Freaky CeCe 04
CeCe Wants to be Free
As the semester wound down, the first real crisis in CeCe's unapologetic lifestyle loomed like a storm cloud over our urban city skyline. She was heading home for the summer—back to her family's strict household on the outskirts, where the internet was heavily blocked and censored, monitored by her oppressive parents who still treated her like the sheltered girl she'd once been. They had no idea how far she'd strayed, and CeCe dreaded the thought of being cut off. She didn't want to burn out on studying or summer courses; it'd be nice to have an actual academic break, lounging in the humid heat, maybe catching up on sleep. But she needed her porn—the constant stream of it that had become her lifeline.
She hadn't stopped watching since that first night I'd shown her, not even for a day. In fact, after our heart-to-heart during spring break, it was all she'd been consuming, scrolling endlessly on her phone or laptop, her curvy body always bare or barely covered, fingers working her slick folds as explicit scenes played out. She hadn't worn a bra in months, her full C-cup breasts free under loose tops or nothing at all, nipples often peeking through fabric as if daring the world to notice.
I found her one evening in our dorm, pacing naked, her caramel skin glistening with anxious sweat, thick thighs trembling as she clutched her phone like a talisman. Tears streamed down her face, her usual confidence crumbling into a full-blown breakdown. “Tasha, I can't do this,” she sobbed, collapsing onto the bed, her juicy ass sinking into the mattress as she curled up. “Home's a prison—no porn, no freedom. I can't be naked. They'll watch everything. What if I lose it? I need it, like air. It's my everything now.”
I sat beside her, pulling her into my arms, her bare breasts pressing against me as I stroked her back, calming her the way only I could. “Shh, breathe, CeCe. We'll figure it out. Remember, I can send you stuff—through any chat app, like Telegram. It's encrypted, private. Videos, links, whatever you need. I'll keep you stocked, okay? You won't go without.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide with relief, and nodded, her sobs easing into shaky breaths. But as the days turned into weeks and she headed home, I realized how important she was to me. I was falling for her hard. But right now, I couldn't tell her. Not with the looming transition from freedom to a prison of clothing and morality. I knew in these moments, I just had to be her rock and send her porn and assure her that everything will be ok.
I sent her porn religiously—curated clips of exhibitionist scenes, gooning sessions, whatever matched her escalating tastes—slipping them through Telegram in the dead of night, careful not to trigger her family's filters. She was dealing with their constant judgment and their the suffocating rules. I kept her supplied, feeding this beautiful addiction from afar. Porn was her only anchor amid the oppressive chaos.
That's how I became CeCe's enabler, especially when she didn't have free and open internet. And in the process, I have to admit, I developed my own growing porn addiction—hours spent hunting for the perfect videos to send her, diving deeper into the rabbit hole myself, my nights blurring into a haze of arousal as I knew I had to be in CeCe's world to really be with her. I loved it.
CeCe made it through that grueling summer, thanks in no small part to my covert porn deliveries via Telegram—clips of wild exhibitionist scenes that kept her sane amid her family's stifling rules. When sophomore year kicked off, we scored dorms together again. Full credit went to CeCe and her well-crafted tactics and requests. I don't question her ways. I just like watching her work her magic.
Our dorm for this year was in a taller building on the edge of campus, overlooking the bustling Georgia city streets below. It felt like a fresh start, our little sanctuary where she could let loose without judgment. But CeCe had been up to something super perverted over the break, a secret she hadn't breathed a word about until we were unpacking boxes in our new room.
One evening, as we settled in, she stripped naked as usual—her caramel curves on full display, thick thighs spreading as she lounged on her bed with her phone in hand. That's when she confessed, her voice casual but laced with that familiar thrill. “You know, Tasha, when my parents left the house for errands or whatever, I'd sneak out to the backyard completely naked. Just me, the sun on my skin, watching porn on my phone and masturbating right there in the open air. Fingers deep in my pussy, moaning loud enough for the neighbors to maybe hear if they listened close. It was risky, but God, it felt amazing—wind on my tits, grass under my ass, coming hard while some video played of a girl flashing in public.”
I stared at her, my heart racing, a mix of shock and that twisted arousal she always stirred in me. “CeCe, that's... insane. What if someone saw?”
She laughed, rubbing her clit absentmindedly as she scrolled for her next fix. “I can't stop escalating, Tasha. Being forced to wear clothes indoors all summer? It built up this rebellion in me. When they were gone, I had to get it all out—bare, exposed, free. It's like my body's screaming for more now.” Her eyes sparkled with that calculated recklessness; she wasn't dumb about it—she timed it perfectly, checked the angles, made sure the yard's fences hid just enough. But it was pushing boundaries further than ever.
