University is a complete waste of time if you ask me - unless you’re getting fucked by a different guy, from a different country with a different sexy accent every other day of the week. How can you compete with those northern sluts, with their perfectly straightened blonde hair, sun-bed tans and fuck-me shoes, looking like they'd just stepped off page 3 of a sleazy tabloid (but stopped for a few pies on the way). The answer is you can’t. Well, I couldn’t anyway. A catholic, posh, naïve, horny virgin with a conservative hairdo just doesn’t cut it compared to them. They wouldn’t know class if it slapped them in the face with an 8 inch cock, yet they still get all the action.

Take my flat mate Cara for example: you could argue that she was sexy, but she was also brazen, common and slutty, with a huge mouth, unattractively long stick on nails and in-your-face juicy breasts. Ticks all the northern boxes (I’ve just left Manchester University for your information). Apart from working in a ‘gentleman’s club’ for extra money and being secretary of the ‘Orgy Society’(don’t ask), almost every afternoon in her bedroom she’d begin performing wild, erotic role-plays with the man of her choice just the other side of my very thin wall making it ideal for eavesdropping: “Sir, I’ve been extremely naughty, I’ve been a very bad girl, you aren’t angry with me” she would beg, “I know haven’t done the assignment you set me, are you going to punish me? I can be such a good student and you know and I need to pass this module, I’ll do anything you want me to?” I’d usually be lying on top of my pink and purple Peter Jones bedcovers, wearing nothing but white pants, brushing my finger illicitly over them to stir up my hungry, achy pussy with eager but guilty anticipation. I couldn’t catch everything they said, lots of muttering amid intermittent squeals of pleasure not to mention that memorable noise of the bed bashing against the wall over and over again: “Oh Sir, you won’t tell my parents will you? I know I’ve been bad, but I can make it up to you…” I’d slide off my pants and look down at my soft, slim thighs, open and inviting with my neat strip of hair (fashioned by Cara) enticing my eyes to follow it down to where my dripping, unskilled abyss of surreptitious pleasure lay quivering. It was at this point I’d hear an almighty crash as they wrestled across the room: “I only wrote it because its way more thrilling than that boring Gabriel Garcia Márques essay you set; I knew you’d enjoy reading it because you’ve wanted me from the moment I walked into your classroom, haven’t you? I’ve seen you looking at my tits; you can’t resist my tight little cunt, can you Sir? Admit it, Sir, and then fuck me and give me my grades.” He’d fling her up against the wall just the other side to where I was lying; he’d be ripping off her blue stripy knickers but forcing her to keep on her school tie and tarty, tartan miniskirt. His deep voice would retort, severely and evocatively: “If anyone is making demands here, it’s me, and you know the only way you’re going to pass this year is to get on your knees and start sucking my cock, you naughty, dirty little girl?”

My hole would perspire so much that my bedcovers would become damp and pungent and I’d get soaking wet just listening to them, slowly sliding my finger in and out of my hungry, inexperienced fanny. My nipples would harden; my body would start to rock and then shake whilst I imagined being thrown up against that wall by some young, powerful and dominating Spanish professor. I’d imagine him demanding me to remove all my clothes even though his trousers were still hung round his ankles, with his brown leather belt lying presumptuously at his feet. I’d imagine being teased with his course yet delicate fingers, before bending me over his desk, holding me tight in his grip and thrusting inside me with his big, Latin shaft. My fingers would gradually accelerate, my breath shorten, my pussy dampen even more until eventually I climaxed... an experience which for me, compares only to a volcanic explosion; natural and unexplained, powerful and dangerous, very hot and very bad…

I can make myself wet, I can dream up the smuttiest fantasies with the right inspiration. I can give myself an earth shattering orgasm, but I’ve never been screwed by a real man. And that’s why I’m going to London. In 3 days I’ve an interview for a PR job. I’m beautiful so people tell me, I’m bright and I’m well spoken. No one needs to know I’m a virgin, and if all goes to plan, I won’t be one for very long…

Three days until the interview in London. Maybe it’s nerves, but every time I think about it, I just end up in this filthy sexual fantasy. It’s a group interview, and we’re all girls, aged between 20 and 25. We’ve introduced ourselves, and spoken a bit about our backgrounds, what we could bring to the job, etc… Then the interviewer guy, who’s about 40, typical Londony business bloke, is like; “OK, you’ve all proved you can talk the talk, but let’s see how far you’re really willing to go for this opportunity.” Then he walks over to the office door and locks it, turns to us and says, in a very cold, businesslike voice; “Tits out, all of you.” At first, nobody moves, we all just kind of look at each other, glance at him, then stare at the floor. “Well?” he says, leaning against his desk, folding his arms and arching an eyebrow, his thin, mean lips setting into a mocking leer.

