. somewhere. Somewhere fantastical and glittering and beautiful. There would have been candles, scented bed-sheets, and some handsome, human paramour ...ho had swept her off her feet. It sounded so silly now ... and the stark contrast with what was actually happening struck her like battering ram. She was being fucked – not made love to, not tenderly romanced, but fucked – by an alien. An alien she barely knew. An alien who was paying her in scraps of food and credits. And she was being fucked. ............At five sharp the bells rang and the girls of all houses were awake and grumpy . The “floating” canes were busy urging slowpokes into action and finally all the girls were seated ,doing their morning shit! No girl was naughty or swore because they now knew the consequence of doing so . They all plopped nicely and in good time and stepped into the showers for their minus freezing morning shower………..Two hundred nipples stood to attention as the icy water rained down on their nude. It stared Sylvia Kristel (yes her of Emmanuelle fame) and Nicholas Clay. As a film it was a bit of a flop, unless you happened to be a over sexed, rampant teen…..like I was.So it was the summer of ‘81, hot, dry and just the sort of summer that begs for a road trip to the sand dunes of Porthcawl. About two dozen of us one balmy summers evening decided that we’d had enough of the pub we were off to sleep in the dunes.Everyone went their separate way, collected tents, sleeping bags, what ever. You can feel your vagina swelling slowly as the blood rushes directly to it, as though it has a mind of its own. You are hot and bothered. Fortunately, this is your continual state, horny. As you lift the glass of wine to your mouth, the bottom grazes your small breasts and hits the nipple ever so slightly. You place the glass back onto the table, but you are so distracted you knock it over. Music is playing in the background like it is a staged scene, but no, you must stop to clean it up. As.