Then she glanced at our third-floor window, the city lights twinkling below like distant stars. “Hey, can we keep the blinds open at all times? Maybe the window wide open too until it's too cold? Up here, no one's really looking, but the breeze... it'd feel so good on my skin while I watch and play.”
I hesitated, biting my lip, knowing it was another step into her world. But this woman—my fearless, addictive CeCe—was more exciting than any relationship I could imagine with someone else. Guys seemed boring by comparison; she kept life electric, charged with that platonic tension we danced around. “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, cracking the window open, the humid night air rushing in. “Just... be careful.”
As sophomore year progressed, I made a conscious decision to invest more time in CeCe, pouring my energy into our unique bond. I'd gone on a few dates during freshman year—casual flings with guys from class or apps—but after our raw heart-to-heart over spring break, they all paled in comparison. My mind always drifted back to her, to the electric tension we shared, the way her fearless spirit lit up my world. No one else was as captivating, as alive. CeCe, meanwhile, with my help, had developed a deeper kink.
She wasn't watching porn; she was becoming what she saw. She wanted to be fully consumed by her porn addiction. Her sessions in our dorm grew longer and more intense, often with the windows open to let the city breeze tease her bare skin. In turn, I normalized it and never judged her. Sometimes I even encouraged her just to see her smile while she was rubbing herself silly into her 4th hour of gooning.
However, I wanted to bring a little bit of balance into her life. I figured it was time to coax her out of her “porn cave,” as I started calling our room. Not big crowds or wild parties—that'd overwhelm her—but simple outings to change the scenery: leisurely walks in quiet parks, cozy corners in small cafes where we could sip coffee and people-watch. “Come on, CeCe,” I'd say, “fresh air might do you good. Balance things out a bit.” To my surprise, she agreed, her eyes lighting up with that mischievous spark. “Sure, Tasha. As long as I can be comfortable.”
Of course, “comfortable” meant going out braless under one of her hoodies—she had ten different colors now, zipped just enough to hint at her full C-cup breasts swaying freely beneath, and it was basically all she wore when leaving the dorms. I expected that much; it was her signature look, rebellious and teasing. But CeCe had something planned she didn't tell me, a perverted twist she'd cooked up in secret.
On our first night out, we headed to a dimly lit cafe a few blocks from campus, the city streets humming with evening traffic. She wore her usual: a loose gray hoodie and tiny black shorts that barely peeked out from under the hem. Halfway through our walk, she pulled me into a shadowed alley, grinning like she'd won the lottery. “Check this out, Tasha,” she whispered, hiking up the hoodie just enough to reveal the truth.
Her shorts? They'd been modified—the crotch completely cut out, leaving a massive hole that exposed her slick, shaved pussy to the cool air. She was essentially naked in public, but still “covered” from a distance. The fabric acted like garters, framing her thick thighs and covering her juicy ass, while ensuring something dangled below the hoodie to mimic normal shorts. Topless underneath, pussy fully on display if anyone got close enough. “See? I can feel the breeze right on my clit, but no one's the wiser. It's perfect—exposed but hidden.”
I sighed, shaking my head, a familiar mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration washing over me. “CeCe... seriously?” But I couldn't stop smiling. Can't stay mad at her. This was just how she was—reckless yet calculated, always one step ahead in her escalation game. True to her word, she started going out more with me, as long as she could rock this setup. We'd stroll through parks, her exposed pussy brushing against the modified shorts with every step, or sit in cafes where she'd subtly rock her hips, savoring the thrill. I went along with it, my silent vow to her holding strong.
Eventually, though, CeCe started escalating this activity too, pushing the boundaries like she always did. One sunny afternoon, we ventured to a secluded park on the city's outskirts, a quiet spot with winding paths and hidden benches surrounded by trees. We found a bench away from the main trails, chatting about classes and her latest porn finds.
Even though I was right there with her while she was gooning, she was so animated and happy when she talked about porn. Sometimes she talked in circles about her obsession. I just got lost in her eyes as she showed me how comfortable and safe she felt with me.
During her passionate discussion about her porn addiction, she did something new in the park. Without hesitation, she spread her legs wide, the cut-out shorts framing her dripping pussy as she slipped her fingers inside, rubbing her clit in slow, deliberate circles while maintaining eye contact. She smiled when she saw my reaction. Then she changed the subject. “So, what do you think about that new engineering prof?” she asked casually, her breath hitching as she plunged deeper, moans mixing with her words.
Instead of reacting or pulling her back, I just carried on the conversation, my voice steady. “He's tough, but fair—way better than last year's. Pass me the water?” At this point, what CeCe did was normal to me; her shameless masturbation, even in semi-public, had become just another part of our rhythm, as familiar as her laugh or the curve of her caramel hips. I corrupted her and in turn, she wanted to corrupt me.
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