Everybody has buried within him a person he does not know. Most of us are lucky, and our encounters with that person are few and brief. Others are not so fortunate. Those people are forced to confront that stranger that is themselves, and deal with it. Sometimes, that hidden person can totally take over a person. Other times, it can be defeated.
Perhaps the most famous example of this fact of human nature can be found in the splendid "Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde," by Robert Louis Stevenson. In that classic story, a good-natured scientist drinks a potion he hopes will distinguish the good in him from the evil. Instead, the evil takes over completely.
Not all things are a matter of good and evil, though. People are complicated beings, subtle and shadowed.
Such was the case with Sharon Simmons. A beautiful girl, she never let her beauty sway her from her interest in learning. She had ambition and she was positive nothing would ever stand in the way of her goals.
Still, just as there is evil in everybody, there is also a creature who lusts for the carnal, the sexual. It existed in Sharon, but she never acknowledged it, never sought to confront it. She pretended it was never there, and that turned out to be her downfall.
It is necessary in life to reach compromises with one's self. Sharon didn't. And when, against her will, the lustful part of her rose to the surface, she found herself unable to beat it back.
The Bible asks us to know ourselves, and that is a more profound recommendation that it appears at first glance. Each of us should examine ourselves, understand what makes us tick, and be ready to deal with those submerged parts of ourselves that we don't see every day.
Read Sharon's story. It might just help you understand the importance of acknowledging the hidden you. And when you've finished reading, take a good long look at yourself. You could wind up avoiding a lot of pain and suffering.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
Dear Diary:
I thought the bus ride would never end, but I finally got here, and am I relieved! It's as beautiful as everybody said it would be, as picturesque as the catalogues made it out to be. It looks so much like a museum painting it's hard to believe that learning actually goes on here. But it does, as you already know. State University is one of the most respected and honored institutions of higher education in the entire country, and here I am ready to become a part of it.
The campus itself looks like an old East Coast village, with tall towers and steeples, and buildings made of ancient red brick. It's still early September, so the lawns are green and manicured, but in the winter I expect they will be blanketed with layers of snow, and icicles will hang from the building roofs.
The campus is walking distance from the small nearby town, which boasts a gas station or two, a couple restaurants, movie theatres, the usual complement of hardware stores and fashion shops, and a book store. And of course there's the library, which I'm told is larger and better-equipped than the campus library, so I'll be spending a great deal of my time there.
There are only two types of people who live here, apparently. There are students and faculty and administration employees-those who are affiliated with the University, and there are those who run the stores, which cater to those who are affiliated with the University. Like a vicious circle that feeds on itself, one supports the other. Of course if the University were to close or move, the town would surely perish.
The combined town and campus are surrounded for miles and miles by wheat fields. The tall blades of wheat dance in the whispering breeze against a blue sky, as though somebody painted an idealistic backdrop. No, there is no smog, not much traffic, and a lot of peace and quiet. From this initial impression, I do believe I'm going to like it here very much. Even though the weather is supposed to get terribly cold in the winter, the whole environment seems to lend itself to academic pursuits. It's not like those party campuses in Colorado or Southern California, where there is too much opportunity for distraction. Here, it seems, even those students who are not academically inclined would do well for without studying the boredom would certainly become overwhelming.
None of this is to say that I intend to be in the least antisocial. I've always done quite well at meeting the finer element among my classmates, and I expect that will be no different now that I am out of high school and in college. While dating has never been one of my priorities, I do expect there will be one or two decent, intelligent men here with whom I can share a pleasant evening.
And then there's the sorority. Sigma Epsilon Chi, which to me seems the stupidest name a sorority can be attached to. The Greek letters, of course, spell SEX, and has no business on a college campus.
Still, I do understand that the society dates back literally to the Greeks, where SEX meant nothing more than the symbols of three letters. The word "sex" in Greek is obviously something completely different.
And my mother was a member of this sorority, as was her mother before her. At first I was leery of joining any such social group, but Mother did change my mind rather effectively. After all, this is a place to stay, a place to call home. There are other girls there, girls with as ravenous an appetite for knowledge as my own, with whom I can study and share various insights.
One other benefit of being a SEX sister (that looks ridiculous, doesn't it) is that I will belong. I remember being the brainy child in elementary school. I wasn't dumpy or unattractive, but because my interests lay more in math and English than in jacks and dirty words, I was ostracized. Today I'm very attractive, and I do find many boys come on to me, but it's hard to make them understand I'm simply not interested in them. That type of attitude would isolate me as much as in grammar school, and the sorority will serve as a shield against that.
Still, I'm not a sister yet, just as I have not received my class assignments yet. My classes will come tomorrow, and the day after that the Greek rush begins. I, of course, will go only to SEX, where my mother and grandmother's memberships will serve as a foot in the door. I shall pledge, and thereafter becoming a full-fledged sister is up to me.
I'm sure I can cut it.
Well, Diary, that's all for now. I'm alone here at this big college, and I'm not ashamed to admit I'm just a little frightened. And awed. But Fm also eager and anxious. I feel as though my whole life awaits me here.
God bless.
Sharon Simmons was plagued with bad dreams her second night at State. Not nightmares, exactly, but unpleasant images that danced like dervishes in her head.
She awakened the next morning feeling tired and spent, but she knew the cause of her restlessness. It was a combination of things. First, she was not settled; her quarters were temporary, small and shabby. A motel room outside the campus boundaries was no place for somebody with her intellect, and it sat ill with her. Then there were her classes. Out of five sections, only two were what she had been hoping for. She was a frosh no matter what her IQ, and had to take the leavings of the sophomores, juniors and seniors. Mostly the upcoming semester appeared as though it would be a waste of time, classes she either cared nothing about or could breeze easily through.
She awakened feeling more tired than she had been when she went to sleep, but was determined not to let her bad start set the tone of her first year in college. It was, after all, something she had been so looking forward to. And even if she would learn little in her first year, she would by God study her tail off and carry a 4.0 average. Maybe the classes were worthless, but the grades she got, she knew, would count in her overall grade point average.
She ate a sticky breakfast of pancakes in the motel's mediocre coffee shop, then walked into the brisk morning air, her bag slung casually over her shoulder. She arrived at the campus book store fifteen minutes before it opened, and stood around in front reading the mimeographed notices posted the week before by the Greek organizations, beckoning new students to be sure to stop by their house during rush week. Some offered attractive benefits, such as a fully-stocked house library and study groups, others pushed trivial nonsense like a movie room and free beer in kegs.
There was no advertisement for SEX, though, which didn't surprise Sharon. It was an exclusive restricted sorority, and those girls who would rush it already knew about it. Oh, of course there were those who would drop by strictly because the house had the Greek letters plastered over the garage door, but they would be summarily dismissed. One or two might happen, by coincidence, to meet the sorority's qualifications, but mostly those girls would have to find another house to join. New pledges in SEX were limited by number, by qualification, and by background. Sharon's mother had told her all of this.
She heard the sound of metal on metal, and turned to see the front double doors of the bookstore being unlocked, and she went in.
She already knew her teachers, from the assignments she had received, and she browsed through the bookstore, searching for the cards tacked beneath the stacks of textbooks, picking the volumes she would need for her classes.
Mostly the books did not impress her; several she had already read, and a few seemed decidedly beneath her. Only one or two intrigued her, and these she made certain to select new copies, rather than the less expensive used versions.
She paid for the books, scowling at the exorbitant prices, and hefted them back to her temporary quarters at the hotel, dumped them unceremoniously on her bed, and went back outside. It was near ten o'clock now, and the autumn air was taking on a blanket of warmth, deceiving since she knew the cold weather was only a few weeks away.
She looked around, seeing the tall steeples of the campus' old brick buildings spread across a few acres, and was suddenly overwhelmed by confusion. Students, old and new, rushed back and forth, and the school teemed with life although classes would not start for another few days. She needed to find out where the SEX house was located, but was gripped by a sudden fear. She could not bring herself to talk with any of these unfamiliar faces that passed by. It made her feel that old sensation of being different and alone.
Finally she went to the coffee shop and spotted the waitress who had served her breakfast. "Excuse me," she said as the woman raced by her balancing several plates on her two arms.
"Yeah?" the waitress said, not stopping to talk but expecting Sharon to keep up with her.
Sharon followed her to a table where a couple of middle-aged men were drinking coffee, awaiting their eggs and hashed browns. "I'm supposed to rush a sorority house today, but I'm not familiar with the campus. Do you know where the houses are?"
"Sure," the waitress said, uninterested. "Which house?"
"Sigma Epsilon Chi," Sharon said.
The waitress snapped her head around, still holding one plate but neglecting to put it on the table. The man in the suit and tie who was waiting for his breakfast watched her irritably, but she paid no attention.
"Why in the world would you be interested in that house?" the waitress asked. Now that Sharon had her attention, she could look at her. The waitress was not old, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five, and she was slender and attractive, with large, round breasts that jutted out from her body, each an entity of its own swelling and straining against her tight-fitting uniform.
"My mother was a sister," Sharon said, "and her mother. I'm bound by tradition to pledge."
"Shit," the waitress said, and the foul word hung in the air like a thick, smelly fog. "Why don't you find yourself another house. Or better yet, stay clear of the Greeks. They're all assholes anyway. And SEX house is about the worst of the bad lot."
Sharon was shocked to hear these sentiments expressed, but not dismayed. After all, who was a waitress to tell her what to do and what not to do. Haughtiness in her voice, Sharon said, "I didn't ask your opinion of the house. Just directions to it. Now, either you know how to get there or you don't."
"Oh, I know all right. I used to be a sister there."
Sharon had been unprepared for that revelation. "You?" she stammered. The waitress was so crude, so ordinary and lower class. She smacked on a wad of gum crammed in her mouth, and she had coffee and grease stains on her gaudy costume. Everything she had ever been told about SEX indicated a good class of girl.
"Surprised, huh?" the waitress said. The man awaiting his breakfast cleared his throat irritably, but the waitress just turned on him and snapped, "Hold your damn pants, will ya?" Then she turned back to Sharon. "Listen, hon. That sorority hasn't changed in seventy years, and it's not bound to. You look like a nice girl, so I'm offering you my advice, and Christ knows I've got the experience to give it. There's all kinds of clubs and Greeks and organizations at State. You don't want to join up with SEX."
"Why?" Sharon wanted to know.
But the waitress turned at the question and dropped the plate she was holding on the table. The customer grunted sarcastic appreciation for the service, then muttered something to his companion about the tip they would leave.
The waitress ignored the remark and walked toward the kitchen, and Sharon hastened after her, finally grabbing her shoulder and stopping her. "What's the matter with SEX house, besides their ridiculous name?"
"The name's just three Greek letters," the waitress said, an uncomfortable quiver in her voice. "As for what's wrong. . . I can't say. Just take my word for it."
"Tell me, why can't you say?" Sharon asked, demanding an answer with the sternness in her voice.
"Look, dammit, I took an oath. So will you if you pledge. Just take my word for it. Just ... oh hell. Listen hon, if you want to kick in with SEX, be my guest. It's none of my business. They're on the east end of campus, a big two-story house on E Street. You can't miss it. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Before Sharon could say anything, the waitress had pushed through the double doors leading into the noisy kitchen.
Sharon waited for a few minutes, but the waitress did not return. She shrugged, figuring the girl must have been some sort of an outcast. She certainly did not fit the image of SEX that had been instilled in her. She had not fit, and they had dropped her. Now she was bitter and resentful. That must be it.
She walked back outside and now the warm autumn day was in full, glorious bloom. The sun warmed her face, and the foreboding feeling she had felt inside the coffee shop vanished. She walked briskly and happily across the campus, surveying the school in its entirety for the first time. It was a rambling place, and it reeked of academia. Sharon began to feel close to the place, at home there.
Then she was out of the campus, across its other boundary, and among a dozen quaint and tree lined streets. She wandered over them, examining the street signs and finally identifying E Street. She turned its corner, and immediately before her she saw the house.
It was, as the waitress had said, a very large, almost Victorian two-story affair, with a fresh coat of paint, clean, pretty curtains in the windows, and an air of freshness and cleanliness about it. Only the letters SEX painted meticulously on the garage door seemed out of place. But like the waitress had said, it stood for Sigma Epsilon Chi, not sex. They were just three Greek letters.
A few girls-and guys, she noticed-wandered intermittently in and out the front door of the house, well-dressed types chatting amiably. The boys all had well groomed hair, and no moustaches or beards. The girls, like herself, wore dresses and tasteful tops. It seemed to her almost a picture out of the 1950s, when students conformed to certain standards. These days, of course, standards were non-existent in the enforceable sense. Yet here at SEX house, the members seemed to voluntarily conform.
Sharon took a deep breath and walked up the path to the front door, and stepped inside.
The place smelled like home, and she liked it instantly. There was a small of home cooking wafting out of the kitchen, and it was warm and lived-in. A pretty, older girl approached her, carrying a large ledger in her hands. She smiled, displaying her perfect teeth. She had sun-flecked auburn hair, and smooth, creamy skin. She wore a tight fitting, revealing dress that managed still to be tasteful and discreet-while her bosom swelled within the constraints of the fabric, only a hint of her ample cleavage peeked over the top of the dress, and the hemline fell to just barely above the knee. She wore a red ribbon in her sculpted hair.
"Hi," she said in a rich sing-song voice. "I'm Connie Malone, president of Sigma Epsilon Chi. Are you rushing?"
"Well, sort of," Sharon said. "I'm only interested in your sorority. You see, both my mother and grandmother were sisters here."
Connie brightened, and beckoned a boy over. He was a tall, stocky man, with short-cropped blond hair and muscles that rippled through the letterman sweater he wore with such ease. "Paul," she said, beaming, "this girl wants to pledge with us. She has relatives who have been sisters here."
"My mother was vice president," Sharon said. She didn't say it proudly; just as some sort of recommendation.
"That's terrific," Paul said, smiling. She was pleased at his cordiality, at the way he held out his hand and offered it to her. She accepted it, and liked the cool, dry firmness of his grasp. He was pleasant and nice and formal, the way she had envisioned the best of college men would be. And he wore a letter, too. She supposed it was for football, since he was a tall, stocky, muscular man. One day, she thought, she would strike up a romance with just such a man. A long, chaste courtship, then he would propose, and they would have a lavish engagement party. Then marriage, and she would work at her job part-time while they raised a family, and his healthy income from his prestigious job would keep them in good shape for the rest of their lives. Not rich, but better than comfortable.
Paul's eyes sparked, and Sharon wondered what he was thinking. Probably something to do with how good a pledge she would make, a true asset to the sisterhood. Already she liked her surroundings, the people she had met and the people she could see but had not yet met.
But Paul's mind was far from the sorority, from the quality of Sharon's potential pledge, from the health of the Greek organization. He was quarterback for the college's highly-ranked football team, as Sharon had guessed, but he had other thoughts. Somebody in a position of tension, nerves, authority and prestige such as himself, he needed a release. Some people found their release in food, others in sport, still others in entertainment. Paul found his in women.
That was why his eyes sparked. He noted with a twinge of arousal the way her breasts were suspended upright, each one a mountain of firm flesh, independent of the other, pointing with their distended, exposed nipples almost in different directions, but still symmetrical. He maintained his poise, his demeanor, but his mind raced as he thought of her in bed. He imagined his throbbing cock encased with her hot, wet cuntal walls, pressing hard and tight against him as he impaled her with his thick meatiness.
In his mind he kneaded her breasts, pinching the nipples with his strong thumb and forefinger, making them hard as pebbles, and covered with a rough gooseflesh surface. He kept from licking his lips with only the strongest of will as he pictured himself lowering his head to her nipples as she groaned in ecstasy; his moist, quivering lips would encircle her nipples and suck on them as though to draw mother's milk where there was none. As he sucked, he fantasized, his hand would smooth over the surface of her belly, with skin taut and flat and smooth as velvet, until his hand felt the delicate, soft curl of the uppermost fringe of her triangular pubic mound. She would cry out then, a guttural groaning as her eyes screwed shut and her creamy thighs pressed together.
