the way they were standing, I could only see him from behind. He stood tall, lean and really slinky, some weasel or mink, and his dark hair hung up in some Asian topknot. Gripping the back of his head clutched a dark paw, and the sound of wet kissing was everywhere, while the other groped up and down his back, and I could hear nails sliding against the nylon of his tight top. Said partner didn't let his shirt stay on long, peeling the mustelid's top off and baring a long expanse of dark, honey fur. Those pants didn't last long either, and I had a good eye full of the taut legs and an ass so tight and bitable contained in a pair of silky little boxers.

Even if he had picked her over me, it would have been too rude to walk out of the bathroom and get the hell out of there; disrupting their moment could have ended the guy's chances. Shutting the door and just waiting in there would have been a no go, because just listening to them fuck would have driven me crazy. So I watched.

Dropping a hand to my breast, I began to squeeze. It was dirty to be getting off intruding on their moment, but the weasel was kicking up some fierce, spicy musk, and the alcohol had coursed through my little body, and he looked so good.

Behind his partner swayed a banded tail, dark and chestnut brown, something I assumed belonged to a raccoon. When his head ducked down, grabbing one of her tits to suck on, the hunch was confirmed. I recognized her; the girl that sat a row or two in my Comprehensive Writing course, a little brunette with a full figure named Lilly. I could see the black nipple of the large breast his paw was mauling, and the way her eyes crinkled shut, with flared nostrils and whiskers twitching, how she hissed into his ear, I knew he was sucking good and rough on the other. Teeth settled over his ear as she stuffed a paw into the back of his boxers. That got his attention.

It got mine too. Watching with bated breath I stared at the pair, palm kneading over my breast. As the weasel worked her nipple around, tugging on it roughly, I did the same to my own. Beneath the trimmed t-shirt, I rolled the hard nub around. The other paw sneaked downwards, palm grinding across the inside of a thigh, before I squeezed both of them around my hand. It must have been the booze taking away my inhibitions.

Down went the mustelid's boxers, peeled off that peach of an ass. It was taut with lean muscle, melting into equally toned, powerful thighs, juicy enough to make you want to sink your teeth into it. Lilly's fingers dug into the curvature, making the furred flesh dent. That lit a match to her boy's fuse - he shoved her backwards onto the bed. From there, he practically tore her jeans off, and yanked a little red thong up off her ankles. Apparently he liked those legs up in the air - paws wrapped around her ankles and leaned forward, bending her in half.

It occurred to me that I was still watching them. Sure, you'd think that'd be obvious, but if I could see them, they could see me - Lily at least - so I wisely repositioned myself. Easing down onto my knees, I lay down and scooted around until my head rested next to the door's crack, peering out at them. Dropping a hand to pull my skirt up, I traced myself through the common cotton of my panties. I know the details of my feminine geography like the back of my hand, but it doesn't stop one from prolonging the tease, caressing every sensitive spot.

With the shifted angle, I had a perfect, unobstructed and safe view of the action. His pink-white shaft, long and thin, moved up into position above her flush, black mound. Crotches met with a wicked, wet slap, and they were off, fucking with such tenacity that I could feel it from ten feet away.

Musk, rich and twanged with both genders, flooded the room. Juice-slicked flesh smacking together and joined with the grunts, hisses, and moans, made a sexual symphony that had me drunker than the cheap tap downstairs. I dragged the bothersome panel of my panties aside, giving room to work over now sopping folds. The courting of thumb and clit hood lasted far too long, but being sensitive, it required careful affection. The rest did not. Without further a due, two fingers eagerly filled me, quickly stirring in a hungry circle, and from there my digits spread, stroking all around with the swirl of my wrist.

If there's one thing to say about those living slinkies that are mustelids, it's that they can fuck. Lilly's boy pressed her ankles as high as he was going to get them, and bade her hold them, while his hands went... somewhere I couldn't see, but I assume solid enough to brace. Because suddenly he was doing pushups, shoving his shoulders back. That force traveled right down his spine, muscles rippling in its wake, and with the ferocity of his thighs pumps, he was driving the headboard into the wall at a demanding rate. The rhythm matched the dull thump of the boy's nuts across one of Lilly's broad ass cheeks. Above him, the mustelid's tail wafted like some streamer caught in the wind, graceful tremors telegraphing his every motion.