This one girl, dark hair, bushy eyebrows, seems to be the oldest among us, is like; “Er… I’m sorry, but, are you joking?” I think she’s from the Midlands. He just looks at her, then at the door. “You’re welcome to leave if you’re not comfortable,” he says. She pauses for a moment, as if she’s weighing up whether it’s really happening, or if it’s a dream, a nightmare, or a fucking joke. And then she turns and walks quickly to the door, fumbles awkwardly to unlock it, and as she opens it she stops, and turns halfway round. She’s looking straight at me. I don’t know what I see in her eyes. Pity? A plea to join her and walk out in protest. Desire? A foreshadow of regret? I feel my cheeks burn and I fix my eyes back on the beige office carpet.

He locks the door behind her. “Tits.” he says, “Out. Now”. “Fuck it,” I think, and I start to unbutton my shirt. My hands are shaking, but my cunt is wet, and getting wetter by the second. Everything is going kind of blurry. I have never been in a situation like this before. I was always the one in control with the boys from round here, but this man is different, and with these other girls here too… They are also taking off their tops, there are four of us left here now. My heart is pounding really fast, my nipples are as hard as two little bullets and my fanny is starting to ache…

“Good girls,” he says. “Now, this is kind of a “getting to know you” exercise, turn to the girl next to you, and take her nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, squeeze them hard.” I do what he says. The girl next to me is a redhead, taller than me. She looks posh, a bit shy, but with a slutty look in hr eyes. She moans softly as I pinch her nipples, a little harder than necessary if I’m honest. “Girl on the left,” he says (that’s me), “lift up your partner’s skirt.” I do as I’m told, exposing the redhead’s round ass in a dark purple thong. Over her shoulder I see the other pair of girls mirror our movements and the lust this provokes in me drives me to hook my fingers under the sides of her knickers, pulling them upwards and knowing that she can feel them cutting up between her lips. He laughs. “Some of you are getting into this,” he says. “little slags.” I vaguely notice that his accent seems to have changed from posh businessman to something more like cockney wide-boy and a half-question forms in the back of my mind about the legitimacy of this interview and the possibility of hidden cameras. But I am too horny to care.

“Now, left-hand girls, pull your little friend’s knickers aside and get hold of her clit.” It’s not difficult to do what he says. The girl’s cunt is hot and wet and her clit is swollen and hard. I find it instantly an start to work it with my middle finger. She squeezes harder on my nipples. We are both breathing hard, our lips almost touching. “Now kneel down. Look at her cunt,” he orders. I obey. “Right-hand girls, open your legs, wide, and push your pussies into your partner’s face.” She does it. And I am smothered by her wetness and surrounded by her smell. I am so turned on.

Somehow in the haze I realise that the other two girls have been sent away and we have been chosen. “You two are almost there,“ he says. “Just one more little test.“ As I am licking her pussy he lifts my skirt, grabs my ass, digs his nails into the soft flesh and then forces apart my ass cheeks and cunt lips. With one rapid thrust he stuffs his huge, solid cock into me from behind. She is up against the desk, squirming and writhing as I suck on her clit and he is fucking me hard, ramming his dick right up me, making me buck and pushing my face into her fanny with his hand on the back of my head. My face is squashed up against her slippery cunt and I can barely breathe but my tongue keeps working fast as I gasp for air. With his other hand he slides his finger backwards from my clit, to my arsehole, and then pushes it roughly inside. First one, then quickly two fingers reaching deep into my tight, clenched ass. It’s more than I can bear, but my cry is muffled as the girl starts to come, grinding her pelvis into my face and gripping my head between her strong, slim thighs. I have a shuddering, explosive orgasm, imagining her juices in my mouth and him filling up both my holes. And I am alone in my bed, panting, my fingers sticky with the scent of my fantasy. I hope London will live up to my expectations.