His finger would still find the slit of her vagina, though, and it would be moist with the sticky sweetness of her cuntal lubricants, and easing his digit into the crack would be child's play. He felt his heart beat quicken as he saw his finger digging into her crack, with each pass toward the crevice between her legs it dipped deeper into the honey pot of her cunt, until her ass was gyrating against the mattress and her skin was covered with a fine layer of sweat. Then her hand would reach for his stiff cock.
He brought himself out of his reverie; the fantasy had lasted less than a half-minute, and Sharon had no idea that he had seduced and fucked her in the time it had taken to shake hands.
"I'm Paul Slaughter," he told her, "president of Kappa Kappa Alpha. Sigma Epsilon Chi is our sister sorority. If you become a sister, you'll be one of our little sisters." Inside, he beamed and gloated at the possibility. God, she was young and beautiful!
"That's a real benefit of membership" Connie said, holding the pledge book out to her. "Kappa Kappa Alpha is the best fraternity on campus, and the brothers really watch out for us."
And then some, Paul thought.
"What's your name?" Connie asked.
"Sharon," she said. "Sharon Simmons."
Connie seemed to search her mind. "No," she said, "I can't seem to remember a Simmons in SEX."
"My mother's maiden name was Scott," she said. "Valerie Scott."
Connie's face lit up, as though a light bulb had gone on inside. "Of course," she said. "She was a vice president!"
Sharon nodded, happy to have her mother remembered. She jotted her name in the pledge book. "I was hoping you'd have a room here for me," she said.
"We've got two vacant rooms. It's two hundred a month, and you can move in tomorrow, assuming you plan on sticking with us. We're not interested in you if you're not serious about us."
"Oh, don't worry," Sharon said. "I am. My mother has spent the last six months telling me how important membership is, and I intend to be one of your best sisters."
Connie smiled approvingly. "That's good."
"Why don't you go meet some of the other members?" Paul said. "There's a pledge or two here, too."
"Good idea," Connie said. Sharon, happy with her initial contact with her mother's old sorority, shook their hands and mixed in with the crowd in the room for Greek rush.
"She's a fox," Paul muttered, mostly to himself.
"I can tell you think so," Connie replied, looking blatantly at the bulge that formed in his crotch. "Just be patient. Once she pledges officially and moves in, you'll have your crack at her."
Paul looked at Connie and licked his lips, not trying to cover it up this time. "In the meantime, do you have any ideas about how to remedy the frustration I feel?"
Connie smiled, pleased he had asked. "I think something can be arranged," she said. She took his hand and led him upstairs to her room, the president's room, the largest in the house.
Paul stood still and allowed her to slowly unbutton his shirt. Each button that came loose was greeted with an open-mouthed kiss over the skin above the button, her hot serpentine tongue darting out and moistening a spot over the flesh where her lips were planted.
She finally undid his last button, and, on her knees, buried her tongue in his naval, and rotated it, pushing it in deep as she fumbled with the button of his pants. She managed to get it open, then pulled the fly down and reached hungrily inside, beneath the elastic band of his briefs. She found his monstrous cock in there, hot and stiff and pulsating as blood gushed along the inner shaft.
He caught his breath as her long, cool fingers wrapped around his turgid stiffness and squeezed. He pushed his pants and underwear down to his ankles with one great thrust, and his erection danced freely at a forty-five degree angle to his body, pointing at her neck.
She felt his spongy cock head pressing against the soft flesh of her throat, urging her to surround it with her fleshy, wet lips, but as long as she was going to have him, she was going to have him all the way. She pulled away from him and sat Indian-style on the floor, and untied the ribbon from her thick hair.
"What's that for?" Paul asked, a tremble in his voice.
"You come too fast," she whispered, and tied it fairly tight around the base of his quivering cock. Then she leaned back on her hands, planted behind her, and lifted herself up so she looked as though she were about to walk crab style in a child's race.
Paul sunk to his knees and tossed the hem of her conservative dress up atop her belly, then savagely ripped her dainty underwear from her waist. There was no hair on her smooth, lily-white pussy, and through her parted legs he could see the glistening, wet, pink flesh of her inner cunt, a doorway waiting to be entered.
On his knees he walked his blue-veined thickness between the crawling flesh of her pussy lips, and she choked back a scream as she felt his thick penis crown penetrate her vagina. Her bare pubes felt the meat of his throbbing shaft tug and pull at it, creating friction as it rubbed her on its way inside of her.
"Oh God, deeper," she whispered urgently, "deeper, damn you!"
He continued to walk on his knees as his long shaft disappeared, swallowed by the tight, contracting muscles of her vaginal cavern. He knew, at last, that he could go no deeper into her, feeling his crown butt against something solid, the roof of her deep, hollow cunt. At that instant she gurgled, then sighed deeply. "Now fuck me," she commanded.
Paul withdrew from her cunt so that only the top half of his rocky cock head was held in the vise of her pussy lips which sizzled from the heat of her erotic desire. Then he thrust hard into her, feeling his crown jam against her cervix.
"Aaargh," she gasped, and as he withdrew, she moaned, "Yes, just like that, baby, fuck me just like that."
The muscles in her legs strained and the veins stood out as she supported herself upright, but her mind was deep inside her pussy. Paul's mind, on the other hand, was downstairs on the new pledge. He imagined it was Sharon's sweet cunt grasping his shaft and urging his milky white juices to a head.
The ribbon Connie had tied at the base of his cock held his sloshing semen back, but he felt it grow, felt the tension mount as he thrust into her again and again, the meat of his cock sliding along the now-sopping walls of Connie's tight little hole.
Finally even the ribbon could not hold back his love juice, and it erupted from the pinhole in the head of his penis and washed the inside of her pussy with its near-boiling warmth.
The heat of his cum and the intensity of his ejaculation stimulated her hard little clitoris, and she collapsed as she climaxed. Even though his cock slipped out of her, squirting its last bit of semen over her belly, which was covered by her skirt, she continued to come, gyrating against the floor as she felt his sticky cock liquid filling her.
She lay on the floor gasping as Paul adjusted his pants and went back downstairs, done with her, ready for the new group. Particularly the new pledge, Sharon Simmons. He felt strangely unsatisfied.
CHAPTER TWO
Dear Diary:
Today I became a Sigma Epsilon Chi pledge.
Already I feel at home here. The young ladies who are sisters of this upper-crust sorority are of the best class. They seem intent on their education, and studious. Even though I am a pledge, I feel more accepted among the SEX sisters than I ever did among my peers back home.
Being a pledge, of course, does not make me a full-fledged sister. That is still several weeks away. I am on a sort of probation, which is not unique to this house; all sororities and fraternities work that way. There are several other pledges, also from families which have had members in SEX. Some, I suspect, will wash out, while others will pass the pledge phase, as well as the week-long "hazing" to become regular sisters, with all the recognition and responsibility attendant to that honor.
I have already moved my few belongings from that awful motel to my room at the house. Right now I have the room to myself, a marvelous feeling of privacy and security after a lifetime of sharing a room with a younger sister. Still, there is another bed in the room (there are two beds in every room except the president's), and should another sister desire to live in the house, I could become somebody's roommate. But I wouldn't mind, since I know any sister of SEX and I would get along fine.
After moving in and distributing my belongings to their proper places in the room, I enjoyed my first meal at the house. Everybody takes turns cooking here, and I was told my first turn comes up in three days. I think I'll make my lasagna, which was always a hit at home.
Then after dinner, it was time to be initiated as a pledge to the sorority. I naturally expected some bizarre rite, and I was not disappointed. I have heard many stories about Greek initiations, with all of their strange, symbolic overtones. Still, I was not prepared for the SEX rite.
We pledges-eight of us, in all, all well-built, lovely girls (if I am to be honest with myself, I cannot deny my good looks)-were lined up and blindfolded. Then we were each assigned one of the regular sisters, and told if we moved or cried out, that would be the end of our sisterhood then and there.
I felt my heart accelerate as I wondered what was about to happen to us. I could hear the nervous breathing of my fellow pledges, but trapped in the darkness of my blindfold, I felt distinctly alone.
"All right," I heard Connie call out-Connie was conducting the initiation, as was her privilege as SEX president. "Hold your arms up."
I heard a rustling of material as I hoisted my hands above my head. I didn't know what to expect, but what happened was the sister assigned to me lifted my sweater over my head, removing it. I could tell by the sounds of rustling clothing that the tops of the other seven pledges were being taken off, too.
We hadn't been told to put our arms down, and I so very badly wanted to pass the initiation that I kept them up. It turned out to be a wise choice, since I heard Connie yell to one of the other pledges, "Did I tell you to put your arms down?"
In a minute, I felt the clasp of my brassiere being unhooked, and I felt my firm breasts bounce free; I felt my nipples harden against the air, and I felt like squirming from the unease I felt. Still, I have heard of worse initiations. At one college, I understand, they made their pledges swallow a piece of raw liver while blindfolded. One pledge allegedly choked to death. There was no harm in nakedness, I told myself.
"Now," Connie said. "Put your arms down."
I dropped my arms to my side and stood as straight and erect as I could, trying to look as dignified as possible despite my state of half-dress.
That state soon came to an end, though, as I felt my dress being unzipped; it rustled to my ankles, and Connie ordered us to lift our right feet. I lifted mine, then put it down and lifted my left, as told. My dress had been whisked away. The same process was repeated for my panties and nylons, so that in a matter of moments I stood with the others wearing absolutely nothing but my blindfold. A strange, musky odor filled the room, wafting into my nostrils, and I knew it was the scent of natural lubricants stimulated within the vaginas of the other girls. And judging by the queer, quivering feeling deep inside my own, I was adding my aroma to the congregate scent.
"Stand straight," Connie bellowed, "and spread your legs."
I obeyed, spreading my legs and keeping my knees straight, as though straddling some object. I felt something like a whisper of air brush my soft thighs, but I guessed it was either my imagination or a draft. After all, I had no clothing on.
Still, my cunt was reacting in a very strange manner. I am a virgin, of course, saving myself for that right man who offers his life to me in marriage, and I have experienced very little of the forbidden sexual pleasures so many girls opt to participate in before they should. The tender, pink lips of my pussy began to jiggle and the dark, moist tunnel inside of me filled with a prickly warmth that shuddered along my spine. I felt suddenly anxious and frustrated. And confused.
"Remember," Connie said. "Any movement, any loud noises, and your affiliation with SEX is over."
I waited, and suddenly felt something against my vulva. It was flat and squirmy and wet-a tongue! I felt a cry rise in my throat and I choked it back as the tongue flattened against the underside of my pussy and wriggled about, creating friction that in turn generated flames deep within me.
I remained perfectly rigid, telling myself over and over again that the whole idea behind a Greek initiation rite was that the experience was to be unanticipated, that it was a test to see how I would react to a situation for which I was unprepared.
I did not cry out loud, but I did whimper and mew as the tongue drenched my mound of pubic hair. When my mattress of cuntal fur was thoroughly soaked, the tongue pushed upward, prying apart my sizzling cleft and working up inside my never-before-entered cunt.
I gasped, but fought to remain still. My knees were turning to jelly as I fought for control over the strange, erotic sensations that sang through me. The tongue wormed up my slit, tasting the gush of pussy juice that spilled from some secret place inside.
To my right I heard a girl's sharp, agonized cry, and I bit my lip. My ears detected the sound of somebody walking to her. From what I heard I guessed they tore the blindfold from her head and shoved her clothes into her arms. "You're through," I heard Connie say. "Finished. Get dressed, get your things and get out."
"But..." the girl began to plead.
"No buts. The initiation exists for pure and simple reasons, and you have failed. That's all there is to it. It's not too late to rush another sorority."
The girl started to say something, but my ears filled instead with a loud ringing as the tongue beneath my parted, creamy thighs discovered my clitoris and captured it in its tight, rigid curl.
I've never been interested in sex; I've never even masturbated. Indeed, I have always pushed unwanted feelings of arousal far away whenever they have occurred, but this time I had no choice but to experience it.
The tongue held my rigid, throbbing clitoris in its unrelenting fold, and pulled back into the mouth to which it was attached, dragging my inexperienced little clitty from its niche with it. The lips that surrounded the tongue closed over my clitoris, and I felt teeth nibbling at it, making it grow and shoot electric shocks to the ends of every nerve in my body.
Suddenly the tongue released my clitoris and stuffed itself deeply into the mysterious cavern of my pussy, and I felt my first orgasm. In the back of my mind I knew I was to stand stock still, but the rest of my mind refused to acknowledge it. My knees were shaking, the hands at my side shook in a frenzy, desperate to grasp the head that was planted between my legs, my head tilted back and I used every fiber of willpower within me to keep from screaming in erotic ecstasy.
My fluids gushed out, and I felt the tongue inside me work frantically to lap them up.
Then, slowly, the warmth subsided, and I returned to my senses, dazed. I was shocked and ashamed, then remembered I was here for an initiation. I allowed myself to be dressed and led blindfolded back to my room. There, my blindfold removed, and one of the sisters named Melinda was with me, looking prim and proper. She hugged me in a sisterly fashion, and smiled purely. "Congratulations," she said. "You made it. You're a SEX pledge."
The shame left me, and I smiled back. I was filled with a strange sense of pride.
I closed my door and lay on the bed, letting the warmth I had felt return to my memory. Everything was going to be just fine
Sharon slept soundly that night, comforted by the knowledge that she slept within the closed confines of her own room in her house, surrounded by slumbering sisters who would protect her, and who could count on her for protection as well.
She was secure and happy, and her dreams were a long string of happy endings. For once she was not ostracized, outcast, exempt from the goings-on of those who had fun and enjoyed life. Now she could immerse herself in her studies without fearing that her intense academic pursuits were in reality nothing more than an escape from real life trauma.
She arose feeling rested, and recounted those dreams she was fortunate enough to remember.
Somehow she had forgotten the dreams with an accent on the erotic-one, for instance, dealt with a giant tongue that snaked toward her, flicking and twisting and curling, groping in darkness toward her loins which ached from desire and wanton arousal. She had even climaxed in her sleep without being aware of it, dripping a smattering of her sticky sweet love juice onto the sheets, which dried before she awakened. She never knew she had experienced the second orgasm of her life.
She had accomplished it with a pillow. As she dreamed of some nebulous sexual organ invading her parted cuntal lips, she had pulled the pillow down between her legs and then squeezed her knees together, drawing the pillow hard against the underside of her awakened cunt. Each time she dreamed the orgam had thrust into her, she had pulled the pillow hard into herself, moistening the corner and jamming it against her clitoris, until finally her button-like little clitty could stand no more, and erupted in a volcanic orgasm that had her moaning and gyrating her slender, curvy hips against the firm mattress. Then, still asleep, she had returned the pillow beneath her head and drifted back into a dreamless state. Like the sheets, her pillow had dried by the time the sun crept in through her window.
After showering and taking care of her body, she had stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom in awe. She noticed a glow about her she had never seen before, a sort of halo that surrounded and engulfed her. She suspected it came from a brand new sense of well-being and acceptance. She finally belonged. She was happy.
She bounced down the stairs to the breakfast table, where some of the girls had already congregated. Others still used the bathroom, still others were either just arising or still asleep.
She sat and was instantly served her breakfast, a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, home-fried potatoes and sliced tomatoes. There was orange juice, milk, water and coffee. In the center of the table was a plate heaping with strips of meaty bacon!
The chatter was meaningless, friendly and cozy. Somebody mentioned a study group would be forming for an advanced biology class, and Sharon's ears perked, then she deflated when she realized she was not in that class. She thought she might sit in anyway, until a study group formed she could be part of, just so she could be active, be part of what was going on.
The early eaters drifted away and some late arrivers took their places, and conversation continued without a beat. Sharon was impressed with the lofty, cultured tone of the talk, at the correct use of most grammar and the rich vocabularies displayed by the SEX sisters.
Still, she was irked by something inside her she could not get rid of. Each girl at the table attracted her attention for a moment as she wondered if that girl was the one who had lain beneath her the night before, bathing her splayed and open pussy with her eager tongue.
She felt relieved to a degree when she finished her breakfast and returned to her room alone. Again she told herself last night was only a fraternal ritual, designed to enhance a bond between the members of the sorority, to encourage a sisterly feeling and a shared secret. She would not think about it again, she told herself. It was wrong, she insisted in her mind, to equate a Greek initiation rite with long-buried sexual yearnings.