Compared to the racket they were making, I was silent. Not too great a challenge; I had spent a few nights my first year rubbing myself to delirium while my roommate slept, none the wiser. While my heart beat against my ribs like a coked out drummer, slow, even breaths came out of me. It became something to concentrate on while fingers fluttered about inside of me, then got down to business, pumping away hard enough to grate knuckles over the heat-flushed skin of my mons. Skin whisked across the linoleum as my tail undulated with every finger's shuffle.

Technique, not just enthusiasm, was part of the beau's repertoire. Winding fingers around Lilly's ankles, he spread her legs lewdly wide, to the point she hissed in discomfort. From there, the mustelids dipped his hips downwards and began to bounce her on his lap. Apparently the shift in angle did something for her, because it reduced the 'coon to desperate squeals. Suddenly her tail beat against the bed and an urgent, keening chitter erupted. I swear I could see the fluids bubbling out of her. One of the male's paws darted downwards, grinding his heel vigorously over the top of her dark quim.

Staring but barely seeing, I gritted my teeth at the feel the tension building. Close, so close. Tilting my hip some, I raised my upper leg and planted a foot on the floor, spreading thighs and really giving me room to work. Being as experienced as I was with myself, it didn't take long to strum all the right keys. With a little work from my wrist, I found it: that sweet spot. The pressure applied to it curled my toes and put boiling tension on the interior, and was more intense than a root canal. Despite the sensation, I needed more; with a swivel of my hand, I quickly started assailing the pearl of my clit. It became just a matter of pressing down and whisking back and forth, rubbing feverishly in between pinching into me further down.

I lost track of the couple in front of me. Sure, I was staring at the meeting of flesh, imaging that was me being drilled so well by him rather than by myself, but other than that I had no clue what was going on. Pressing and rubbing fingers back and forth, working... Working... The pressure was too much. Finally I turned my head, stuffed my nose into the crook of the other arm, bit down, and let out a great, muffled moan. All I could see was stars. Having my fingers saturated beneath the flow of fluids, clutched and milked by the quake of my muscles was merely secondary to the full body roil inside of me like some internal fire works show.

Lying on the floor, riding the ebbing crest of ecstasy, I worked to keep on going. With a bit of elbow grease and some strumming, the lowest part of one climax can become the beginning of another. There's no telling how long I stayed there, just toying away, an endless loop of semi-coherent surges of endorphins and fluids.

Lilly said, "...was great, but I need to clean up first."

That cut through my euphoria like wrecking ball. I sat up as quick as I could, sucking in a sudden breath. Oh shit. I practically jumped to my feet - bad idea, as my heels didn't want to find purchase on the fuzzy bathmat (what college guy has a bath mat!?) and my legs were still oh so wobbly from moments before.

With a stroke of panic-stricken creativity, I stepped out of my heels, into the tub, and then huddled in the back behind the shower curtain, silently praying that Lilly wouldn't notice me.

What if they caught me? Everyone at the party would know. It'd be a laughing stock, or labeled a pervert, or a slut. Would people talk to me then? What would Carmelita say?

Several long, tense moments went by as Lilly washed up in the sink, cleaned her self off, and used the commode. She looked at herself in the mirror, primped and a million other things while I was busy turning blue from holding my breath. Finally, she left, and I sagged, opened my eyes, and relaxed.

Then her beau came in. He noticed my heels long enough to kick them aside on his way to the toilet. Apparently he cared less about his hygiene, and once finished, walked back out to continue locking lips with Lilly. After about ten minutes of post-coital play, the two got dressed enough to stumble down stairs for another beer.

I made a run for it. I didn't care about washing up, getting the stink of sex off of me, just made a bee line for the door and out into the night. The whole walk home I thought about it, and the more I walked the hotter I got, the more my thighs rubbed together with each step. The thrill, the excitement, the sheer ... wickedness. When I got home, I attacked myself with a vibrator. Then I enjoyed a well deserved shower.

When Carmelita came stumbling in about two hours later, we talked. I told her about the evening up until the fated bathroom peepshow. It was hard to talk down about the party when I was still riding the high, but I managed. She dismissed my dour opinion of it all by assuring me that I was just too shy to enjoy myself, and that I'd get over it once I get out there more.

Lying in bed, pretending I could simply ignore it all and go to sleep after that, I couldn't help but reflect upon what I'd done, seen. So hot, so lewd, and they had no clue I was there. It was dirty and I felt guilty, yet just thinking about watching the pair sent a ruddy glow to my ears, made me warm elsewhere. After half an hour of reflection, I tried to distract myself with some headphones and soothing music, assuring myself that it was a rare occurrence, and I wouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing again.

But it would only get worse.