Lockdown Depravity

Story 1: Lockdown Depravity
  • Story 1: Lockdown Depravity
  • Story 2: Lockdown Depravity - Chapter 2 - Hard Fucking
  • Story 3: Lockdown Depravity - Chapter 3 - A Spell is Cast
  • Story 4: Lockdown Depravity - Chapter 4 - The Ritual Begins
  • 9 months ago
  • 58 min read
  • 4,370 visitas

I was still at university when the long summer lockdown was announced. Most people had already gone home, but I didn’t get on with my family and I couldn’t think of anything worse than being trapped inside with them for months. It was my vision of hell. So I stayed.

I thought everyone had left the shared apartment in the university hall of residence I lived in. I assumed I’d be stuck in there for a couple of weeks by myself. I liked spending time on my own though and I had a high-speed internet connection; it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. I was actually looking forward to some alone time. But on the first morning of lockdown I realised, to my dismay, someone else was moving around inside the apartment. I just hoped it wasn’t Camille. Anyone but Camille.

The hall of residence I lived in was divided into apartments that housed seven people. Each person had a private bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, but we shared a joined kitchen and living room. I got on with the other first year students I shared my apartment with, luckily, except for Camille that is. Camille was a nightmare.

When we all first met, that first Saturday in September as our families dropped us off, I was mesmerised by Camille, I don’t mind admitting. She was stunning, absolutely gorgeous. Camille was beautiful, petite, but with a thick, curved arse and an ample chest. She had glorious dark blonde hair that cascaded down around her shoulders. She was confident and brash and made us all feel immediately at home. But then that all changed. Quickly.

It soon became apparent that Camille was obsessed with only one thing, and that one thing was herself. She couldn’t bear to talk about anything else. Whatever the conversation was, she found a way to turn it around to herself. If two or more of us were talking in the kitchen or living room, she’d butt in and take it over. It got impossible to talk about anything other than Camille.

To make matters worse, I soon realised how dull Camille was. Her opinions were vapid and usually mildly offensive. She was a snob, she was judgemental, and she was so superficial. There was nothing underneath, nothing of any substance to her. Camille was teeth and hair and tits and fake tan, and that was all, apparently.

I found Camille annoying, then boring, then repellent. I grew to hate her. It didn’t matter how hot she was, I despised her. As I lay in bed that first morning of the lockdown and listened to someone moving around the apartment, I prayed it was anyone else but her.

There is no god though. There can’t be. I pulled some jeans on, I walked out into the corridor and headed to the kitchen. I froze as I heard her high voice.

“Oh, you’re here too.”

Camille sounded both bored and disappointed. I turned to look at her and the expression on Camille’s face only reinforced that impression.

“Yep. Are you leaving today?” I asked. Please say yes, please say yes.

“No. My family have all decamped to our house in Greece without me. I’m stuck here. You?”

Fuck. “Yeah, similar situation.”

I cut the small talk short after a few more excruciating minutes and headed back to my room. Camille looked even more disappointed when I left her. Whereas I enjoyed my own company, Camille couldn’t stand time by herself. Whenever anyone in the flat emerged from their room, she’d dash out and corner them and talk and talk and talk about herself. She couldn't bear to be alone.

OK, this was bad. I didn’t know how long we were going to be in lockdown, but however long that was, I was going to be trapped in the apartment with the person I despised most in the world. And that person got bored easily. This was even worse than being stuck with my family. Fuck.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, streaming films and TV on my laptop. Whenever I walked down the corridor to the kitchen to get something to eat or drink, Camille would bounce of out of her room and try and talk to me. I wasn’t exactly rude with her, not quite, but I broke off our ‘conversations’ quickly and scarpered back to the safety of my room. I could feel the nervous energy coming off Camille already, I didn’t know how long she’d last before she had some sort of outburst.

The second evening. That was how long Camille lasted. I spent the best part of two days ignoring her and hiding in my room, but on the second evening I heard a weird wailing sound coming from the shared living room that adjoined the kitchen. It sounded like a cat had climbed in the window and got stuck and was making a real fuss of itself. I left my room to investigate.

As I crept down the corridor, the noise came louder. Not a cat. Not even a group of cats. The noise vacillated from low moans to high cries, and as I reached the kitchen door, I heard the sobbing sounds as well and I realised what it was. Oh god dam it.

I contemplated turning around and slinking back to my room. She probably wasn’t even that upset. I’m sure Camille was just doing it for attention. But even for me, that would be heartless. I decided to investigate further. I crept into the kitchen.

I planned to poke my head around the doorway to look into the living room and spy on Camille. Just to see whether she was genuinely upset or being a drama queen. But as I peeked around the door, I found Camille looking directly at me. She was sitting there, staring right at the doorway. Waiting for me. The bitch.

“Oh god, sorry.” Camille stifled a sob. “Did I disturb you?”

“No, not at all,” I lied. “I just came to see what was going on.”

Camille’s face brightened. “That’s so kind of you. It’s just so hard, isn’t it? All this isolation.” Camille patted the seat on the sofa next to her for me to come and join her.

Fucking hell Camille, it’s only been two days, I screamed internally. The weak fool I was, I found myself walking into the living room and sitting next to Camille though. She turned to face me. She talked, she started crying again. I put my arm around h

Mostrar más
Written by darkcherrycollective
Cargado February 21, 2021
Notes Eric and Camille hate each other. But when you're stuck in lockdown together, enemies can become bedfellows. And once you've started, things can quickly escalate. Before you know what's happening, you're...
AddTo content hare