Besides, she may be a stone fox, she told herself, the frequent object of much male attention, but her own desires did not lean toward the sexual. Her mind was in a much loftier place, in the clouds of academic achievement. Sex preoccupied so much time of so many people. She would never fall into that trap. She would remain chaste, and reach more permanent, lasting goals.
She combed her long hair until it shined seemingly from a light source of "its own, then smoothed her conservative, colorless clothes out, and gathered her textbooks and notebooks and pens. She checked once more to make sure she had everything, that she looked her part, then wandered again downstairs.
Connie was at the breakfast table now, beginning her meal. "Class today?" she said.
"My first one," she said. "Imagine, my first college class. I'm very excited, even though it's not a particularly exciting class."
Connie sighed. "None of them are particularly exciting, actually, for people of our caliber. By the way, I wanted to mention that we're very proud of you. You performed nobly at last night's initiation."
Sharon blushed and was ashamed of her blush. She blurted a thank you, then said, "I'd better go; I don't want to be late even for a worthless class. They all count in the GPA, you know."
Connie smiled her agreement and watched Sharon's sculptured, round ass wiggle as she darted out of the house. It was obviously a beautiful set of buttocks, even through the bland and dull skirt she wore.
"She's going to be one of our best," Connie said to Monica, a sandy-haired blonde with sharply conical breasts who sat beside her.
Monica licked her lips absently, tasting the bittersweet tastes of Sharon's cunt once again. "I know," she mused. "I know."
Sharon walked confidently across the street from fraternity row and onto the campus proper. A map she had obtained told her how to get to her class, and she found it with ease, walking into what she considered the hallowed halls of the ancient, brick history building.
Her footsteps meshed with those of several hundred other students rushing to their first class of the fall, and echoed resoundingly in the great hall. She counted off the room numbers, found the one on her class card, and went inside.
She was taken aback. Nobody was in the room except for one black girl wearing jeans and an obscenely tight tee-shirt. Her feet were clad in sneakers, and dangled over the back of the chair in front of her.
She had no textbooks and only a tattered notebook that had been scribbled upon mercilessly. She filed her nails with an emery board and looked up at Sharon with virtually no interest when she entered the room.
"Am I in the right place?" Sharon said.
"History one-oh-one," the girl said, bored.
Sharon looked at her card. "That's right."
"Then you're in the right place. Grab a seat, if you can find one."
Sharon looked at her watch. Class was slated to begin in two minutes. Hesitantly she picked out a seat not too far and not too close to the black girl. She looked at her sole classmate carefully now. She had smooth, chocolate skin and a beautiful Nubian face hidden mostly by cascading waves of straight, shiny-black hair. She was short and compact, with her legs masked by jeans and breasts huge and jiggly, displayed blatantly through the thin fabric of her tee-shirt, which offered up the name of some rock 'n roll band Sharon had never heard of.
The two minutes ticked off, and the door opened. Sharon looked up to see the new entry to the class was obviously the professor, who seemed as dumbstruck at the absence of students as she had been.
He plopped his books down at the lectern and stood, looking confused and unsure of himself. "Hi, all," he finally said. Sharon studied him, pleased that he was tall, well-built, handsome and academic looking, particularly because of his thick glasses and tweed jacket.
She was also impressed with his pile of books.
He eyed the black girl, and said, "I know you, Debbie, since you're repeating this course for the second time."
Debbie muttered something under her breath that sounded like, "Damn honky bastard."
Then the teacher shifted his gaze to Sharon, who sat primly upright at her desk. Had she been able to see below the lectern, she would have seen a bulge form in the crotch of his pants, a reaction to the sight of her goddess-like face and perfect breasts. "You, I don't know, since my roster indicates there were to be forty-four students in this class."
"Sharon Simmons," she said, and her soft voice melted his heart like so much butter. Without being conspicuous, he tried to see how short her skirt was, but the top of her desk was in the way.
"I'm Professor Dirk Roland," he said, "And this is supposed to be History one-oh-one. But perhaps most of our students haven't yet arrived. I... suppose we'll adjourn until Thursday's session, and see if we have more of a class then. Er ... dismissed."
Smiling, Sharon rose and nodded at him, and walked out of the class, ignorant of the teacher's gaze, following her, locked on her swiveling hips, and the apple-shaped curve of her buttock cheeks.
Once she had left the room, Debbie said, "She's a cute one, ain't she? Goin to fuck her?"
Dirk strolled out from behind the lectern and displayed his pulsating mound trapped behind his trouser zipper. "I don't know what you're doing back here."
"I flunked again. Doncha remember?'
"But as long as you are, you can help me again."
"You call that help?" Debbie said. "Sticking your white meat in me so you won't be frustrated seein all that fancy white stuff struttin' around?"
"Come over here," he commanded. She rose cockily and approached him. "Go close the door," he said, and as she did, he shut the Venetian blinds.
"I ain't goin' to fuck you for nothing this semester, man," she said.
"I'll pass you this semester. A, B, at least."
Her eyes widened. "You serious, or you just jivin' my ass?"
"I'm serious," he said, and he reached out and undid her pants, "and I intend to do something different to your ass."
Her eyes closed at his words and he yanked her jeans down over her slender, tapered, chocolate colored legs. "Oh, man, you turn me on when you talk dirty. Tell me, white baby, what you goin' to do?"
He pulled her head close to his and planted the flat of his tongue in her ear, blowing hot liquid breath inside that made her black pussy steam with flowing lubricant. "I'm going to shove my hard cock right up your black asshole," he said, "until it hurts, you bitch, until it brings tears to your eyes."
She moaned, a high-pitched, surrendering sound, then whispered through a smile accented by her lightly closed eyes, "Oh yeah, baby, do it."
He whirled her around and pushed her down over a desk, her feet still planted on the floor. With his right hand he undid his own pants, and his erect stiffness sprang free; with his left hand he spread her rubbery rectum open into a small but gaping hole, about half the width of his pulsating, red-colored cock crown.
"Shove it in me, teach," she groaned, and he guided his cock with his hand and wedged it against the puck-ringed anus, then thrust with one great massive shove.
His impaling thickness stabbed into her so hard she instinctively tried to wrench away, but he gripped the fleshy cheeks and held her close to him, the buttocks firm now against his pelvis as his cock disappeared inside her, the walls of her asshole gripping his meatiness like a vise.
She choked back a scream, then moaned in compensation as her knuckles turned literally white gripping the chair in front of her. "Aaahhggh, damn, man," she said, feeling the promised tears well up in her eyes. "Fuck me, fuck me so hard I can't fuck nobody no more," she begged.
He obliged her, withdrawing so his cock plopped out of her ass entry, then, now moist from the first thrust, shoved it in afresh. Each thrust was a new entry, ripping at her innards while each push jammed her sopping pussy against the desk top, rubbing against her clitoris until she shuddered in an exquisite climax.
When she was done she reached behind him and grabbed his dangling, bloated testicles and whispered, "Wash my bowels with your white cum, baby," and the sound of her urging voice brought on the geyser of semen, flooding her and seeping out around the crack between his rigid, thick penis and her tight little rectum.
He pulled out, and pulled his pants back up. "Class dismissed," he said. She collapsed in a spent heap on the floor.
CHAPTER THREE
Sharon had no more classes until the next day, so she returned to the sorority house after lunching at the student cafeteria. She knew a more hearty, wholesome lunch could be had at the house, but she felt that, as a full-time student of State, she should become acquainted with all of the university's facilities and services as quickly as possible.
She was impressed with her history teacher, even though he had not taught anything so far. He was not egomaniacal, or a stickler for rules. Back home in high school, one of those petty teachers would have held she and Debbie in class for the full hour despite the fact that nobody else had arrived. Nothing would be learned, and valuable time would be wasted.
She meandered back to the house while taking in the sights of the campus, hugging her books to her chest and letting the light, warm breeze play with the hem of her skirt.
Only when she was in sight of the house did her reverie dissipate, replaced in her active mind by confusion.
A group of clean cut boys-she thought she recognized them from the fraternity, KKA, were hoisting ladders up to the level of the SEX house's second-story windows. In the front of the house alone, she counted four ladders, and nine brothers were setting them up.
She wandered over to Paul Slaughter, whom she recognized from the rush party, a few nights earlier. He seemed to be directing the efforts.
"Washing windows?" she asked in a light, breezy voice.
Paul looked at her with an irritated expression, but when he recognized her as the one he had a severe case of the hots for, his face softened and he smiled, "You're a pledge," he said. "The ladders are for you and your fellow pledges."
She looked up one of the ladders, a long, straight climb to the upper level of the house.
"I don't understand," she said.
"You will."
"Is it secret? Another initiation?"
"Nah," Paul scowled. "You've already been initiated. But if you know anything at all about sororities and fraternities, you know you have to go through a hazing before you can become a sister. They can't throw you out for hazing, but it gives you an opportunity to quit. It also gives you a chance to see what you'll be doing to next year's pledges once you're a full-fledged sister."
"Then tell me," she said. "What is it?"
Paul shook his head as he stepped on the ladder's bottom rung to check its sturdiness. "It's not my place to tell," he said, gazing up at the window to which the ladder reached. "Besides, you'll find out soon enough."
She looked at him, admiring him. He was a frat brother, and he would not yield. He was tall and dark and strong, and his words were well chosen, his voice sure and steady. An ideal man, she thought, from a fraternity of ideal men.
She jerked her head away, conscious suddenly that he might notice her watching him, and she did not want that. She had no rights or ties to him, and if he or any of his other perfectly acceptable brothers wanted to strike up a relationship with her, that would be up to them. She was the female, the weaker of the sexes, and she would sit and await their attentions, as a woman should do.
She did not fear their gentlemanly approaches, since these were cultured, well-bred men, not the ghastly, seamy boys who had eyed her lustfully in high school. Yet those dreadful experiences back home at least encouraged her that she was good-looking enough to attract this better class of male.
She smiled at Paul and said, "I guess I'll see you r later," and turned to go inside. Paul watched her, imagining that same walk without the hindrance of clothing, the way her firm buttocks would rotate and gyrate with each sexy, slinky step she took. Yes, indeed, he said. No question but that you'll see me later.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths-a trick he had learned as a varsity swimmer wearing those revealing Speedos order to make his erection fade back to a normal-sized penis that would not ache when he walked, rubbing erogenously against the stiff material of his new jeans.
He grinned and winked when one of the other brothers, working on a ladder as he was, smiled at him broadly.
Sharon saw none of this interplay as she walked proudly and happily into the SEX house. She waltzed up the stairs to her room and dumped her books on her bed, then waltzed back down, hoping to find some of the girls at home.
She heard voices from the den, and she weaved her way through the hallway and into the comfortable, homey room where four of the sisters and two of the pledges were engaged in amiable conversation.
They greeted her, and she sat beside Connie and listened to the chatter, waiting for an appropriate time to jump in and add her own comments.
The talk was about first classes, and Sharon told about professor Roland, and some of the sisters rolled I their eyes; one whistled. "What a fox," said Melanie, pursing her lips. "God, sometimes in his class I just want to. ..."
She stopped when Kim, a dark-haired sister with piercing black eyes, jabbed her in the ribs with her elbow. Melanie looked penitent for a minute, but shut up.
"By the way," Sharon said. "What's with the ladders outside. I asked Paul, but he wouldn't tell me."
"It's a hazing scheduled for tonight," Connie said. "KKA is involved, but it's still a sorority activity."
Sharon's curiosity was about to explode. She had images, formulated from books and movies and stories she had read, seen and heard, images of the frat brothers climbing in her window, blindfolding her and kidnapping her, leading her down the dangerous, wobbly ladder, secreting her in a car and careening away to some unknown destination. There, perhaps, they would be released and told to find their way back, walking through the quaint, rural community in only their nightgowns.
"What is it?" she asked eagerly.
Connie smiled, a teasing sort of smile. "Well," she said, "sometime tonight the KKA brothers will come into your room."
Aha! she thought. She was right. It was going to be a kidnapping.
"What will they do?" she asked, as if she didn't know.
"Actually," Connie said, "only one brother will come into your room. He'll come in when you least expect it, when you're asleep, and he'll climb into bed with you and make the best, most passionate love to you you've ever had."
Sharon's heart skipped a beat, and caught in her throat. Y . . . you're kidding, aren't you?"
Connie shook her head sweetly. "Why would I kid you about that?"
"But . . ." she said wanting to complain but not thinking of how she could possibly do that. What was there to say? She was completely unprepared for this turn of events. The initiation rite-she had been so sure it had been exactly that, an initiation rite. But this.....
"I won't... I won V." she blurted. "I'm not that kind of girl, I'm saving myself for . . . NO! I simply will not!"
"If you want to be a sister you will," Connie said, then with a sinister smile, she added, "Your mother and grandmother did."
"That's not possible," she whined, "No, it's just not possible!" And with that, she sprang from the room, running upstairs to her own room, sobs trying to wrench their way out of her throat, but not able to because her throat was constricted from fear and confusion.
Dear Diary:
What a shock! All this time I thought Sigma Epsilon Chi was a happenstance of a name, but it turns out that the letters are symbolic of their English translation as well!
They want me to give up my virginity to a boy I probably haven't even met, who is to sneak into my room while I slumber. I thought at first it was a horrible concept, a degrading exercise and I would certainly refuse to participate. And when Connie indicated my mother and her mother, both SEX sisters, had performed this act, I felt a sickening nausea rise in my throat.
The first thing I had to do, after I calmed down, was contact my mother and verify this. I told her, trying to contain myself, what was expected of me. When I finished, I heard an eerie silence on the other end of the phone.
"Mother?" I said.
"Yes, dear," she said. "That's right. You do what they say, and you'll be a SEX sister and make me very proud."
"But Mother...." I said, shocked.
"I want you to join this group for the same reason my mother had me join. You're a prude, dear, and you have a rose-colored vision of the world. This will do you good."
"But Mother."
"Listen to me, darling," she said. "My mother joined SEX strictly by accident. She was a carefree, happy-go-lucky kind of person, and she fit right in. The sorority's academic pursuits helped her raise her grades immensely, and she enjoyed the hazing because she had always liked sex. When she saw what kind of person I was turning out to be-a prude, just like you dear-she had me join without telling me any of the secrets. She couldn't, you see, she'd been sworn to secrecy. Just as I had. That organization cured my fear of sex, made me awaken to the fact that it is natural and good. It made me a more complete person."
"But Mother,"
"Now, you don't have to go through with the hazing. You can go back to the motel, or move into a dorm, or whatever you want. But unless you become a SEX sister, I don't want you to come home."
"MOTHER!"
"Besides," she said. "You'll meet some wonderful men. I met your father there. I believe, in fact, that I met him at the same hazing you're supposed to have tonight."
"But Mother!"
"Goodbye, dear."
The phone went dead, and I listened to the dial tone. I sat on my bed and thought hard. And slowly, one thought overwhelmed the rest. It was about the initiation, about how good that orgasm had felt, how unique and wonderful.
I wanted so badly to be able to go home again. And to be accepted. And to marry well. But I still wanted to marry as a virgin.
But Daddy hadn't married a virgin, as I had suspected. I was so confused.
But now I have to make up my mind. I have to decide what to do.
Well, Diary, I suppose I'll let you know one way or the other tomorrow.
Sharon had a hard time getting to sleep. She tossed and turned, twisting herself in the sheets and struggling in a sweat to untangle herself. She listened to her heart smash against her ribcage, and heard it echo in the cavern of her mind.
She tried to force herself to lay still, but could not. She was surprised to find that, even though she was sweating profusely, the moisture was at a premium between her creamy thighs. She was shocked to think that some of her agitation could be arousal, that she actually anticipated the arrival of the frat brother with relish.
When she actually became drowsy, about two in the morning, her hand snaked down between her legs involuntarily, and her finger slipped under her nightgown and caressed the prickly hairs of her cuntal exterior. She felt the flesh between her pussy lips begin to sizzle and quiver, and she moaned softly to herself. Good God, was she dreaming?
Her tense thighs relaxed as she pressed her finger lengthwise into the slit of her cunt, and felt the sensation of a foreign object invading the forbidden portal of her pussy. Her finger felt moist and warm, and her hand began to shake. She had never before masturbated, and she was awed at the way her vagina felt: warm, hot, squishy and electrified. Her mind scattered in a thousand directions, and she tried to concentrate on one thought, on one idea, but she could not. All she could do was wriggle that rigid little finger up and down against something hard inside of her pussy, toward the top from where her moistures flowed.
