Freaky CeCe 05
CeCe makes a Choice
As sophomore year wore on, CeCe's escalations took on a new, thrilling edge in our third-floor dorm room. I think it was still a dorm room. CeCe calls it our gooncave. She might be right. The faint scent of body spray, lotion, and pussy always hung in the air. The blinds were permanently open at all times, with the open windows inviting the city's humid breeze and distant sounds of traffic and nightlife. CeCe's coos and moans were a forever constant. And of course porn.
Porn everywhere. Porn all the time. She'd started sleeping with porn playing. She plays porn loud in the shower. If the room is silent or if CeCe isn't there rubbing and playing, it doesn't feel like home. I'm here for it all. Oh, and she does ace all her classes. She's truly a force of porn-addicted nature.
After long study sessions—hours hunched over textbooks and laptops, her engineering genius shining through—she'd get up naked without a word, her caramel curves glowing in the lamplight. Her hands drifted down her body and between her legs. She would stroll over to the windows to masturbate.
“This is me living my best life,” CeCe would say in soft moans as she looked out the window. She'd told me she desperately tries to reenact her moments in the backyard at her parents' place. The sun. The air. Porn. This was heaven on earth. CeCe had turned this into a lifestyle she would never leave. “I want to be immune to therapy,” she said to me. I just nodded, knowing that she had no intentions of fixing anything that porn had done to her.
So there she stood in the open window, thick thighs spread, breasts heaving as she rubbed her slick pussy, fingers plunging deep while she moaned into the night air. The risk of someone glancing up from the street below only fueled her, her juicy ass pressed against the sill as she edged herself to climax, porn playing on her phone propped up nearby.
I didn't stop her; hell, I couldn't bring myself to. Watching her like that—exposed, unashamed, lost in her pleasure—stirred something deep in me. I truly had fallen in love with her. But I buried it under layers of friendship and denial, and now it was blooming into full sexual arousal. Watching porn was one thing. Witnessing her being porn was another sensation entirely.
Her body, her boldness, the way her eyes glazed over mid-orgasm—it turned me on in ways I hadn't expected. There were times we'd get close, our naked bodies brushing during one of our shared porn-watching sessions, lips inches apart, breaths mingling. We'd almost kiss, almost go further—my hand grazing her thigh, her fingers tracing my curves—but she would pull back at the last second.
One night, after she'd finished a window session and collapsed onto the bed, still flushed and wet, I leaned in, heart pounding. “CeCe . . . what if we . . .?” I whispered, my voice husky with desire.
She met my gaze, her expression soft but firm, as she gently pushed me back. “I'd like to, Tasha—God, you have no idea how much. But I don't want to complicate things. I don't want to tie you down like that. If we actually have sex, it might create a bond. I don't want you stuck with someone like me. What if I get worse? What if you get tired of me? You still have a chance to find someone normal, someone who isn't . . . me.” She laughed self-deprecatingly, gesturing to her naked form and the paused porn video on her screen.
“I'm a porn-obsessed naked freak, remember? I'm depraved. Extremely perverted. I don't even see people like I see porn. They are not the same level of real as porn is. I have totally warped my sexual arousal triggers. It's more than addiction. This really is permanent now, and I just obey all my sexual compulsions with porn and masturbation. I know what I am. And honestly? . . .” Her voice dropped, vulnerable and raw. “I have to watch porn just to cum now. I can't do it without it—my body's too wired that way. It's all or nothing for me. Without you keeping me grounded.. telling me to take a break rubbing, or just go for a walk, I'd really be unfit for society. I would go deeper. I get wet just thinking about it....I feel like I am holding you back sometimes.”
She broke eye contact with me, eyes dropping down to the floor, porn playing in the background. What she said was true, but my silent vow to always be there echoed in my mind. I was the catalyst. She's part of my own creation. I can't leave her.
Instead, I got up, walked over to her, and gave her a hug. I held her bare, warm, and soft flesh. She sobbed and hugged me back. She whispered, “I feel like I've trapped you.”
My pussy was throbbing.
I patted her head, much like she did me that fateful day a few months back. I rocked her back and forth until she calmed down. “You didn't trap me. I chose to stay by your side. You are my best friend. You are the only friend I need and I'm so happy I met you.”
She held me tighter.
My pussy was throbbing.
This moment hung between us. It charged with the complexity of our bond, but it only deepened my feelings for her. Clearly there was something more than friendship in the air. In CeCe's world, I let her define what we had. I wasn't going to force her into anything she didn't want. Even if my feelings never get truly acknowledged, I made the choice to maintain my silent vow to be here. Even if she told me to leave, I would stand firm and show her that she doesn't have to be alone.
I even joined her at the window one day, stripping down and rubbing myself alongside her, our moans blending as the city lights twinkled below. I wanted CeCe to feel accepted and reassured. It was reckless, intimate, and utterly us. I did that a few times randomly when the mood hit me. She would never say it, but I could see a twinkle in her eye when I stood next to her. She would smile and tease me.
