Roommates' Anal Obsession: Bigger Objects, Deeper Cravings

Rochelle shoved the desk chair aside with her hip and bent over the mattress, nineteen and already aching, her freshman-year sweatshirt shoved up her ribs. Lucia, also nineteen, her roommate since the first week of the fall semester, knelt behind her with a cucumber still cool from the mini-fridge and a slick of coconut oil shining on her fingers. They had started months ago with a toothbrush handle, then a makeup brush, then the handle of a hairbrush, each time daring the other a little farther and laughing until the laughter turned into groans. Tonight the cucumber was not enough. Rochelle’s hole swallowed the first half and clenched around the middle, and she pushed back for more while Lucia’s free hand stayed braced on her lower back.

“Deeper,” Rochelle said. “I can take it.”

“You always say that,” Lucia answered, working the vegetable in slow, wet strokes. “Then you come shaking and beg me not to stop.”

They took turns the way they always did. When Rochelle’s thighs started to tremble, Lucia pulled the cucumber free, wiped it, and stripped out of her own panties. Rochelle sat on the edge of the bed, spread her roommate’s cheeks, and fed the same slick length into Lucia’s ass while Lucia’s forehead rested on folded arms. The dorm was quiet except for the wet sound of oil and the soft curses they traded. Neither of them pretended this was a one-time joke anymore. Their shared dresser held a growing collection of washed objects wrapped in a towel: a tapered candle, a thick marker, the handle of a wooden spoon, a travel bottle of lotion that had left Lucia panting into a pillow last Thursday. Each session left them hungrier. Each stretch made the next one feel necessary.

Rochelle twisted the cucumber and watched Lucia’s hole grip it. “We need something bigger,” she said. “This is starting to feel easy.”

Lucia’s laugh came out broken. “Then find something that isn’t.”

They cleaned up, showered, and lay in their separate beds with the lights off, both of them still throbbing, both of them already thinking about what else in the room might fit.

The next afternoon they sat cross-legged on Lucia’s comforter with a laptop between them, the door locked, the hallway noise ignored. Rochelle scrolled through kitchen tools and bathroom gadgets while Lucia narrated every picture in a low, filthy voice. A silicone spatula. A wide-handled hairbrush. A stainless bottle opener with a thick grip. None of it was labeled for what they wanted, and that made the shopping worse in the best way.

“That one,” Lucia said, tapping a heavy wooden rolling pin on the screen. “Look at the ridges. Imagine that rocking into you while I hold your hips.”

Rochelle’s face went hot. “I’d make you take the thick end first.”

“You’d have to work for it.” Lucia leaned closer, breath against Rochelle’s ear. “I want something that stretches me until I can’t talk. I’m sick of coming on things that slide out too easy.”

They added items to a cart they both knew they would not check out tonight: a bulbous vase, a fat conditioner bottle, a tapered silicone kitchen tool neither of them could name without grinning. The tension sat between them like a third body. Rochelle’s hand drifted to Lucia’s thigh. Lucia caught her wrist and squeezed.

“I’m not waiting for shipping,” Lucia said. “Our asses are empty right now and I’m done pretending a cucumber is enough. Kitchen. Bathroom. Whatever’s thickest.”

They abandoned the laptop. Barefoot and already wet, they raided the tiny dorm kitchenette and the shared bathroom cabinet, whispering the whole time. A wooden rolling pin from the drawer where they kept pancake mix. A large tapered shampoo bottle, heavy plastic, wider at the base than anything they had used. Lube from the nightstand. A towel. Rochelle held the rolling pin across both palms and felt her hole clench around nothing.

“This is going to wreck me,” she said, not scared, hungry.

“Good,” Lucia said. “Then you wreck me back.”

They stripped in the bedroom without ceremony. Rochelle bent over the shared desk, breasts against scattered notebooks, ass tipped up, feet planted wide on the cheap rug. Lucia coated the rolling pin until the wood gleamed, ridges shining under the desk lamp. She pressed the narrower end to Rochelle’s hole and waited until Rochelle pushed back and said, “Yes. Do it.”