The feeling of intensity, of liquid-induced ecstasy flowed through her and magnified with each passing stroke, and suddenly she burst into a wonderful, physical orgasm. She arched her back and dug her finger deep into the tunnel of her dark, moist cunt and vibrated harder as she gyrated her hips into the mattress, felt her arms shake, her knees turn to water, her head vanish in a cloud of delight. She heard herself moaning, but she was sure it was somebody else, or perhaps a dream.
When the feeling was gone, she eased slowly back to the mattress, relaxed and satisfied. Curious, she settled her finger under her nose and sniffed, and was aroused and excited at the smell of her own pussy. She parted her moist full lips and lay the finger on her tongue, and delighted in the sweet-and-sour taste of her own juice.
She sucked her finger clean, and lay it by her side. A voice inside her yelled at her that this was wrong, it violated all she had ever believed in.
"I know," she muttered but she was too tired to argue, or even think about it.
She slept.
In her sleep, she thought she heard a scraping sound, but it did not awaken her. She wriggled and turned on her back, and sighed contentedly.
Actually, there had been a sound, the sound of the top of a long ladder scraping against the glass of her window as it bore the weight of a human body. The body belonged to Paul Slaughter, president of Kappa Kappa Alpha, who, as president, had been able to choose which window to which he would ascend. He found out earlier which one housed Sharon Simmons, the girl who made his cock throb with excitement, and selected that ladder.
As prearranged, the window had been left unlocked, and he pressed his palms against the glass and pushed, forcing the window open. He did it silently, watching the vision of beauty sleep in her tangled, thrown-back sheets. Already his penis was erect, straining against his pants, aching to be surrounded by her fleshy wetness which would soon swallow his forceful squirts of sloshing cum.
She wore a full length nightgown, but somehow in her sleep it had been yanked up to just below her pussy, and her creamy thighs beckoned him in the pale moonlight. Her breasts pillowed out from her chest, and through the satin fabric of her gown he could see the perfect, round nipples resting just above the halfway mark of her magnificent tits. He felt his breathing accelerate, and he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes in order to slow his breathing down.
When he was as calm as he thought he ought to be, he hoisted one leg into the window, then the other, and looked back down outside. Three brothers of KKA stared back up at him, and he held his two hands out with all fingers extended. Ten minutes it meant. They nodded, and began moving the ladders from the other windows, to which brothers had already ascended, and gathered them at Sharon's. Paul was KKA president, and the honor of this particular activity was his.
He pulled the window shut and advanced to the bed, looming over her like a dark figure from Victorian romance, about to sweep her out of bed and down the ladder, off to a wild adventure.
Instead, though, he peeled his letterman sweater from himself and folded it neatly, and draped it over the chair beside the bed. His shirt came next, and then he sat on the chair and took his shoes off, his socks, and his pants. He wriggled out of his tight underwear and stood naked above her, his muscles rippling across his chest in the moonlight, his cock stiff and erect as blood coursed through it, pulsating in the spongy crown and making the long thickness dance and wiggle.
He accomplished his undressing in complete silence, as he knew his brothers were doing in the rooms nearby. His meaty thickness was burning with anticipation, and he wrapped his long, strong fingers around his aching shaft to calm it. Feeling something surrounding it only made it more excited, though, and he released his cock in fear that simply touching it while gazing at Sharon would be enough to make a geyser of viscous male cum leap from his pinhole and splatter across her delicate sleeping figure.
He bent down and delicately lifted the hem of her gown up over her belly, exposing her trim, triangular fur patch to him. He gasped at its exquisiteness, and let one finger touch the downy curls he saw there. They were moist, and he smelled his finger and delighted in the familiar scents of female excitement. It made his already rigid cock stand up even straighter, throbbing and pulsating and aching to gouge between the hidden pussy lips so close to him now.
She shifted slightly in her sleep from the touch of him, but settled back into her deep slumber. He then continued lifting the bottom of her gown up, up over her amazing, alabaster-like breasts which took his breath away. Never had he seen so perfectly sculptured a set of tits. They were large without looking huge, and round without being too bilious. He yearned to close his hands over them, letting the nipples peek through his finger. But in a moment. First, he had to get her ready.
Gently, he slid the flat of his hands beneath each of her firm, incredibly soft cheeks, and shifted her so she lay flat on her back. She almost awakened, but he was gentle. He had done this before, and knew how to do it.
Besides, he could not fail. The whole idea was for the KKA pledges downstairs to watch and listen so they could perform these duties in the years to come, when Paul and his peers were gone on to the real world.
As he carried her by the buttocks her knees bent, and her legs instinctively spread, and his nostrils were assaulted by the scent that arose from her pussy. He looked between her splayed, soft thighs into the entryway that now made itself clear to him. No hairs crisscrossed over the slit between her legs, and the pink, glistening membrane flesh within her was smooth and moist and unwrinkled. She was without a doubt the most perfect woman he had ever encountered.
She rested the bottoms of her feet on the bed and crossed her arms over her breasts, but her legs remained bent and spread for him, inviting his ready manhood inside.
He took her hands lightly by the wrists and settled them at her side, then kneeled on the bed, his erection poised and ready. One quick thrust and he would be inside her finally. It seemed to him he had been waiting an eternity.
He gave it a moment, relishing the position he was in. Then he took a deep breath and yelled, "PLEDGE!"
Sharon jerked convulsively out of her sleep and started to sit up. She felt a hand on her chest pushing her back down and as the haze cleared from her eyes she looked up and saw it was Paul Slaughter, gloriously naked, a massive penis erect and ready to impale her. It was the first cock she had ever seen, and it made her numb with fear and anticipation.
She opened her mouth to say something, deciding at the last instant she could not go through with this, but it was too late. Paul held his impaling thickness in his meaty paw-like hand, and guided it between her ready-spread legs. She felt the rocky crown of his erection jam against her vulva, pushing the pink flesh of her inner pussy lips aside, and it continued down into her, pushing away her virgin cuntal walls, and then, in a lightning bolt of pain that staggered her senses, he burst her delicate little hymen.
She opened her mouth to scream from the excruciating pain, but Paul clamped his hand over her mouth. "Just lay back, Sharon, and enjoy me," he said. "You're getting the cream of the crop."
The scream was still there, but it was trapped behind his hand. She splayed her legs further to allow him more room, and then she realized she was no longer pure, that this man's organ was grinding into her, pushing as deep into her hair-fringed fissure as it would go. She felt, finally, his cockhead bang against her cervix, and he lay atop her, his firm, strong chest crushing her fleshy tits as his pelvis rose, and she felt his thick skewering prick withdraw from her. Her cuntal walls snapped closed again, like a rubber band that had been stretched and then released, and before she could gird herself for the next assault, his hips came crashing down again to meet hers. His cock impaled her again, tearing her inner flesh apart once more as it buried itself in her sticky, wet cavern.
She felt something warm trickling down her thigh and knew it was blood from her mangled cherry, but she only felt a bit of pain now. Instead, she felt glorious pleasure, a delight something akin to the sensations she had enjoyed as a tongue roamed her pussy, or her finger had explored its powers of pleasure. But this was something more, something intense, something exquisite.
This was the way it was supposed to be.
Sharon had often wondered what she was supposed to do while engaged in intercourse, with her hands for instance. No such thoughts crossed her mind now; her hands acted impulsively, on their own, and sought his broad shoulders and dug their nails into the firm, hard flesh that she found there. Then she rubbed circles in his back, and finally reached down and held his taut buttocks with both hands, pushing him even more deeply into her tight, quivering little hole.
"Oh," she stammered, her eyes open but seeing only fireworks that were actually going off in her head. "Oh God, I'm going to cum, oh!"
Paul's mouth was nestled inside her ear, and he blew his steamy breath into it and whispered, "Come all over my cock, baby. Come on, do it."
She wrapped her legs around his, intertwining them, and helped him jackhammer his meaty member into her strained, sore pussy. Each thrust dragged across her engorged clitoris and raked it with a million new sensations until she finally lost control of her grip on reality and fell into the lost dimension of sexual climax.
She shook and shook some more, like jelly in a car without shocks, and she quivered and trapped Paul's thighs and legs in a viselike grip of her own limbs. She arched her back, lifting Paul's considerable weight with her, and screamed and groaned and humped her happy ass against the mattress, trying to squeeze every last possible sensation out of his magnificent, virgin-shattering penis.
She had no idea Paul was coming too, at the same time, unloading a fountain of sperm into her gaping, cock-hungry vagina. She knew only after he pulled out and displayed his cock for her, still hard but not as big or thick, dripping with the shiny white stuff.
Hypnotized by the experience, but having had her first man, by the sight of semen she knew had coated his cock while still nestled deep inside her cunt, she slid on her back so she was looking up at the underside of his penis.
Slowly, she reached up and held it, feeling its slimy coating over the bonelike rigidity of the member. She held it tight, then released it and brought her hand to her face and gazed at it in rapture. Then her serpentine tongue, pink tipped and waggling from nerves, from activity and from excitement, licked her own palm. The cum on her hand tasted warm and salty and creamy, and spilled down her throat like a favorite drink. She licked her hand clean hungrily, then reached up and grabbed him again.
"Don't you think that's enough?" Paul asked.
She shook her head, not wanting to use her mouth to speak, not wanting to use it for anything but tasting his penis. She lifted herself by pushing down on the bed, then, took his thickness inside her mouth and licked it clean as well. Paul groaned, delighted at her eagerness, but when she began to suck for more cum-coating that simply wasn't there, he pushed her head away. He felt his drained cock fill with sharp pain, and he knew he had no more fucking in him.
"Congratulations," he said. "You pass the first haze."
"Fuck me again," she whimpered.
"Not tonight," he grinned at her. "But any time you want, you just ask." He looked to the window, and winked.
Sharon followed his gaze, and saw three male faces pressed against the fogged glass. "That's part of their initiation," Paul said. Mortified, Sharon grasped for the covers and pulled them over herself.
Paul dressed as he watched her, then went to the window. "You're the best I've ever had," he said to her, sincerely, and he disappeared out the window. The other faces were gone too, and she heard the sounds of the ladders being removed.
It was a long time before she fell back asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sharon awakened, and the bright new day brought her feelings she had not expected she would feel.
Her soul was in torment, two factions at war with one another. On the one hand, she realized her virginity was gone with a feeling of conquest, overcoming a hurdle that had haunted her for many years. She had experienced the sensations of physical lust that had been a source of fear for so long, and now she could put it behind her and move on to other things.
For instance, she thought, if she met a boy she truly felt strongly about, she could after an appropriate courtship, go to bed with him without fearing dire consequences. She would not be one of "those" girls who insisted on marriage every time a boy wanted to put his hand under her skirt. She could just as easily say no too, and not feel it was because of her fear of a penis.
Still, it's hard to part with a concept, an ideal. She had lived by a code she had established for herself, and now in one night it was shattered. It had been one of two things she had strongly believed in, and now it was gone. The other was her pursuit of knowledge, and indeed she still had that, but what of it? That was a guide for her mind, not for her heart. Her heart had told her nothing of academia, only of love and its affiliations. Rule: somebody who loves you also respects you, and will not try to fuck you (my God, am I really thinking with those words?) until there is a legal bind between you.
But that rule had no force behind it, the law had been repealed. Her entire code of ethics, her whole standard of behavior had evaporated the instant Paul had parted her awakening pussy lips with the thick, hot head of his cock.
What could she believe in now? How was she to behave? Should she act cheap and soiled, wear revealing clothes and wiggle her ass the way she'd seen the hussies wiggling theirs at home? Should she maintain the illusion of purity, even though it would be living a lie? Now that she had spread her long, sensuous legs for a man, she wondered if it would it matter very much if she did it again and again?
She could, she realized, consider it an accident, something that happened that she would not allow to happen again.
But that contradicted the other emotion she felt that she had loved it so. In fact, she ached and pined to have Paul's thrilling, rigid penis inside her again.
NO! That's not right, nor was it like her. Perhaps she had been fucked for the first time, but she was still Sharon Simmons, still the same person with the same brain and the same heart. And she knew, deep in her heart, that what she had done was wrong, despite what her mother had told her.
She arose slowly, trembling from the conflict within her. Every movement had to be carefully planned, deliberated, studied. Her mind concentrated so hard on her predicament that she had to think to shower, to lather her slender, firm body with soap and rinse it away. Everything she did took concentration, because her entire mind was elsewhere.
She moved like a ghost, pale and slow, down to breakfast. The other girls displayed a variety of emotions, but she could not pay attention to them. Her own emotions monopolized her mind.
The other pledges in particular were a gallery of expression, but none so severe as Sharon. Some were happy and gleeful, and she suspected in the far recesses of her mind they had been laid for the first time, but had always wanted it. Now they had satisfied a desire, fulfilled a wish.
Others were acting as though nothing at all had happened, and these, she guessed, had been impaled on a male erection at least four or five times in the past.
Then there were a couple who seemed down in the dumps, and they were having fits of conscience over their actions of the previous night. But none were in as deep a fog as was Sharon. Her body felt numb, her vision was not real, the sounds she heard were far away. Her conscience was not merely nagging at her; it was killing her.
Halfway through breakfast she felt her meal rising from her stomach, in her throat, and she covered her mouth with her hand and dashed upstairs. Behind her, she heard a few giggles. "Knock it off," she heard Connie say. "She'll be all right."
She reached the bathroom and fell to her knees and dry-heaved, but nothing came up. It was tension and nerves and guilt. She had obviously not betrayed her mother, nor the sisters of SEX. But she had, she knew now, betrayed herself, and her own morality. It was nothing religious; she didn't believe she had sinned or committed an affront to God. But if she didn't have the strength of her own strongest convictions, what did she have the strength for?
She went to her room and gathered the books she would need for the day, seeing their titles through a fog, and descended the stairs once again, bypassing the dining room and heading out the door.
It was too early for class, so she wandered aimlessly, seeing nothing, not feeling that the air had turned colder than it had been, the wind nipping at her bare legs. She still wore her staid, plain dress, but she felt like a hooker parading down the street, and no matter how many times she spied her reflection in a window, she could not dispel this feeling. She was a filthy whore, she told herself.
A bell tolled somewhere in the distance, and she snapped partially out of her introversion and looked at her watch. She had been meandering about without direction for over two hours, and now she was late for class.
Which class, she asked herself. History, you whore.
She trotted at a good clip to the History Building, dashed down the emptied corridors listening to her footsteps echo in the great hallway. She burst into the classroom unceremoniously, and found a seat. Only when she was seated did she realize there were perhaps fifteen other students there who had not been there the last time.
Professor Roland stopped in the middle of his lecture to allow the latecomer a chance to find a seat, and was about to say something about her tardiness when he recognized who it was, that girl Sharon who had been here before, when the rest of the class had not bothered to show up.
As she moved to sit down, he saw the fine, tapered curve of her cheeks, and he felt a stirring inside his loins. Then he noticed Debbie's eyes burning into him, and when he looked at her, she just smiled and winked. He ignored it.
He continued with his lecture, but now his eyes, which usually roamed the classroom and sought eye contact with the class at large, kept drifting back to Sharon. Yet for some reason, she did not appear to see him. She sat still in her seat, her hands neatly folded in front of her, but she did not seem to see anything, instead it appeared, she was looking through him, through the walls of the room and off into space. Something was troubling her.
But now he had 17 students, of a racial and sexual mix, and he could not concentrate on the two who were there before-one whom he had fucked repeatedly, the other whom he was determined to have before the semester ended.
He relied now more on his lecture notes, since his mind was on the future instead of the past. Each time he spied her delicate, flawless face, he felt blood gush a little more into the long shaft of his cock, and finally he was forced to stand behind the lectern in order to cover the hugeness that had formed in his pants.
Sharon had no inkling that out of 17 students, Roland was in his mind concentrating deeply on her. Nor did she know he thought she was not paying attention. In fact, she was paying attention, trying to bury her agonizing thoughts in the pleasures of history and learning.