I surprised her one day and got her a tripod stand for her phone. Now she could watch porn, rub, and stare outside the window. She hugs me a lot at random now. I accept these little tokens of affection. I cherish every moment I spend with her.
Outside of our dorm life and studies, things were not as rosy. Her oppressive parents, mainly her mother, started putting a strain on her. Oddly, she never had any ill words for her father, but his lack of initiative to step in was concerning. But I kept this to myself. I just observed to make sure she didn't spiral.
CeCe never confided in her parents about the real roots of her rebellion—the way her open-mindedness had spiraled into this compulsive, porn-fueled existence. They would never know their straight-A daughter, the one they'd raised so sheltered, had become a full-blown addict, masturbating obsessively, escalating her exhibitionism in ways that would horrify them. But they were noticing the changes: her shorter phone calls, her evasive answers, the way she dressed in those baggy hoodies and shorts that screamed independence. They wanted control, to reel her back into their strict world, and it all came to a head one crisp fall afternoon.
I was alone in the dorm, buried in my notes for an upcoming exam, the city outside our third-floor window buzzing with its usual energy. The knock at the door startled me—there stood CeCe's mom, unannounced, her face a mask of stern concern, carrying a care package like it was a peace offering.
I was baffled she made it in here without a key card or approval. . . . Maybe this is how CeCe learned to manipulate things to her favor, like our dorm arrangements.
Before I could say a word, she interrupted, “Tasha, honey, is CeCe here? I was in the city for a meeting and thought I'd surprise her.” Panic hit me like a truck; CeCe was out on one of her “walks,” probably in her modified shorts with the crotch cut out, pussy exposed under a hoodie, rubbing herself in some secluded spot. I didn't have time to fantasize about that.
I quickly fired off a text while her mom was distracted: “MOM HERE. STAY AWAY. Put on normal clothes before coming back!!!” We had talked about this before; CeCe keeps a stash of emergency clothes in a secure location should this ever happen while she's out. At the time I didn't think strangers could easily enter our building, but clearly CeCe's mom was something else.
Maintaining composure and a polite tone, I told her mom, “Oh, she's in a class across campus.” I lied smoothly, forcing a smile as I invited her in, my heart pounding. “It might be a while—lab session, you know how those go.” CeCe's mom nodded, but she lingered, poking around the room, commenting on how “messy” it was, how CeCe needed to call more, to visit home. I kept her distracted with small talk, but tension built until CeCe rushed back—dressed like the “normal” version of herself in jeans and a modest sweater, her curves hidden, no sign of the freak she truly wanted to be. I made eye contact with her; she winked with a smile. I decided to slip out of the room claiming I had a study group. I was barely down the hall when I heard their talking grow louder. Something was escalating quickly. It was definitely coming from my dorm room. I stopped and turned around cautiously.
It erupted into a massive fight—shouting about independence, about CeCe “changing” too much, her mom accusing her of shutting them out. Their argument was clearly audible in the hallway at this point. The RA got called in to mediate, diffusing the situation before it turned physical, but the damage was done. The RA escorted her mom out of the building. Her mom was tearful but compliant.
CeCe decided that she didn't want to go home for fall break after that. She wanted to stay in the dorm instead. Late that evening, she started masturbating furiously by the open window to cope. She would cum, take a mini break, and then keep going again. It was different this time.
For those next few days, she didn't study. I wasn't sure if she even went to class. It was a calculated risk, but I let her be. I didn't want to try to force her to leave the room or put on clothes or do anything that would cause more friction. I knew she was hurting. I knew there would be consequences. But you could see the life had left her eyes.
However, I'm glad she didn't leave her room; I could hear rumors, and people were looking at me as I walked down the hall. She didn't need to see this.
The new few days, I reminded her to eat and take a shower. I would often bring her meals and pat her head if she started sobbing after a long goon session. I would tell her affirming things.
“It's not always going to be this way.”
“You are not doing anything wrong.”
“Don't let this stop you; you are doing great.”
But I did feel like what I said wasn't going to land any time soon. I glanced at her phone one day and saw 31 missed calls from her mom. I didn't say anything. Clearly, that argument stuck with her deeper than she told me. It was a heavy weight. CeCe was depressed. A core foundation of her life, a person she thought was safe, had rocked her world. I just reminded her I'm here with no pressure.
CeCe had a test coming up next week. I knew she wasn't studying, but I didn't want to push it. I was just glad she was taking showers and eating. She wasn't spiraling. She just lounged around the dorm room naked not saying much. I would glance over once in a while and she would look at me and half-smile as porn played softly in the room.
She would just quietly stare out the window touching herself in silence. Then rub in bed playing porn until late into the night.
I eventually got her to open up. That weekend, I started sending her porn via Telegram. For the first time in nearly a week, she giggled. It was a sex meme. I sent her more; she started to smile. We didn't talk directly about anything heavy. I was just able to bring her back to a time in her world where she was happy. So I fed her porn for the rest of the day. Me studying on my laptop, taking breaks to find something to send her and then reading the room as she gooned behind me, healing from the trauma she experienced.
