Incredibly, Abby broke away from Tom.
"We can't do it tonight, Tom," she told him. "My roommate's due any second.”
"To hell with that." Tom's face flushed and his hard prick was obvious in his pants.
"Tush, tush," said Abby. "Cheryl's a weird one, Tom. Her father's a big time alumni-type around here. John B. Wallace of New York City.”
"New York's a long way off.”
"He flies here all the time. And I've got his daughter as a roommate. She's a big city square. She'll tell-and goodbye Deltas.”
"Abby, I'm crazy for you.”
"I dig you, too, Tom, but there's my father, besides. He's an alumnus and he knows old Wallace. He'll jerk me out of here and it's goodbye college for me.”
"So why did you pick this turkey for a roomie?”
"I didn't." Abby went on to explain that she'd never laid eyes on Cheryl until a month ago. Cheryl lived in New York, Abby in Chicago. But the fathers, as Brighton graduates, knew each other through the years. So the Deltas pledged Cheryl and when Cheryl asked shyly if she could room with Abby, the chapter president insisted.
"Do you like this Cheryl?" asked Tom. He'd slumped on the bed, while Abby put away her goodies. Evidently he liked Abby too much to push against her will.
"Don't like her, don't hate her," shrugged Abby. "She's got a body that won't stop, though. If she ever takes off in sex-watch out!… Now then, Tom, back to the Sigma house with you.”
Tom let her push him out of the room. "There may be a surprise wakeup breakfast over here from the Sigmas tomorrow," he grinned. "Maybe I'll catch you in bed, honey.”
"Maybe you will," said Abby. She closed the door on Tom and leaned against it.
Cheryl had drunk in all the information as her masturbating hand slowed and stopped. She felt sorry that the action was over. But it was great to know that Abby thought she had a sexy body! Her cunt still glowed, swollen and wet. I dig you, too, Abby, she thought.
But there was to be no surcease of the sex action after all. To Cheryl's surprise, Abby locked the door, stripped off her blouse and bra and reached for something under the bed. She rolled out an ordinary soccer ball. Cheryl recognized it from the black and white panels. Abby stepped carefully out of her clothes, clad now only in sexy nylon panties. She sat down squarely on the soccer ball, long thighs stretched out and began to rock the ball tight against her crotch. At the same time she cupped her breasts and kneaded them, moaning.
"Oh, Allen, Allen, if you were only here, lover! I need you. I need sex.”
Cheryl almost died. She'd never seen anything as sexy as Abby getting it off on that soccer ball. No wonder the sport was popular with girls these days! There was the luscious Abby, naked practically, and hot for sex, and here she was just as high and hot. Yet Cheryl dared not reveal herself. She'd waited a month for Abby to pull that damnable necklace out of hiding and there it was, almost forgotten on Abby's dressing table. If she came out of the closet now there'd be too many questions.”
Lips parted, face flushed in excitement, Cheryl stayed in the closet, working her cunt again, thrilling to the deep, new rushes of sexuality as her roommate a few feet away likewise moaned in bitch pleasure as she rocked on the ball and palmed her breasts, long red hair flowing, lips parted arid gleaming, face dreamy with hot bodily desires.
Cheryl trembled in her hunger for contact with the lovely vision before her eyes, that fine skin softly gleaming, those long, naked thighs working soft, sexy muscles as the girl immolated her cunt and crooned out her deep sex needs.
In about ten seconds, Cheryl knew, she was going to burst out of the closet and fling herself on the near-naked girl. The only thing that saved her was her rising rush to orgasm. Abby's weird form of masturbation turned her on like mad. Abby's exposure of all that nude flesh was just too much. She'd seen flashes before, but never so much and never when Abby was sexed up. Cheryl felt faint and femininely powerful at the same time. Crazy hot flashes of pleasure consumed her, paralyzing her thighs, her buttocks, her belly and breasts. She felt tight and swollen and open and aching at the same time. She felt like queen of the world as she gave herself over to orgasm, the exquisite freeze and then the relieving cunt throbs. She had to surrender soft cries of wonder, mercifully covered because Abby's own fires blazed at the same time. Abby gave a strangled cry of intense pleasure and gave up to spasms.
"Ah, ehhhhh, ah, ah, ah," she crooned. There they were, two beautiful young women getting it off, burning out their passions… but not with men, not even with each other, although they were roommates. As Cheryl subsided into the glow of after sex, tears misted her eyes. That cursed necklace and her father's stupidity on his Chicago trip to give Abby's crazy boyfriend a chance to steal it, added up to this impossible situation.
Abby finished her orgasm with winsome sighs, rose, pushed the ball back under her bed and put on a robe, but not before Cheryl, in the closet, saw the thrilling evidence of Abby's deep sexuality, those stained panties that told of Abby's lubricity… Abby went on into the bathroom.
Now!
Cheryl almost leaped from the closet and scooped up the necklace. She felt the high thrill of success as she held it in her hands, hard, glittering in a thousand shards of color, breathtaking in its beauty, despite its garishness. Cheryl, like her father, appreciated good jewelry. She let out a huge sigh of relief. Ever since summer, this gorgeous piece of jewelry had corrupted her life and her father's.
"The company won't accept the fact I lost the Gypsy," her father had told her in August.
"They think you connived with the thief?" she asked, incredulous. Her father was an officer in a top New York jewelry firm. His honesty was beyond question.
"They thought my story was weak," he said. "It's true. I took the Gypsy to Chicago to sell to my old college buddy, Harry Windsor. He was on vacation; Harry was always careless about appointments. Only his daughter was in their big house. Foolishly, I told the girl that I had it; where I stayed. Her young boyfriend was there-a young ruffian named Alien. He and a buddy were the masked men that stole it from me later. He was poor; he thought it a great stroke to give it to the daughter, Abby, for nothing.”
"But-but-" Cheryl sputtered.
"Oh, I argued with the girl, begged with her. But I couldn't go to the police, not while I had a chance to talk her out of it.”
She understood that. Harry Windsor, old college friend and rich Chicago merchant, was John Wallace's best customer and a Brighton University trustee. There was too much to lose through police action.
"The company gave me three months to get it back," said John. "I know we can… if you'll only go to Brighton, register, make friends with the girl.”
Cheryl stormed and wept and pled with him over that. Her big dream was to go to Vassar, not some stupid Midwestern university like Brighton.
"You promised me, over the years," Cheryl wailed. "I have everything but my room assignment at Poughkeepsie. I can't go to Brighton!”
"Only for a semester, till this is settled.”
"No, I won't… ”
But she had to. The company suspended her father with no salary. All of a sudden, money was tight. Wallace had never saved much money. With his wife long dead, his passions had been his only daughter Cheryl and donations to Brighton. Cheryl sometimes thought he was almost glad he could force her to go to his alma mater instead of Vassar. Maybe he could've tried harder to get back the Gypsy if Abby had not already been a student at Brighton. He liked the idea of Cheryl coming here.
Well, Cheryl meant to go to Vassar, not Brighton, and with the necklace recovered there was no way to stop her. She'd fly to New York this weekend-maybe tomorrow!-give the Gypsy to her father and he could return it to the company and resume his job. She'd drop out of Brighton and go to Vassar next term. She'd always hated her father's simple-minded attachment to the Midwestern university when he lived in New York. Vassar was the school that would open doors to Cheryl in the future, not Brighton University.