She stared so rigidly straight ahead because of her reaction toward seeing Professor Roland. Before she had thought him a fine specimen of a man, learned and probably well bred. Now, since her encounter with Paul Slaughter, she saw him with a different eye. He was tall and well built and deliciously good looking. Despite herself, she found herself wondering what his penis looked liked, if it was stiff and long with a series of map-like blue veins ridging its length. She wondered as she stared what it would be like to spread her legs far apart for him, showing him the inside of her pink, scented cunt, grasping his throbbing cock by the base and steering it inside, feeling the crown separate the walls of her cuntal interior as it sought refuge in the deepest parts of its warm, clinging wetness.
She jerked her head when she realized the class was breaking up, chairs were being pushed back and students were leaving; some had already left. She had been wondering if most girls thought of their teachers in those terms, and realized they probably did, only not in such detail as herself. She was reminding herself that she was new to this game, and not at all comfortable with it yet, when the class dispersed. She started out of her chair, but was already the last to be leaving. Her heart caught in her throat when she saw Roland coming toward her.
"It's Sharon, isn't it?" he said.
"That's right," she stammered.
"I couldn't help noticing," he said. "Is something wrong?"
She looked up at him, suddenly feeling as though there had been a stab of pity from this man to shake her just a little from her mood. "Yes," she said, grateful inside to what she saw as a sincere intrusion. "Yes, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. I know we've only met once, but you struck me noticeably as a studious type. I wasn't wrong, was I?"
"Oh, no," she said, now compelled to defend her interest in academia. "I graduated with 3.9 from high school. I would have had a 4.0 but for one damned B," she stammered, because the use of a foul word was new to her, yet it had come so easily. "I got the B because I had pneumonia, and I had to miss five weeks of school. I managed to study in all my courses well enough but one, microbiology."
'They had microbiology in your high school?"
"It was a special college-level class for advanced students," she explained. "I was still president of the Girl's Athletic Association, president of the student body and class valedictorian."
Roland was astonished, and amazed. She was not only sensationally beautiful (and that without makeup or the kind of clothes beautiful girls wear), and equally brilliant! He fell in love in that instant.
Nor did he fall out of lust. His throbbing erection still clouded his vision of the girl, and was uppermost in his mind. "Then what is it?" he asked. "What's bothering you?"
"It's nothing, really," she said. "Just one of those... one of those things with a sorority. I'll get over it."
"I don't think you believe a word of that," he said with a friendly concerned smile. "Which is too bad, since it's entirely true. Maybe I can help, though."
Her interest now was truly piqued. "How could you do that?" she asked, wide-eyed and hopeful.
He shrugged, and she delighted in the boyish honesty in his face. She felt incredibly better than she had, and awaited his response eagerly. "I thought we could ... talk about it," he said. "Maybe over dinner tomorrow."
It wasn't what she had been expecting, but she was not turned off by it, either. She had been expecting more or less a fatherly bit of sage advice, and here, from a real college professor, had come the offer of a date!
And she thrilled herself even more. She had been so excited by his attention, his sincerity, his maturity, that she had forgotten the distressing events of the evening before. And when he had asked her to dinner, she immediately knew she would say yes, and the thought of doing with Professor Roland what she had done with Paul never entered her mind.
"Why, Professor," she stammered. "I... I'd love to."
"Fine," Roland said, his heart hammering from arousal as he gazed at the small exposure of cleavage that peeked over the top of her outfit. "You say you're with which sorority house?"
"Sigma Epsilon Chi," she told him.
He nodded, the name signifying nothing to him, beyond the irony of the letters. "Isn't that a bit racy of a name?"
"That's what I thought," she told him. "But it's a very old house, and the letters in Greek signify nothing." She was impressed now with the depth of the secrecy oath in Sigma Epsilon Chi.
"That's true," he said. "Anyway, so I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow. You'll be ready?"
She knew she would be, but she hesitated. Finally her mind overpowering her better sense, she blurted out, "I'll be ready."
As she made her way back to the house, her newly born good mood firmed her resolve as it deepened her confidence in herself. She would get a job, she thought, and find an apartment-even share it with a roommate or two, if she had to. She would quit SEX, leave their sordid practices behind.
Her buoyancy lifted her to ecstatic heights, and she felt no fear or trepidation as she waltzed into the house, on her way up to her room.
"What are you so happy about?" she heard, and stopped, looking over the stair banister to see Connie sitting cross-legged with a textbook on her lap on the den couch. "When you crawled out of here this morning, you looked like death warmed over."
Sharon leaned far out over the banister, her firm breasts dangling from above Hike ripe apples. "I quit," she said.
Connie looked at her, dumbfounded. "You what?"
"I quit! I'm finished, done, through. I came here to go to college and get an education, not, not get that kind of education. I'm going to find a job, even if it means flipping pizzas, and get an apartment, no matter how shabby it is, and I am going to get out of here."
Connie sat bolt upright, about to spew out her objections, but Sharon had already fled happily upstairs. Connie flung her books aside, and darted up after her.
She found her door closed, and knocked. "I don't live here any more," she heard Sharon's merry voice drift from within. "Sharon, I want to talk to you. " 'There's nothing to talk about," she said. "May I please come in?"
She waited while Sharon deliberated. Finally, her voice said, "Oh, all right, but it won't do you any good."
Connie came in and leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her orbular breasts, pressing deeply into the fleshy orbs.
"What makes you think it's so easy to just up and quit? You think you can just walk out of here?"
"And why not?" Sharon said, as she folded a shirt to settle it into the suitcase she had laying open on her bed.
"We're a very discriminating sorority," Connie told her, her voice full of sternness. "Every pledge is screened beforehand-that's why we have no rush with the rest of the school. We're notified by your mothers and neighborhood friends of your arrival here, and we prepare for you. You can't leave."
Sharon was shocked at the revelation, but not dismayed. "I'm sorry you went to so much trouble. I'm going."
"You mean to tell me you didn't like it? That you might have even needed it, to lift a great weight from your shoulders? I spoke with Paul today. You didn't exactly resist."
That slowed her up, but she still intended to go. "Yes," she admitted, "I liked it. That doesn't mean my lifestyle has to revolve around it. There are more important things. And if I find somebody to love...."
'Then you'll spread your legs for him, right? Jesus, you've got a lot to learn. Don't you understand that one cock is just the same as another insofar as what it does to you physically? Some are longer, some shorter, some thicker, some thinner, and some are better than others with no regard to the rest, but when you've had one, it makes no difference any more how many you have. If you love somebody, of course it feels different, emotionally, but it's the same friction of his hot meat all the same. Understand?"'
"Yes," she said, her mood beginning to dissipate. "But I still have to go. Please, Connie. I don't care what anybody else does. But I have to do what's right for me.
"You still don't understand," Connie said. "You can't leave. It's not a matter of what you want. You can't leave."
"What are you going to do, hold me prisoner?"
"Of course not," Connie said. "May I make one suggestion? Call your mother. Tell her what you plan on doing."
"All right," Sharon said. She knew her mother, but she had been surprised that she had steered her to the sorority in the first place, and she thought she understood that. Her mother had been a member, and had seen a need for her daughter to get a taste of the real world she had always stayed removed from. Well, now she had had her taste, and Mom would never deny her her freedom of choice, and her rights as an individual.
She dialed, and waited for the ringing to stop and her mother to answer. She finally did. She told her mother of her plans to quit.
There was a silence on the other end, then her mother said softly and coldly, "If that's what you want, dear."
"We can talk about it when I come home. I know the sorority meant a lot to you and I want to sit and talk about it with you."
"When you come home?" her mother said.
"Yes, for Easter."
"Oh no, dear. If you shirk your obligation to Sigma Epsilon Chi, you can't come home."
Her heart skipped a beat and she felt her face flush with blood. "What?" she said.
"You won't be welcome here. I'm certain your father would concur in that decision."
Sharon in a trance, let the phone slide to the cradle, cutting her mother off.
"Well?" Connie said.
"I'm staying," she said, empty. "I have no choice." Dear Diary:
I was empty, desolate. For the first time in my life, I felt I had no alternatives, no future.
I no longer feel that way. Now once again, I feel torn, at odds with myself, unable to understand which way I feel. That may seem shocking, but something happened, and I learned a little more about myself.
After crying silently on the bed for an hour, then sitting in depressed silence for another, I got antsy, and had to stroll, pacing the room was too confining, making me feel like a caged animal.
I burst out of my room, and stalked down the hall, but stopped, my instinctive curiosity making me pause as I heard something unusual. It was the sound of moaning, coming from inside one of the rooms. The door was open ajar, but it was dark inside.
A chorus of womanly moans made up the sound, with an occasional deeper cry, almost ghostly with its intense pleasure. I couldn't imagine what it might be, and I peered around the corner into the partially open door.
At first all I could see was shining motion, glimmering, glistening moistness swimming in the dark. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw they were bodies, female forms, swarming over each other atop the bed. I gasped, and tried to pull myself away.
Only I couldn't.
As I watched their bodies intertwined, stroking and caressing one another, I recognized them as Melanie and Kim. I knew I should have been repelled, but instead I was drawn inside. Only when I had the advantage of sharing their darkness with no light to dim my view did I notice they were not alone. Nor were they lavishing their lustful intentions on one another. Beneath them lay one of the boys from KKA, naked and writhing beneath the weight of their naked bodies.
All of my emotions vanished, all of the conflicts battling within me drifted away, and I was left with a wanton desire, burning through me. It was the same feeling I had felt after Paul had pierced my virgin cunt, and settled his cock deep inside. All I wanted was that feeling inside my pussy, like a fire had been lit there.
Melanie saw me, and sat up a little, smiling at me. She was panting, her hair was disarrayed and she had been sweating from exertion. She had pear-shaped breasts that pointed upward, and the boy's nibble marks covered both of them; her nipples were pointed like arrow tips off the end of the breasts. The boy opened his eyes and looked at her, and that was the first time she noticed his cock, which had up until then hidden in the wrapping of Melanie's anxious hand.
It jumped to life when he saw her, thickening and pulsating. "Join us, won't you?" Melanie said. Kim turned and looked at her, and smiled.
"What?" I asked.
Kim curled her fingers around the tense hardness of his throbbing shaft, and squeezed, eliciting a moan from the man it was attached to. He arched his back and the head of his cock turned red.
"Come on," Kim said. "Take off your clothes."
I was overpowered by the desire inside of me. I yanked my gray knit top off and fumbled my brassiere free, allowing the jiggly flesh of my taut breasts to burst free.
I stepped out of my shoes, and unzipped my dress, never taking my eyes from the frozen scene before me. When they saw me slip out of the dress, they returned to their work. Melanie covered the boy's mouth with hers, mashing and twisting her moist, rich lips against his. His hand rose and covered her swinging tits, and she moved her head up to allow him to kiss and nibble her neck. His hand drifted between her legs, which she parted for him eagerly, allowing him easy access to her quivering cunt. She kept moving up, always remaining in a position so his finger could probe inside her wet hole.
Finally she was high enough that he was nibbling again on her breasts, cupping the conical, milky tit he was chewing, biting particularly zealously on her pebbly nipple.
Kim, in the meantime, had interlocked her fingers around the base of his meaty thickness and pointed it upward, holding it steady. At first, she slid over it, capturing it between the warm blankets of her orbular breasts and massaging his length up and down. Finally, when she had worked herself into an erotic frenzy, moaning and writhing against the rigidity of his shaft, she released it from the grip of her tits and dove down on it, taking it between her lips and swallowing it down to her laced fingers. I watched her cheeks hollow out and then return to normal as she sucked voraciously, and lifted her head to allow another thrust of his turgid stiffness into the cavern of h mouth.
She unlaced her fingers and swallowed his whole meaty shaft, and he gasped and moaned, arching his back again. I think he even forgot I was there with the things being done to him.
But I wasn't about to let him forget me. By now I was out of my clothes, and I approached the bed, lay upon it, beside the three people interlocked as one. But none of the boy's body was available to me. I couldn't just lay there, though.
Besides, things were progressing without me. Melanie had lifted herself again, pulling her well-eaten breasts from Paul's desperate, grasping mouth. He was placated soon enough, though, as she pressed her quivering pussy against his hungry mouth. I saw his tongue push out from between his lips and disappear into the moist mound of pussy hair.
The only part of his body open was his midriff, so I straddled it, wriggling my eager pussy against his stiff, hard male flesh. It itched at the touch, and I wanted his cock badly, I ached for it, but I knew I would have to be patient; I would have to maneuver my way into access to his blue-veined stiffness.
I looked directly at his head, but only saw his chin below me, working his jaws on Melanie's gaping, splayed cunt. Her breasts loomed in front of me, so I wrapped my hands around her waist and pulled her close, and closed my tense mouth over her stiff nipples.
I instantly forgot about his cock, if only tentatively. Her nipple was like a piece of hard candy in my mouth, yielding and pliable yet stiff enough to withstand my eager nibbling, my teeth gently closing again and again over her breast tips.
I provoked groans from her; I only could tell they were the direct result of my attentions, and hearing the groans made my pussy begin to lubricate, and I knew I was smearing his midriff with my love juices.
Melanie pulled me close, holding my head in her hands and running her fingers through my thick hair. But now I wanted more, something different. I yanked away, still pulling on her nipple with my fingers, but now I could see behind me, where Kim, busily sucking the boy's cock, was sitting with her legs spread.
I could see the pink inner membrane flesh of her dripping cunt, and I swung around, smearing more of my lubricant on the man who was my seat, and dove as I had seen her do on his cock, only I dove between the spread, creamy thighs.
My tongue darted between the parted, splayed pussy lips, and I tasted for the first time the intoxicating juice of another woman's cunt. I licked like I was tasting my first popsicle, lapping up mouthfuls of the fluid and swallowing them after allowing them to coat my tongue and stimulate every taste bud that lay on my soft, pink mouth muscle.
The tip of my tongue jutted against something hard, and I knew I had found her clitoris. She confirmed it for me by starting, jerking, and clamping her silky white thighs against my head. I curled my tongue around the hard little button and tugged, and she jerked again, and now it ws Kim moaning and mewling in response to my actions.
I sucked and tugged, drinking in her liquids, as I felt her tension intensify. My head was yanked up and down, back and forth as Kim began to approach orgasm, her jerks becoming spasmodically regular.
Finally, she cried, "Ah, God," and shuddered to an orgasm that creamed over my face. I thought about hungrily lapping the fluids, but upon hearing her words, I knew his cock had slid free of her mouth.
I pushed her away as she collapsed in a satisfied spent heap. I lifted one leg over his waist, grabbing his slickly wet shaft at the base and guiding it between my burning, anticipation-ridden cuntal walls.
I relished every instant of his spongy cock head boring through the depths of my pussy. Like the end of a drill he pushed through me as I sunk down until the matt of hair growing from my pussy bounced against his, and I knew he was inside me as deeply as he was going to go.
I put my hands on Melanie's thighs, looking directly at his mouth still eating her cunt, but with diminished enthusiasm as he felt my moist flesh grasping his rigid stiffness.
I pushed against her shoulders, and let his cock slip from my cunt, then fell on it again, swallowing it. I humped him like a common girl, humping him harder and harder, feeling him swell inside me, and come as he bit too hard on Melanie's cunt (although she climaxed from the pain, rather than crying out). I kept humping and humping, even when I felt his cock begin to go limp, until I extracted from my exhausted little pussy an intense, delirious orgasm, writhing against him, crying out and gasping.
When I was done, I jumped from him, gathered my clothes and ran back to my room. There I sat and thought. Then I dressed, brushed my hair, went downstairs and found Connie.
"I'm sorry," I told her. "I was rash. I made a mistake."
She smiled at me. "I knew you'd come around," she said sweetly. "Forget it."
I went back to my room and lay down. Now on my mind was Paul and the just-done experience, Professor Roland, my old morals, my uncontrolled lust. I was confused and upset.
I was right back to square one with no idea of what direction I was headed. I was lost.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dear Diary:
One thing I wasn't going to do was cancel my date with Professor Roland. There was a lot still confused in my mind, but one thing I was not confused about was him. He had been kind, and offered me help when others were just shoving me back into the mire, to gasp and drown.