The first ridge popped in. Rochelle gasped, fingers clawing paper. Lucia worked it with short, patient thrusts, adding lube every time the wood dragged, one hand spreading a cheek, the other sliding under Rochelle to find her clit. The second ridge seated. Rochelle’s ass fluttered and took it. Lucia stroked her clit in tight circles and fed her another inch, then another, the thick middle of the pin stretching her open until Rochelle was moaning into her own forearm.

“Fuck, that’s big,” Rochelle panted. “Don’t stop. I want the fat part.”

“Greedy little hole,” Lucia said, voice rough with want. “Look at you swallowing wood. You were made for this.”

She pushed until the widest section forced Rochelle’s rim wide and shining. Rochelle cried out, not in refusal, in raw pleasure, and ground her clit against Lucia’s fingers. Lucia fucked her with the rolling pin in slow, deep strokes, ridges catching and releasing, each pull making a wet sound that filled the room. Rochelle’s knees shook. She came hard, ass clamping around the wood, clit pulsing under Lucia’s hand, a broken string of yes and more and deeper spilling out of her. Lucia kept the pin buried through the aftershocks, twisting it just enough to make Rochelle sob and laugh at once.

“My turn,” Rochelle said when she could stand. “On the bed. I want your mouth and your ass at the same time.”

They scrambled onto the mattress. Lucia lay on her back, legs spread, and Rochelle turned around and straddled her face, lowering her slick, freshly stretched hole toward Lucia’s tongue while she faced Lucia’s thighs. Sixty-nine, messy and immediate. Lucia licked into her, tasting oil and arousal, while Rochelle coated the shampoo bottle and pressed the tapered neck to Lucia’s hole. Lucia nodded against her, muffled and eager. Rochelle pushed. The neck slid in easy. The body of the bottle followed, thicker, unyielding plastic forcing Lucia open inch by inch.

“Take it,” Rochelle said, rocking the bottle in and out, watching Lucia’s rim stretch pale then pink around the widening plastic. “You wanted bigger. This is bigger. Push out and let me fuck you with it.”

Lucia moaned into Rochelle’s ass and obeyed, bearing down so the bottle sank deeper. Rochelle set a hard rhythm, plunging the tapered bottle to the wide shoulder and dragging it back, over and over, while she ground her own cunt and ass against Lucia’s mouth. Lucia’s tongue worked her clit and dipped lower, licking the sensitive rim the rolling pin had left swollen. Rochelle reached between Lucia’s legs with her free hand and rubbed her clit in rough circles, matching the thrust of the bottle.

“Deeper,” Lucia gasped, turning her head just enough to speak. “Harder. I can feel it in my stomach. Don’t you dare go gentle.”

Rochelle drove the bottle in until the thickest part kissed Lucia’s rim and held, then fucked her with short, brutal strokes that made the plastic shine. Lucia’s thighs shook. She came with her mouth open against Rochelle’s hole, crying out, ass spasming around the bottle, clit jumping under Rochelle’s fingers. Rochelle didn’t stop. She kept plunging, kept rubbing, chased a second peak out of her roommate while Lucia licked her through her own second orgasm, both of them loud, greedy, obsessed, the bottle and the lingering ache of the rolling pin turning every nerve raw. When Rochelle finally eased the bottle free, Lucia’s hole stayed open a moment, fluttering, slick, used, and Rochelle bent to kiss the stretched rim once, filthy and possessive, before they collapsed sideways, panting, still touching.

They washed the rolling pin and the shampoo bottle in the bathroom sink, side by side, water running, neither of them soft about it. Lucia turned the bottle in her hands and smiled like she was already bored with its size. Rochelle dried the wood and set it on the counter, already picturing the cart they had abandoned.

“Next week we order the fat one,” she said. “The one that barely tapers. I want you crying on it.”

Lucia’s eyes were bright. “And I want something thicker than that pin in you until you can’t close. We’ll measure. We’ll shop. We’ll keep going until nothing in this dorm is big enough.”

Rochelle leaned in, voice low and mean with want. “Then get on your knees later and let me see how wide I left you, because I’m not done stuffing that greedy ass until you’re gaping for the next toy.”