u/Lost-Butterscotch971

I thought my hallmate (let’s call her L) was out when I FaceTimed my boyfriend for some “long-distance fun.” Wrong.

She walked in right as I was moaning his name with my hitachi buzzing against my clit. Instead of leaving, she locked the door, stripped off her pajamas, and said, “Move over. I’ve heard you through the walls for months - my turn.”

Next thing I knew, she was eating me out while I fingered myself, then riding my face while I came so hard I squirted all over my pillow. We didn’t even swap numbers - just cleaned up, pretended it didn’t happen, and now we both “study” in my room with the door unlocked.

(Pro tip: If you’re gonna moan loud in halls, make sure your neighbors are hot. Just in case.)

Imagine my boyfriend’s NS buddies (you know the type - super fit, super bored, super horny) finding out I’m “loyal” and “would never cheat.” Then they bet him that I’d break.

“You sure your girlfriend won’t spread for us, ah?”
“Let’s test her… just a little.”
“You can watch, but no touching.”

Next thing I know, I’m on my knees in the bunk, taking turns sucking them off while my boyfriend watches - too “shocked” to stop it. Then they share me, one by one, while he’s forced to listen to me moan their names.

I have this private tutor (early 30s, super strict, that “I will destroy you if you don’t study” energy). At first, I was scared of him - until he started “rewarding” me for good scores. First, it was just a pat on the back. Then a lingering touch on my thigh when I got an A. Then, last week, I aced my midterms, and he “celebrated” by pushing me against his desk, hiking up my skirt, and eating me out while quizzing me on economics.

I came twice before he let me leave. Now I intentionally get questions wrong just so he’ll “teach me” again. …I should feel guilty. But my GPA has never been higher.

I had a membership at Tanjong Beach Club last summer. Had. Past tense. Because of you.

It was supposed to be a normal day - sunbathing, overpriced cocktails, pretending I wasn’t checking out the hot lifeguard. But then you showed up: the guy running the “beachside massage” pop-up. Tall, tanned, hands that looked like they could ruin me. You caught me staring and winked. “First time’s free for locals, lah.”

I should’ve said no. But I was bored. And horny. And the way you said “locals” made my toes curl.

You set up the table right on the sand, where anyone could walk by. The oil was warm, your touch firm. “You’re tense,” you murmured, kneading my shoulders. “Mmm, university stress,” I lied. Your fingers trailed down my spine, hooking under the strings of my bikini top. “Let me help with that.”

Before I could protest, you’d untied it. “Hey!” But the beach was empty except for a group of tourists too far away to see. You flipped me over, your thumbs circling my nipples, slick with oil. “Shh. Just relax.”

You worked your way down, spreading my legs “to stretch my hips.” Your fingers teased my inner thighs, so close to where I ached. “Please,” I whispered. You grinned. “Please what?”

I didn’t get to answer. Your mouth was on me before I could breathe, your tongue relentless under the Singapore sun. I had to bite my towel to stay quiet when I came, my fingers tangled in your hair. You sat back, wiping your mouth, just as a family walked past. “All better?” you asked, innocent as hell.

I tipped you $200 and never went back.

You “accidentally” left your number on my receipt…

I’m usually the “good girl” type - straight-A student, never skips class, blah blah. But last weekend, I went to Zouk with my friends, had way too many lychee martinis, and ended up grinding on this guy on the dance floor. He was tall, had that bad boy vibe, and when he whispered in my ear, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,” I didn’t even hesitate.

One stall, two fingers, and a very thorough lesson on why I should “misbehave” more often. I came so hard I had to bite my own arm to stay quiet. Left without even getting his name.

…Should I be ashamed? Because I’m really not.

Okay so context: I’m in NUS, right? And my hall has those guys - the ones who always have their door open, playing League, smoking at the staircase. I’ve hooked up with one of them before (bad idea, but whatever).

Last night I was drunk and horny after clubbing, and I knew they were all awake. So I left my door unlocked, turned on my vibrator loud, and just… let them listen. I heard footsteps. Someone peeking through the gap. And when I came, I moaned their names one by one just to fuck with them.

This morning, they all looked at me in the pantry like they wanted to eat me alive. I don’t regret it. But I do regret not recording their faces.

Okay, so my poli-sci prof is this super strict old man who hates when students skip class. His son? 22, ridiculously hot, and always lurking around campus in those fitted tees that show off his arms. 🥵

Last week, I “accidentally” left my notes in the prof’s office after lecture. Came back to get them, and guess who was there? Son-boy, leaning against the desk like a fucking K-drama lead. One thing led to another - his hands on my waist, my ass on the prof’s desk, his fingers inside me while I bit my lip to stay quiet.

The worst part? His dad’s framed degree was right above us. I came so hard I almost screamed… but the thought of getting caught made it even better. 😈

Tldr: Fucked my prof’s son on his dad’s desk. 10/10, would risk expulsion again.

Okay so… I (19F, SG) have this thing where I get way too turned on when guys are really good at something. Like, if a guy is super focused on fixing his bike, or explaining some niche hobby with passion, or even just really good at cooking - my brain short-circuits and I’m like . I don’t know if it’s the confidence, the competence, or just the fact that I’m a simp for men with skills, but it’s getting embarrassing. My friends think I’m weird because I’ll be like "omg he folded that fitted sheet PERFECTLY" while they’re thirsting over abs. Am I broken? Or is this a normal thing and I just have a skill kink? Pls validate me or roast me, I can take it. (Bonus: If you also have a weird turn-on, drop it below so I don’t feel alone.)

I was coming back from a night out in Clarke Quay, slightly tipsy, in a way too short dress (okay, fine, it was my clubbing outfit). The train was packed, and this guy - tall, suit, very good cologne - kept “accidentally” brushing against me. At first I thought he was just another perv, but then his hand lingered on my waist… and I didn’t move away. By the time we reached Dhoby Ghaut, his fingers were inside my panties, rubbing me right against the train door. I was biting my lip so hard I thought I’d draw blood. Then some ah beng in a Singtel shirt looked straight at us before moving to another carriage. We both pretended nothing happened, but when the doors opened at City Hall, he whispered in my ear: "Next time, wear a skirt. Easier access." I hate that I’m considering it.