I felt better about having participated in the foursome in Melanie's room the night before. Still upset with myself over the complete discarding of all my previous beliefs, but at least now I knew I liked it, that it wasn't a filthy thing to do, that participating in such an act can be pleasurable. And yet, oddly, I felt none of those desires toward Professor Roland. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with sex, but it didn't make it always 100 percent right, either. And what I felt toward Professor Roland, the magnet that attracted me to him, was that he was good and right. And the two still did not mix within my mind.
My emotions were in a highly excited state; it was a happy compromise between the self-loathing I knew the old Sharon was capable of, and the lustful, eager Sharon, ever-desirous of new sexual encounters, that had blossomed into full bloom in such a brief period of time.
I threw a robe on and darted downstairs and heaped a lot of food onto my plate, then stared at it like an idiot. Professor Roland was going to take me to dinner! But it would have been rude to not eat what I had taken-at least some of it.
"Are we not dressing for dinner any more?" Connie said, eyeing my terrycloth robe, hanging lewdly open above my cleavage, but only accidentally, not by design.
"I fell asleep in the tub," I told her, semi-truthfully. She seemed to accept this, and fell back to eating. I munched down a few bites, then put my fork down and settled back. This piqued Connie's interest again.
"Is there something wrong with the food?"
I'm not sure, but it seemed she was trying to bait me. I wasn't going to let her. "Nothing, it's delicious," I told her. "It's just that I've been kind of -excitable all day. I don't have much of an appetite."
"SEX sisters find it very worthwhile to stay in shape, get lots of protein and minerals," Connie said, the cynicism thick in her voice. I wondered what was bothering her.
Then it dawned on me. Paul! When I had first entered the house, during rush, Paul had been all over Connie, and I thought I had seen them disappear together upstairs. Certainly she knew he would be with one of the pledges on that first night, during which they climbed to our rooms on ladders. Could it have been that he raved about me to her, or told her I was better than she?
Had he told her he wanted to have me again? The thought made the flesh deep inside my pussy crawl, and I pressed my thighs together in an effort to kill the feeling. I succeeded only in suspending it, and when I stood to go to my room, it returned.
On my way upstairs I wondered if perhaps I might be overdoing it, thinking that Paul would want to fuck me again. He was the president of KKA, and the best looking of them. Connie herself is a beautiful girl, and closer to Paul's own age.
Rational thoughts like that fled me as soon as I was secure inside my room, though, and I shrugged out of my robe and sat down in the desk chair before the full length mirror. Watching, fascinated, I spread my legs, splayed them obscenely, and looked into my gaping pussy hole the way a man might see it.
It was pink, beyond the crisscrossing intermingling of black cuntal hairs. The pink moved, as though it was alive, and glistened with moisture, as though that was the blood that kept it living.
I felt the deep interior of my vagina quivering and begging me to relieve it of the agony of disuse it felt. I put my index finger in my mouth and sucked on it for a minute, getting it very moist with a coating of my warm saliva, and then I dug it between the sizzling, hair-fringed cleft between my legs.
I gasped, partly from what I felt as my finger made contact with my burning flesh, and partly from watching my own finger disappear into the forbidden portal that I saw in this new way for the first time in the mirror.
Watching stimulated me to vibrate my finger against the lengthwise slit, and vibating intensified the pleasure with which I watched, until I was bringing myself to a delicious orgasm. I gushed onto the chair, and heard my ass jiggling against the moisture on the wooden seat.
I calmed down, allowing my breathing to normalize, and then found a tissue with which I wiped my pussy reasonably dry. I touched my body, letting my fingers linger over the firm breasts, flicking against the tense, rigid nipples, easing across my flat smooth belly.
I finally pulled myself away from myself, and away from that damned mirror! It was all a revelation. Before I knew I had been beautiful, but that had never meant desirable to me before. Now I was desirable, even to myself. To Paul, whose long, thick, expert penis had penetrated my virgin pussy for the first time, to the girls in the bedroom down the hall, to the boy they were balling.
Then I remembered Professor Roland again, and hurried into my most lively dress. And now, for the first time, I thought of him sexually. Not solely sexually, but I considered that he could be good and nice and sincere, and still have a stiff, throbbing erection around which I could wrap my fingers.
The thought that I could have the best of both worlds-have my cake and eat it too-thrilled me as I have never been thrilled before. I could have his intellect, his honest concern, his good heart and his sincerity, along with his cock, stiff and pulsating and ready to part my pussy lips and fill my vaginal cavern.
I combed my hair until it shone, and unbuttoned the top button of my dress, so more cleavage was exposed than I have ever dared show in public before. I walked quietly down the stairs, my bag over my shoulder, my nylons rustling against each other as my thighs rubbed together, sparking little electric shocks that made the inside of my pussy sing.
Connie was back on her couch (I've never seen anybody else there, so I must assume she has control over it), and she saw me, dressed up and ready for a night on the town.
"Going somewhere?" she said.
"Yes, as a matter of fact," I said. "Out."
Before she could say anything, as I could see she was about to, I stopped her and said, "Connie, I want to apologize. I was overreacting. Too much seemed to be happening to me, and the easiest solution seemed to be quitting. But I suppose it's true what they say, that quitters never win."
She smiled at me now, the way she had when I had first arrived at SEX. I beamed back, and went outside, where Professor Roland's car was parked at the curb.
He was leaning against the car, his arms folded across his chest. He looked so different, wearing no tie, a sweater, and tight jeans. He looked so much more like a-a man, instead of a teacher.
Before I met him, I turned and looked once more back at SEX house. In the window, I could see Connie's face; she was pulling back the curtain, making no effort to hide her observation from me. And even from the distance, I could see the expression on her face. Set and cold and determined. Melanie joined her in the window, and stared at me with the same cold gaze. A chill went up my spine.
I have since spent much time worrying about being here, about the health of these girls within their minds.
But, as for the rest of the evening....
Sharon entered his car, a sleek sports car, and nestled into the comfort of the leather seat. Professor Roland slid in beside her and gunned the engine. It purred like a kitten.
"How does French sound to you?" he asked.
"It sounds good. I didn't think this town was big enough for a French restaurant."
"It's not, but one of the few restaurants happens to be owned by an expatriate Frenchman. The food may not be marvelous, but at least it's authentic."
She laughed. "I want to thank you for cheering me up yesterday, Professor Roland."
"Dirk," he told her.
"Dirk." She tried it out.
"Now, isn't that easy?" he said, and she laughed again.
"Yes," she said. "And I like it."
He drove smoothly, turning deftly the many small corners of the small college town. One turn he took sharply, and Sharon slid in her seat against him, and she thrilled to the strong touch of his body.
After a brief drive they arrived in the main part of town, not much but enough for Sharon, who had not seen a store or a hint of night life since she had arrived at State. The thought startled her. Prior to coming to State, she had had little interest in the night life.
But there was no denying she was happy to be here. In the darkness this place shone like a Mecca, and life fairly teemed on its small, narrow sidewalks. Students trounced up and down the length of the Strip, some going into restaurants, and some into one of the movie theatres, some into one of the few bars. There were singles and couples, and all of them smiled, and it made Sharon's troubles seem very far away.
Dirk turned into a driveway, and Sharon saw the French restaurant and was mildly surprised. She had been to few French restaurants, but those she had been to were all rather fancy setups. This one looked more like a diner, and it actually boasted the gaudy name, Frenchy's.
"What do they serve here, crepe on a stick?" she asked.
It was Dirk's turn to laugh. "I know it doesn't look like much. But the food is actually the best in town."
She looked fondly into his eyes, impressed at his assured demeanor and comforted by the strength of his presence. "If you say so, Dirk," she said.
They went inside and sat at a table for two, covered with a checkered, stained table cloth. A light shone from an oil lamp, though, lending a romantic air to the tacky surroundings. It took on a certain charm.
'Take a look at the menu," Dirk suggested. But Sharon was looking around, suddenly nervous. It was a fair-sized place, and it was alive with people. And in the back of the room, at a table occupied by five letterman clad students, among them, gazing directly at her, was Paul Slaughter.
"Hey," Dirk said, touching her chin with his hand. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
She looked at him and tried to smile, but couldn't. She didn't know why, but Paul's presence filled her with a sense of foreboding, a feeling of dread.
"What is it?" Dirk said, and then followed the line of Sharon's gaze back to Paul and his friends. "What is it, is he one of the ones who made you feel so bad yesterday?"
She nodded before she realized what she was doing, and filled with desperation. "No!" she said, trying to swallow the gesture. "I just...."
He put his hand over hers, and smiled at her. "Don't worry about it, Sharon. You're with me now."
She smiled at him, a bit relieved but still brimming with apprehension. To hide her foul mood, she looked intently at the menu.
The waiter came, wearing a greasy apron, and Dirk ordered tornadoes, and looked to Sharon. "Anything on the menu you want," he told her.
"Oh," she said, startled at his voice. "The salmon," she said, selecting the first thing on the menu she saw.
"A good choice," the waiter said, beaming, and taking the orders back to the kitchen.
Sharon's heart caught in her throat, as she saw Paul rising from his table, gesturing to his friends that he would be back in a minute, and not to interfere. "Oh God," she said.
"Don't worry about it," Dirk said, seeing what she saw. "I'll take care of it.
She didn't know how he would do that, but she had no choice but to leave it to him. What else could she do?
Paul walked slowly through the restaurant, weaving amongst the tables, until he stood before Sharon's table. "Hey, Sharon," he said, completely ignoring Professor Roland.
"Paul," she said, electing only to acknowledge him, and wait for him to say what he wanted to say.
"Out on your own, are you?" he said.
"Sharon's here with me, Paul," Dirk said, and Paul finally turned to him.
"Oh hi, Professor Roland. Imagine you out with a frosh. Is that legal? I mean, could you lose your job for dating a girl who just graduated high school?" Roland saw where Paul was headed, and decided to put a stop to it immediately. "What I do, and the consequences I suffer for it, are my business. Now, if you don't mind."
"But you don't understand, Roland," Paul said. "Sharon's my girl." He looked straight at her. "We've been intimate." Then he looked back at Roland, to see the expression on his face. "You know what I mean, Prof?" he said. "I mean I've had her hot cunt wrapped tight around my cock. Yeah, that's right. I came like a fire hose inside her. She can't be the kind of girl a teacher would want in the first place, but you wouldn't want to cut in on my action now, would you?" Sharon was certain Paul had just disintegrated her bond with Dirk in one fell swoop, but Dirk glared back at Paul, undaunted. "Now you've had your say, Slaughter, so I'll have mine. I want you to leave Sharon and I alone. I am fortunate enough to have you gracing the presence of my English History class, which you must pass if you're to quarterback State's football squad to glory this year. One fail and you're off the team. And get this, Slaughter. One word that images my reputation, or one bit of abuse toward Sharon, and I'll hail you with the toughest exam any student ever had in this school. Understand?" Paul wasn't ready for that, and had no set answers. But he looked directly into Sharon's eyes and said, "I'll talk to you later."
"You'll watch your step, Slaughter," Dirk said to the Greek's back as Paul meandered back to his table.
Sharon's food came, and when she was only a few bites into her meal, Paul and his friends got up and left the restaurant as a group. Paul watched her until he was outside, out of sight.
"I've never liked him," Dirk said. "Arrogant little prick."
"What he said ..." Sharon began to explain.
"It's not necessary,' Dirk said. "It seems to me, Sharon, you come from a rather sheltered outdated environment. What you've done or what you haven't done are of no consequence to me. I don't believe what somebody tells me about you, and I don't care that they've said it. And I don't care if it is true. You don't have to measure up to any expectations. I asked you out because I like you, which doesn't mean I like some image of you that isn't real."
Sharon was so taken with the sincerity of his discourse that she hugged him from across the table, her arms wrapping around his neck. She pulled his head close to hers, and kissed him.
The sensation of her moist, moving lips against his sent a bolt of electricity through his body, an electric charge that concentrated in his cock and made it spring to life. He had obviously done everything right, and he had her damned near to eating out of his hand. He was, indeed, sincere, but if it succeeded in making this voluptuously beautiful, innocent girl his for an evening, he would be a happy man.
Now she parted from him, and loomed embarrassed. "That was impulsive of me," she said. "I'm sorry."
He slid his chair around the small table to where he was sitting next to her instead of across from her. Their backs were to the rest of the restaurant, which was fast emptying.
"Not at all," he said. "I do understand the pressures a new student can find herself under. Especially a young girl joining a staid, stodgy old sorority." He put his arm around her, and squeezed her. As he felt her soft, pliable flesh press against his, molding to it, his cock throbbed agonizingly.
Responding to a newly unearthed instinct, Sharon put her hand on his leg as he squeezed her, near his thigh. She felt tension against the fabric of his pants.
At the same time, she found herself gazing up at him, into his meaningful, sympathetic eyes. Her slightly parted lips connected again with his, and she felt something forcing her teeth apart. It was his tongue, hot and wet and quivering, urging its way into her mouth. Her own tongue responded to its presence, sliding back and forth across the top of his.
His hand dipped to her breast, firmly supported in the cup of her dress, and he held it, forming his hand into its shape and testing its firmness, its pliability, its softness. It was all of those and more. She seemed indeed the perfect woman he had fantasized her.
She moaned as his fingers captured her nipple between the sheer folds of her dress and pinched it erotically, delicately, sending rays of supercharged heat through the mound of flesh from her chest down to her cunt.
Her responsive pussy did not have long to wait. His hand, guided by a willpower that sought only self-indulgent pleasure and conquest, traced from her delightful tit along her flat belly then down between her legs until he was touching the ribs of her silk stockings, beneath the hemline of her dress.
She gasped again as his fingers deftly wedged upward, tugging the lace panties down low enough that he could slip two fingers between the slick lips of her tight little pussy.
Her fingers danced on his back, her nails clawing into his back through his coat occasionally, stroking him and feeling him. She let her thighs slip apart a little, just enough that he could find easier access to the moist interior of her pulsating, throbbing cunt.
He took advantage of it, guiding his fingers inside her, feeling her heated wetness engulf his digits. The musk from her opened pussy drifted to his nostrils, and he was sure he would come in his pants if he did not have her instantly.
She must have read his mind, or so he thought. As he kissed her again, holding the back of her head, the thick, soft curls of hair, with his free hand, she unzipped his pants and fished inside for his blood gorged member.
It had grown so huge with desire that she found it immediately, thick and hot. He was sure he was about to make a fool of himself, climaxing intensely in the palm of her silky hand, but she grasped him by the base and squeezed. She wasn't sure what prompted her to do that, but it kept him from coming. And without the slightest regard to who might be watching her, she lay her head in his lap.
Her hands tugged at his meaty shaft base, feeling the tight, rough balls of pubic hair beneath them. Her lips parted, and felt the warm, spongy head of his cock between them, and she nibbled playfully and sucked, her lips locked behind the crown of his circumcised penis.
His hands burrowed in her hair, grabbing it in great tufts, as he closed his eyes and quivered and thought hard in order to keep from moaning out loud, attracting attention to his compromising position.
She sucked voraciously, hungrily, tasting the first cock she had ever had in her lusting mouth.
As her confidence increased, she took an inch of his pulsating meat into her mouth, feeling the curved head grazing the room of her mouth. Another inch, her lips pressing against his flesh-coated thickness, and she thought she would gag, but she didn't. Encouraged, she thrust her mouth down over the remaining length of his shaft, until her lips felt the same curls of pubic hair her hand had felt.
She lifted her head out of his lap, sucking on the shaft as she might suck on a lollipop, until only the head was back caught behind the cage of her teeth.
Then she dove again, swallowing him, feeling that head of his cock hard and living push down her throat.
She simply held her breath, and that made her mouthful of penis a pleasure instead of a pain.
She lifted her head and fell, developing a rhythm. Dirk still had his fingers inside her slick little hole, and he tightened them into a ball and held them there. Each time she fell on his cock, the motion made her move, and the stone he had created in her pussy jammed against her rock-hard clitoris, stimulating it to harden even more.
She came before he did, and the throes of ecstasy she felt surging through her only intensified the fervor with which she sucked his cock, awaiting the burst of white, sloshing semen from deep within his cock. She had heard girlfriends argue about it, the taste of sperm. Some had hated it, saying it made them feel sick, while others sucked every last drop of it they could from within the width of his meat.