Then I found her old favorites from the summer and sent them. We didn't talk verbally, but we just texted back and forth like it was summertime again. In a few hours, the light returned in her eyes; her moans and rubs started to return to normal tempo. She wasn't masturbating for comfort anymore. She was slowly back to her passionate self. By the end of the day we started talking face to face again. I went out and brought her back a nice dinner as a reward for her pulling through.
On Sunday I woke up to her leaning over to hug me. I swear I could have kissed her passionately if she let me. Her big breasts dangling. Her lavender scent filling my nostrils. And then my goddess spoke.
“Thank you for reminding me of good times. You pulled me out of a dark place and I couldn't have done it without you.” She kissed me on the forehead and started her day. She opened her notebook and decided to get caught up on her classes and assignments. I was so proud of her.
The next day was her test day. To my surprise, she left for that. To my shock, she wasn't wearing her usual outfit. She even put a bra on. A t-shirt, a bra, and jeans. She was practically overdressed at this point. I knew she wasn't all the way back to her “normal” self yet.
When she came back, the look on her face was obvious. For the first time in college, she failed a test. I knew with her average in that class, it wasn't a day-wrecker, but it wasn't like her. We both knew it. She spoke first. It was brief, but I will never forget that moment.
“Don't worry, I won't fail another test. Thank you so much for everything last week. You truly are amazing.” She hugged me again. She stripped naked, fired up her laptop, and started playing porn again, half moaning. Then it changed. She started sobbing. I dropped what I was doing and went over to her. I rubbed her back while she scrolled and humped.
“I'll do better. I promise. If I can't make my mom happy, I'll do better for you.”
CeCe cried a lot after that day, curling up naked on her bed with tears streaming down her face, her phone playing soft porn in the background as she touched herself for comfort. She let me hold her, whispering reassurances. She didn't pull away. She just kept rubbing and watching porn.
Somehow, the fall break ran right into Thanksgiving this year. I wasn't going to leave CeCe alone. I called my family and explained I was staying on campus with CeCe for the holiday. My mom knew about her autistic traits, nothing else. What CeCe didn't know was that my mom was a special education professional. My mom understood the situation immediately. Inviting CeCe to our chaotic family gathering would be a disaster, especially with her secret aversion to clothes. My mom really stepped up to help the situation. She made us a care package of food and simple ingredients so I could cook for CeCe.
Thanksgiving Day arrived, just the two of us in our dorm, the city outside quieter than usual, streets emptied for family dinners elsewhere. I cooked a simple meal—turkey sandwiches, canned cranberry, and pie from a local bakery—setting it up like a picnic on our floor, trying to make it special. All the while, CeCe was naked watching porn and idly touching herself as we made small talk. I decided to stay dressed. It didn't feel that appropriate, nor did I want to be tempted to make advances on her when she really just needed platonic comfort right now. At least that what I think CeCe wanted right now.
CeCe surprised me that evening. She had made her way over to my bed and laid her head on my lap as I ran my fingers through her hair. She had her phone up scrolling and watching porn as always. I watched a little bit, but I had my phone in my hand as I was scrolling other things.. the “normie stuff” as she calls it.
The room was quiet, just the soft moans of porn playing in the background. She sat up slowly. She grabbed my phone and put it it down on the bed. Her eyes locking onto mine, vulnerable but determined. She started to undress me. I didn't resist. As each layer of fabric fell, she spoke to me.
“Tasha . . . I know,” she said softly, her voice shaking. “I know you have feelings for me. The way you look at me—like I'm the only thing in the room. The way you touch me, so gentle, so hungry. You haven't dated anyone, haven't hooked up, nothing. Our outings? You treat them like dates, planning them, holding my hand sometimes. I know it all. I see it. I can't deny it.”
My breath caught, heart pounding as tears pricked my eyes. She continued, her thick body trembling, hands fidgeting as she unbuttoned my jeans. “To say thanks—for everything, for staying, for loving me like this—I'm ready. I know you love me. I feel it. Let's be that couple you've always wanted. More than friends, more than sisters . . . us.” She paused, biting her lip, her caramel skin flushing. “And . . . I'm ready to lose my virginity with another person. With you. I bought a dildo months ago. I wanted my first time to be with you. I was just waiting for the right time . . .” I blinked in surprise; my heart was so full. Tears slowly streamed down my face.
“The toy in my drawer is still in the box—but I'm scared to try it. This would be my first time, really. Not just solo stuff.” She was shaking so hard, her full breasts quivering, eyes wide with nerves as she confessed it all.
My heart was wrenching in the best way—seen, wanted, understood for the first time. This fearless soul, my porn-obsessed freak of a best friend, was choosing me. “Oh, CeCe,” I whispered, pulling her close, our naked bodies melting together. “You won't regret this. I promise. I'll make tonight special—our Thanksgiving, just for us.”
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keep touching yourself