Her hands curled his dangling testicles around, pulling and squeezing them, and she worked hungrily on his pulsating male member. Finally she felt his buttocks shifting erratically in his seat as he quivered and squirmed from the feel of his nearing orgasm.
It occurred with an intense abandon, Dirk rising off his seat and barely trapping a scream behind her gritted teeth. The jet of cum rose upward, surging forth from his testicles, and he felt it pass every centimeter of the length of his shaft, and he felt it separate the closed walls of his cock-head pinhole and gush outward, setting off only stars in his vision.
His cum poured forth, gushing into her mouth, and she swallowed as if it was a nectar of the gods, sweet and salty and full of life and warmth.
It slid down her throat, and she found she was among the faction of her old school friends who liked sucking out every last drop, and sucking for more even when there was no more.
When she had swallowed all the cum he was going to produce, she lifted her head and tucked his fast-wilting cock back inside his pants, and zipped him up.
He removed his hand from her dress, and she rose. Suddenly conscious of their surroundings, they looked around, but it was obvious nobody had noticed them. The waiter came a moment later to remove their plates.
"Sharon," he said, looking away. "I know you're a student and I'm a teacher, but I've had this feeling about you ever since I first saw you. It may not be right, but... I think I love you."
Her heart surged, and she looked deeply into his eyes. "I want to see you again," she said.
"Try to keep me away."
He paid their bill and he drove her back to the sorority house. Her head was in the clouds, lightheaded and dizzy from excitement and happiness. They kissed lingeringly in the car before she finally opened the door, a signal that the evening was over.
Still, they looked at each other and finally she walked up the path to SEX house. Awaiting her, she thought, was a long bath, soaking in hot water and beauty oils, and a long, dreamy sleep.
What was awaiting her, though, was something quite different.
CHAPTER SIX
Sharon put her house key in the door and turned it, then pressed her hand against the door to push it in. But the door gave way, and she realized somebody was pulling it open for her.
She stepped in and looked around the other side of the door. Melanie had opened it for her, and she wore a deep, stern expression carved into her face.
"Come inside," Melanie said.
Sharon smiled and said sure, and followed her. Melanie's walk was stiff and formal; she was not at all the same girl she had ... she had been with the other day while involved with the frat brother.
"Is something wrong?" Sharon finally asked as they walked up the stairs and passed her room. They moved into a hall with which Sharon was unfamiliar.
"Be quiet," Melanie said harshly. "You'll be told everything there is to tell you quite soon enough."
Melanie led her down another corridor, at the end of which was a lone door. Light poured out from beneath it, and suddenly Sharon's feeling of unease increased. Something was amiss, she thought; she had done something wrong.
Melanie opened the door and ushered Sharon hi. She had to blink for a minute to adjust her eyes to the harsh, glaring light from three suspended, naked bulbs. When she could finally see, she saw the room was filled with about eight girls, and three guys. Among the girls was Connie, sitting on a tall stool behind a tall table. She appeared judge-like, as the seven other girls and two of the boys sat in a row to the right of her. To the left was Paul Slaughter, leering at Sharon from a plush chair.
Melanie indicated Sharon should stand in the center of the room, facing Connie. She did as she was told, and Melanie joined the nine others at Connie's right.
"What is this?" Sharon asked, her heart hammering from fear.
"Be silent," Connie said, "and speak only when spoken to, pledge."
Sharon cowered in her spot, feeling three feet smaller all of a sudden. She pursed her lips together and waited.
"We are honored with your presence," Connie told her, sneering. "So nice of you to join us lowly Greeks back at your sorority house."
"I don't..." Sharon said, then caught herself and shut up, but it was too late.
"I said SILENCE!" Connie bellowed. "I'll not warn you again. Do you understand?"
Sharon nodded sullenly.
"Now then," Connie said, restoring her voice to its normal, icy tone. "You appear before us this evening to be judged by a jury of your peers. You will accept the verdict of this jury, and you will accept whatever punishment they opt to dole out to you. You should be made aware that punishments are established in the SEX Code, and such appropriate punishment will be mandated. Any questions, pledge?"
"Yes!" Sharon said, grateful for the opportunity to speak. "Why am I on trial? What have I done?"
Connie looked at her incredulously. "What have you done? You mean-you don't know?"
Sharon shook her head. She was sincere. She truly didn't know.
"Do you know what time it is?" Connie bellowed.
Sharon looked at her watch. 'Two in the morning. Shouldn't everybody be asleep?"
"Indeed we should," Connie said sharply. "It is entirely because of you that we are all awake."
"But... what have I done? Is there a rule about the time, a curfew? If there is, nobody told me about it."
"There is no curfew at SEX house, pledge," Connie said. "But there are rules of other sorts. Tell us, pledge. Where have you been?"
"Out," Sharon said innocently. "Out to dinner."
"With whom, if we may be so bold as to ask?"
"Dirk Roland. He's a history professor here. He been so nice...."
"Be SILENT!" Connie shouted again. She was aghast, and the faces of the jury mirrored Connie's surprise. "Do you really want to incriminate yourself so openly?" She turned to the jury. "You are to disregard the pledge's last remark. Your verdict will be strictly based on the facts that are to be presented to you. Brother Slaughter?"
Paul stood and faced the jury. "Tell this jury what you saw."
"We were at the French restaurant, a bunch of guy from the frat and I. We were just out to have a good time when I saw Sharon Simmons enter the restaurant."
"You recognized her?" Connie said.
"Sure," Paul answered.
"How?"
"I was her pledge initiator. It would be hard to forget somebody you initiated that... enthusiastically."
Connie glared at him, jealousy brimming in he eyes. "Brother Slaughter, you will confine your comments to the business at hand. You positively identified Pledge Simmons at the restaurant?"
"Yes."
"Was she alone?"
"Nope. She was with Roland, like she said. The history teacher."
"Did it appear to be a chance meeting?"
"Nope. They were on a date."
"Did you attempt to speak with pledge Simmons?"
"Knowing my duty, I did. But Roland cut me off. Threatened to flunk me so I wouldn't make eligibility for the team. I knew it was blackmail, but what could I do? So, I just came back here and reported, like the rules say."
"We're all aware of your dedication to the SEX-KKA bind, Brother Slaughter. "Thank you. You may be seated."
Paul sat down and sneered again at Sharon.
"And now," Connie said, looking at Sharon. "How do you plead to these charges?"
"What charges?" Sharon begged. "Please, tell me what I've done wrong? I don't understand."
"Pledge," Connie said. "One of the strictest of SEX house rules clearly states that it is forbidden for a member of the sorority to socialize with any but another member of SEX, or a member of our big brother fraternity KKA. You have blatantly and flagrantly violated this rule, and now must pay the consequences."
Sharon shivered and stood erect, torn between the fear of the consequences she would have to take, and the unfairness of the doctrine. Her singlemindedness, her willpower won out over the fear, and she spoke her mind.
"First of all, nobody ever told me I couldn't date outside the sorority," she said. Connie looked concerned, and said, "You should have been told. Are you certain you weren't told?"
"Positive," Sharon said, indignation making her voice well up with anger. "And secondly, what business is it of the sorority to tell me who I can and can't date?"
Connie slammed her fist into the desk. "Sorority rules are 'paramount," she said. "They will be obeyed, or the violating members will be drummed out of this sorority unceremoniously. I regret you were not informed of the rules, but the rules they still are. If this jury finds you guilty of dating outside the sorority, you will either accept the standard punishment, or leave the house. And I think we've already discussed the consequences of leaving the sorority, haven't we?"
Sharon did not have to answer.
Connie turned her attention to the jury made up mostly of SEX sisters, with a few KKA brothers thrown in for balance. "You have heard the evidence, and you have heard the accused respond. As the court has already informed Miss Simmons, we regret the oversight in not explaining this rule to her. Yet even now that she understands the rule clearly, she flaunts her indifference to us and expresses a sentiment clearly against the house rule. It is the opinion of this court that she be found guilty as charged. Will the jury render a verdict."
One by one, the members of the jury rose and uttered the word, "Guilty." There was silence in the small courtroom when they had finished.
Connie eyed Sharon, who stood firm and tall, not wanting to be the small, cringing creature they obviously expected her to be. "You have been found guilty," Connie said happily. "You now have a choice. You may accept punishment, or leave. If you elect to leave, you are commanded to do so at once. What is your choice?"
'That depends," Sharon said bitterly. "What's the punishment?"
"You may not learn that until after you have made your decision."
"How much time do I have to make a decision?" she asked.
Connie smiled down at her. "You have no time. Your answer is expected now."
Dear Diary:
I didn't know what to do. It had been only a matter of hours since the threat of non-membership had been suspended over my head, and I had learned the bitter truth of what would happen. No friends, no home, no family, complete, utter and total isolation.
And that was only if I quit. God, what would happen if I was thrown out?"
So I told Connie I would accept whatever punishment was due me. I was afraid and rightfully so, I figured. I was walking blindly into the unknown, leaving myself open for ... what? Would they do something like whip me with leather, burn a symbol into my flesh, tie me to the rack? More likely, I would have to submit to some sexual humiliation. Eighteen guys from KKA or something like that.
"You have chosen wisely," Connie told me, and I felt hate radiating from her at me. I had to assume, as I had before, that her hatred was due to Paul's interest in me. That wasn't my fault, I told myself. How can I control what a man thinks? It's neither fair nor right for anybody to expect that of me.
But Connie was president, and I'm just a lowly pledge. There was obviously no arguing, no negotiating, no reasoning with these people. I had to take my medicine, and like it. Dear God, I thought, what have I gotten into with Sigma Epsilon Chi?
"You will follow Melanie, and she will dole out your, punishment. This is Melanie's responsibility as rules chairman of SEX."
Melanie rose from her juror's spot, where she had only moments earlier added her voice to the chorus of guilties. She beckoned me to follow her.
We went downstairs, through the kitchen and out onto the back porch. "Wh.. .what's going to happen to me?"
"I can't tell you," Melanie said. But she took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, a definite about-face from the way she had been behaving before. "It was good that you decided to stay with us. That makes it so much better," she said.
She opened the back porch door and I followed her out, through the back yard to the tool shed out back. It was a spacious, manicured yard, and my feet felt like they were padding on clouds as we made oar way across the decahedra lawn.
Melanie opened the tool shed with a key she wore around her neck, and I followed her into the darkness. She closed the doors behind us before she flipped on any lights.
Finally, though, she turned the lights on, and the room was bathed with it. It was empty, except for a couple chairs. On the wall various things hung, but nothing I could identify as a threat.
Melanie pulled out one of the folding chairs and sat primly in it. 'Take your clothes off," she said.
I looked at her with indignation. "What?" I had been right, it seemed. They did want me to go through some sort of sexual humiliation.
"Don't argue with me, Sharon. Any hesitation and I have no choice but to report back that you were uncooperative. Take your clothes off."
I began to comply slowly. I was down to my brassiere and my lacey, frail slip when there was a knock on the door. Melanie had obviously not been expecting anybody, judging from the way her head whipped around. "What is it?" she called.
The door opened, and Paul thrust his head in. "Mind if I watch?" he said.
"Get out of here," Melanie hissed at him. "This is private. The rules require it."
"Ah, the hell with the rules," Paul said.
"It was the rules that brought Sharon to this punishment," Melanie said. "It was also you reminding Connie of the rules. So don't go and make light of them now. Thanks to you, personally, Slaughter, we're well beyond that phase now."
Paul shrugged and looked me up and down like a hungry wolf. 'That's all right, Sharon," he said. "We'll get together for some fun and games later."
He pulled his head out and slammed the door before I could say anything. I didn't know what I would have said anyway.
"Go on," Melanie said. I looked into her eyes and tried to see if there was anything there, any betrayal of how she felt, what lay in store for me. But there was none of that. Her face bore a smile, but other than that, it was empty. Completely blank. She was obviously well-trained at this job.
'Take them off, Sharon," she told me. "The sooner you comply, the sooner we'll be finished with this."
I reached between my breasts and unclasped my brassiere, and it fell into two loose parts. I shrugged out of it, and my orbular breasts jiggled free of their restraints. I hesitated only briefly after that, then hooked my thumbs into the rib of my slip, and pushed it down.
The slip slithered like satin over the length of my long, tapering legs, and I finally stepped out of it, completely naked. I stood straight, mustering all the pride inside of me, and waited.
"Now come here." Melanie said.
I approached her, keeping my thighs pressed as firmly together as I could. I wasn't aware of it until I thought about it later, but it made my walk seem slinky and sexy. But Melanie didn't seem interested in that; her job was clear, and she was going to do nothing more or less than execute it.
I stood naked before her, inches from her, and I felt the strangest rush of warmth pass over and through me as she looked up at me. I can't describe it, but it was like a flood of heat that made me tremble.
Melanie lifted her arms up over her head. "Lay across my lap," she said.
The warmth was replaced in an instant by a chill, but not an unpleasant chill. I started to say something, but then I realized I was always saying something. I was always coming out with a but, or a what, or a you can't be serious, or something along those lines. And those little things I said never did any good. I realized suddenly that not only did whatever was in store for me come to pass despite my protest; I usually ended up liking it.
Still, I couldn't bring myself to believe I would like this. Punishment is not a word associated with pleasure, with the exception of a masochistic few. And yet, once again, I knew I had no choice. It was comply or be expelled. As much as I wished I had never heard of Sigma Epsilon Chi, I could not stand to be expelled. I simply could not stand it.
So I lay across Melanie's lap, face down, my cool, still cunt pressed against her leg tops. My round, firm ass was curved upward into the air. Oh my God, I thought. Is she going to spank me?
She answered my question before my mind had time to finish posing it. There was a short whishing sound as something sliced the air, and then something hard and flat connected with my buttocks. The pain was sharp, and the sound it made was a loud slap. I cried out, and grabbed Melanie's legs, but made no move to try to escape. There was no escape. I could run away, but then what? Then what?
I didn't see her pick up a paddle, but she was definitely not using the flat of her hand in the punishing spanking. It was, unquestionably, a hard wooden or plastic paddle of some kind, and the pain was exquisite. I didn't want to see my tender ass, but if I could, I was sure it would be as red as a beet.
She paddled me mercilessly; I thought it would never end; Each blow was as hard as the last, never a letup, never an easing of the force of her blows. And each spank mounted atop the pain of the last ones, so each spank I anticipated was a hundred times worse than the last.
Tears rose to my eyes and I hugged her legs tight, some refuge in the storm of agony Melanie inflicted on my bare, exposed buttocks. But the tears slowly gave way to something else, something completely and utterly unexpected.
My pussy, which had been uninterested and unaroused, suddenly began to turn warm. At first I thought it was the heat from the spanking transcending the fleshy surface of my buttocks and flooding straight down, into the depths of my cunt. But that wouldn't account for the erotic stimulation I felt, the urge to turn around and spread my legs lewdly for Melanie, open and inviting.
Each spank still created pain, but each spank now also intensified my desire. I had never before associated the two, but here they were, together, welling up inside me like a bomb ready to go off.
My hard little clitoris throbbed, and as the paddle slapped against my cheeks, it grew a little harder. I was moaning through clenched teeth, squirming anxiously in Melanie's lap, and she assumed it was from pain.
It wasn't. My now-burning cunt was grinding into the rough fabric of Melanie's jeans, spreading my sizzling cleft apart and tickling the inner pink membrane flesh. I chewed on my lower lip to keep from screaming as the paddle rose and fell, turning my sculptured ass into a mass of red pain, as my liquids oozed out of the cavern of my pussy onto Melanie's jeans.
The paddle fell one last time, and my wanton lust reached a fever pitch as I climaxed, gyrating madly in Melanie's lap. I squeezed her legs tightly in my arms and humped my pelvis against her thighs, moaning and grunting from the extraordinary intensity of the orgasm.
My spent little pussy finally quieted, and I relaxed, dangling over her lap. It took a minute to realize the paddling had also ceased, and Melanie's breathing was accelerated--I could tell by the way I rose and fell in her lap.
It wasn't as accelerated as mine; her exertion had been lifted to the paddling she was administering, while I had been suffering from her blows and experiencing a delicious orgasm on top of that.
"So you like that?" I heard Melanie say. I just continued panting and did not respond. She pulled me over, so I lay on my back facing her, my cunt at the top of my body and my legs and torso dangling lower. Over the peak of my bilious breasts, I saw her looking down at me. This time, there was more than emptiness in her eyes. "I asked you a question, pledge," she said. "You liked that?"
I couldn't lie. I had no willpower left in me, and I could not lie. "Yes," I told her. "I loved it."
"I thought so," Melanie said. "I couldn't be sure, but I thought you did." And with that, she gathered my hair in both her hands, leaned forward, down, as far as she could bend, and kissed me.
I shook and shivered at the sensation of her moist, feminine lips touching and brushing against mine, the fullness of them pressed against the ripe fullness of mine. Our mouths, as though acting on a long-buried instinct, opened at precisely the same moment, and our tongues met at the midpoint. The tips of our long, wet, vibrating muscles quivered against one another, and sparks flew from my tongue along the length of my body. I had been so certain I had spent all of the energy within me, but I was wrong! I was alive with feeling, cosmic energy flowing through me and concentrating in my vibrant living pussy. It shivered and trembled and longed for attention, to be filled with a hot, thick cock or to be tongued by an anxious, hungry woman, anything at all!
Melanie's hand formed a cup over my breast, and my nipple shot up like a small, fleshy spike through her fingers. She pinched her digits together, capturing my stiff, erect nipple between them, and she pulled and twitched, sending erotic flashes from my hard nipple into my large, full breasts, and flooding down to join the other multitude of sexual, aroused feelings inside my alive vagina.
"Oh, God, Melanie," I moaned not really aware of what I was saying, or even what I was thinking. "Oh, Jesus, fuck me, my darling. Fuck me!"
Her mouth, already lifted from my hungry, desperate lips, dove down to my hard nipple and encased it in its moist fullness, sucking and flicking at it with the tip of her tongue. I honestly believe that, when she had started, she had not been interested in sex with me, but now she was as aroused as I was, as excited and as intent on personal satisfaction as was I.
I fumbled in the darkness that existed behind my closed eyes, and finally found her hand. I held it tight, squeezing and manipulating it in mine. Slowly, I maneuvered her hand between my legs, about knee-length, and then gradually pulled it up. First it was between my sweaty, smooth thighs, then against the fluffy mound of musk-scented pubic hair, then pressed firmly against my stimulated vulva. When I touched her hand against me there, I sighed audibly, and the sound gurgled within my throat.
"Sharon," she moaned, and her index finger separated the two folds of outer cuntal flesh and probed within the hot, wet slit of my cunt. The finger felt like an instrument of exquisite torture there, a pebble under the mattress that made me ache with wanton arousal. I felt the perspiration spring to the surface of my flesh as she began to move her finger, hungrily searching inside my pussy for some unknown hidden treasure.
"Oh God, Sharon, you're so hot," she said. "So... so hot." Her finger began to vibrate with speeds I would not have imagined possible, and her other hand continued to hold my breast, squeezing it as her lips closed over it and sucked, her tongue aiding in the effort.
I was still lain across her lap, my head even with my feet, almost dangling to the floor. I was completely helpless in her clutches, except for my one hand clasped around the wrist that jiggled and shivered inside my pussy, with each vibration finding itself a half inch deeper inside my forbidden crevice.
I was determined not to let her have such complete advantage over me, and I wrenched myself upward. I twisted and maneuvered myself until I was now seated in her lap. and I locked my arms around her neck and pulled.
She came easily out of the chair, and we fell as one to the cold floor. Melanie started as she felt the icy surface of the floor crawl on her skin, but I knew it would be but a moment until we warmed it up just fine. I held her close and pried her fine, long legs apart with one of my knees, and pushed the knee upward, until I was digging it hard into her hair-fringed cleft.
Her parted lips were inches from my ear, and I heard her breath coming in short, sputtering rasps. I also felt her hot, moist breath flooding my ear, and the sensation from her breathing transcended my ear and filled my white shimmering cunt.
I twisted and gyrated my knee between her deliciously splayed legs, my other knee hard against the cold surface of the floor, creating friction and making it easy to apply pressure to her.
"Oh God," Melanie moaned close to my ear, and the tiny tip of her tongue darted into my ear and made me shiver. "Oh God," she said. "Sharon, darling, fuck me, baby, fuck me!"
If I had a cock like Paul Slaughter or Dirk Roland, I would have shoved her knees apart and slammed it into her, humping her until there was no strength left in me. I have no idea what it was that had overcome me. I had always before been unnerved by the thought of lesbian sex.
Even in the house bedroom the other day, with Melanie and the frat guy and the other girl, the only thing I had been interested in was cock. And even that was a new, thrilling, forbidden experience for me. The fact that I had been sharing the cock with two other women made it only that much more exhilarating.
But now there was no penis, only pussy. Mine and hers, and I wanted hers. I wanted to feel and taste her come, and I wanted to climax myself at her hands. But God help me, I didn't know how.
I allowed my instincts to take over. I pulled my knee away from her pussy, and noticed for an instant it was wet and sticky from her dripping female juices.
I pressed her shoulders once against the floor to let her know I wanted her to stay there. Her hands were moving like buff pads over my skin, raising mounds of goose flesh, and I had to concentrate hard to keep my mind on what I wanted to do.
My ass planted firmly on the floor, I swiveled around so I was no longer facing her head. Instead, I was looking down at her glimmering mound of pussy hair, the bare light bulbs suspended above shining off the wetness that had saturated he delectable pubic mound.
Her thighs were parted only an inch, locking the forbidden entryway to her gorgeous, quivering pussy beyond my access, but open enough to be stimulating and inviting. Even though I did not touch her, she writhed uncontrollably, her hands pressing and kneading her orbular breasts as her aroused fervor grew.
I rose to my knees and slid my cool hands beneath her pliable flesh of her cheeky buttocks, and lifted just a bit. She bent her knees and let gravity spread them apart. I watched as the hidden slit of her hair-fringed fissure opened like some mystical doorway. At first I could only see the sizzling lips of her pussy, then a hint of her interior pink, shiny cuntal skin, then the deep, cave-like hole that lay behind her portal.
As though dragged there by a force beyond my control, I pushed my head between her warm, sweaty thighs. The inebriating odor that rose from her obscenely open cunt rose to my nostrils and made my head swim; my own pussy quaked and reminded me of its emptiness. I shut that out, though, as my lips encountered the hot moisture of her trembling vagina.
Like a fish to water, my tongue fled from inside my mouth and gouged deeply into the recesses of Melanie's cunt. As it thrust inward, she was arching her back, raising her buttocks a half-foot off the floor and she screamed. I looked over the rise of her pubic triangle and saw she was squeezing her titties so hard the blood had turned them a deep red, but she didn't seem to mind.
This time she shook, as though a volcano had erupted inside her. She relinquished her grasp on her breasts, and dug her hands into my head, grabbing tufts of hair but digging her nails into my scalp. The pain, surprisingly, only intensified the pitch at which my tongue worked on her sweet pussy.
As I tickled and tugged at her pebbly clitoris, I captured juice from her gushing pussy on my tongue and worked it back into my throat, swallowing it down like a soft drink. It was delicious, and as it coursed down into me, I think it worked to arouse me even more.
I felt something wet beneath me, and realized I was dripping so much myself I had left a puddle of love juice between my legs. I moaned as my pussy urged me to please myself, and the moan vibrated against Melanie's clitoris and made her gasp. "Oh sweet Jesus, Sharon, give me your cunt. Give it to me baby, bring it to my face!"
My heart began pounding to a crescendo at her words, and I complied, trembling, by raising one leg over her breasts and settling it on the other side of her. I never once stopped working on her slippery, smooth pussy, but I backed my ass against her face. Her hands latched onto my buttocks instantly, and guided my splayed hole to her mouth.
Her tongue was obviously more expert and practiced than mine. She wiggled it in the opening of my cunt, jerking it back and forth for a minute before she began pushing it into the desperately anxious interior of my pulsating pussy.
Each time she shoved her rotating tongue in an inch, she pulled it back out a half inch. I gyrated and twisted my pelvis against her face, and she dug her sharp nails into the fleshy cheeks of my ass.
It took a long, exquisite time, but her tongue finally filled my hot cunt, still twisting and turning. She moaned and made sounds from deep in her throat that vibrated inside of my pussy, making my cuntal walls quiver and shake, and my own tongue involuntarily reacted by increasing the rapidity of my thrusts in and out of her quim. Each thrust dragged against her growing clitoris.
My own little pleasure button had not been touched yet, but suddenly Melanie withdrew her tongue with a lurid plop, and curled it around the clitoris nested in wet flesh at the top of my burning cleft.
I wanted to scream from the ecstatic joy of the sensation, but that would have forced me to lift my head away from her pussy, which I was not yet done devouring. But the reaction had to come from somewhere, and without knowing it, I clamped my teeth down over her clitoris and nibbled on it while I moaned, saying to myself, "Oh God, Melanie, eat me, don't stop eating me."
That was enough to do it for her. Her buttocks leapt into the air and I felt the shock of her entire body racked with fits of trembling. Her face came loose from my saturated cunt, and she screamed, "I'm cumming, dammit, oh it feels so.. . ahhh!-Ah, Sharon, fuck me! Aaarghh. .. ."
Her words evaporated into meaningless gibberish as she entered the hypnotic stage of her orgasm. I knew I was only seconds from my own climax, but she was so wrapped up in her own that she could not possibly concentrate on me.
I had to do something. I don't know what made me do it, but it certainly worked. I slid away from her face, until I felt one of her firm, small breasts between my legs. I reached between with both hands and squeezed her tit into a cone and thrust it between the slick lips of my vagina.
Her erect nipple met with my erect clitoris, and the chemical reaction was instantaneous. My clitty erupted in a shower of meteoric sparks, hot and electric.
I humped up and down fanatically, burying her breast inside the dark interior of my cunt, letting her nipple continue to scrape my exploding clitoris.
I felt a new, gigantic wave of female juices gush out from within me, spilling onto her breast.
By this time, Melanie had finished her orgasm, and was aware of what I was doing. It excited her immensely, and as she thrust her finger inside my sweat-soaked anus, making the orgasm I was experiencing more intense, she said, "Oh yes, Sharon, fuck my tit. Fuck it hard, baby."
I didn't need any encouragement. Between the nipple up my cunt and the finger worming inside the entry to my asshole, I was in paradise. I shivered and shook, twisted and gyrated and moaned. My hand went back to Melanie's pussy and explored it as I came.
Finally the sensations subsided, and I fell to the floor beside her, struggling for breath. My breasts and belly heaved as they rose, my lungs searching for air.
After a few minutes, I was relaxed, and Melanie lay her arm across my belly, holding me affectionately.
"That was a punishment?" I said.
"It's never worked that way before," she said. Then she added, "although I've always hoped it might, at least once." She looked at me meaningfully. "I'm glad it was you," she whispered.
Her lips brushed against mine.
We lay in each other's arms for a long while before dressing to return to the main house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sharon submitted to standard Greek hazing over the next several weeks as a pledge. She crawled into bed at night to find it filled with shaving cream. She was taken blindfolded, to an unfamiliar part of town and made to find her way back. She was awakened in the middle of the night by three boys and three girls standing over her bed making a terrible racket with sticks and trash can lids. She was assigned to do the filthiest dishes she had ever seen in a sink of cold water with no soap.
She didn't mind any of it. She had, like most everybody, known what it meant to go through a hazing before she had even started. And at least she did not have to open her legs for anybody.
She had suffered greatly the night after her intense lovemaking session with Melanie. She had enjoyed it, yet if anything was wrong, she knew, it was lesbian sex. At least fucking somebody like Dirk or Paul was, if not moral, healthy. Men had penises, and they were meant to be inserted between the pliable lips of female pussies. If she didn't like premarital sex before, she had resigned herself to it now. It was unfair to lie to herself. She liked it. No... she loved it. Before coming to State her cunt had never yearned to be filled. Now she found herself aroused for no reason, at unusual times of the day. She lingered her tight little hole to climaxes at least once a day, dreaming of Paul's magnificent meaty shaft, or of Dirk's long, thick cock.
But Melanie was different. Sex with another woman, no matter how enjoyable it was, was not natural. It was not meant to be. And she worried that she perhaps had enjoyed fucking Melanie more than she had enjoyed Paul, Dirk, or that unnamed boy in the dark bedroom. She lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, fretting that she would become one of those women who slept only with other women.
She told herself that was ridiculous. If, when masturbating, she fantasized her slick fissure being pried apart by the blood-gorged crown of a throbbing male penis, wasn't that proof enough that she was still mostly heterosexual?
But she was so new to sex as a whole that she was not encouraged by her reasoning. More doors had opened for her in the last few weeks than in all her life previously, and she didn't know her left from her right.
Dirk helped. Over coffee after class one day she told him she had been punished for going out with him, and explained why. She did not, of course, embellish the story with her interlude with Melanie.
"Damn Greeks," he said. "I don't care what the rules are, Sharon. I still want to see you."
She looked deeply into his eyes, and clasped his hand with both of hers. It was the first time she realized she was in love with him. She had had two hot, hard cocks filling her newly-awakened cunt, but neither of them had been inside of her because of love. Those experiences had been strictly sexual. Now her pussy burned with a new desire. Yes, she wanted his cock, that same cock she had sucked so hungrily in the French restaurant. She wanted to spread her legs apart, opening the gash of her pussy, and take his quivering meat inside of her. But it was something more than that.
Dirk felt something vaguely similar. He too, wanted to dip his long, throbbing erection into the honey pot of Sharon's pussy. He pictured her long, delicate legs milky white and splayed obscenely. He imagined her gaping cunt, the lips pulled apart by the spread legs, displaying the tunnel that led into her deepest vaginal section.
His cock twitched now, growing hard just thinking about it. He even felt something like affection for this young college girl. If he fucked her, and if everything worked out just right, he imagined he might even possibly fall in love with her. But not likely.
"I still want to see you," he said again, massaging her soft hand.
"And I want to see you, too, Dirk," she said. "But we have to be careful. I can't get thrown out of SEX. I can't tell you why, but you must believe me. It's a horrible thing to happen to a sister."
"I promise, we'll be careful. Tomorrow, stay behind after class. Well talk."
"We can talk now, too," she said. "Oh! Don't misunderstand-I'll stay after class tomorrow. But let's talk now."
He smiled in his fatherly way and nodded. They talked over a dozen cups of coffee, letting the hours slip away. She told him about her home town, her parents, her brother, her friends. She rambled about her love for knowledge, her thirst for education. It stemmed, she said, from a realization that nobody from her home town ever went anywhere in the world. They got jobs in the town, grew older, had families, withered and finally died.
She wanted more than that, she said. But in the far reaches of her mind, something about it no longer rang true. They were all feelings she had had before. She had even shared her feelings with one or two best friends, and they had been sincere and deeply felt. But now they seemed just the slightest bit hollow.
It was because of SEX, she realized. The girls of Sigma Epsilon Chi had diverted her mind, and now she thought of cock, of pussy, of orgasm. There is only so much room in one's mind, she knew, and a percentage that had previously been occupied by lofty, academic thoughts was no longer. Now it was taken over by thoughts of eroticism, of sexual arousal. Part of her hunger of learning had died.
But talking to Dirk made it seem not so bad. She was still a bright girl, and her discovery that she enjoyed sex would not diminish her ability to go places in the world. She would still make something of herself. She looked into Dirk's eyes. Perhaps she would become a professor at State and marry Dirk Roland.
That way, she thought, she could have the best of both worlds. She could have all the education she could stand, and stil have Dirk's sturdy, lovely penis.
Dirk talked also. He spoke of his past, coming from a large West Coast city. He came to State after teaching a couple years at a major university. "I needed the change," he said. "I needed to get away from the craziness."
"I've never been to the West," she said.
"It's a great place. Everything's there you could possibly ever want. A half hour drive from the ocean, an hour from the desert, two hours from the mountains. There's music and movies and theatre and more high class restaurants than you could ever go to in your life. All sorts of people too. But that's part of the problem. It's to crowded. If everybody wants everything, and everything can only be gotten in one city, that's where everybody goes. I had to get out."
"I'm glad you did," Sharon said sweetly.
He smiled at her. "You are. Catherine wasn't."
She cocked her head. "Who was Catherine?"
"My wife," he said. "I had to leave, but she refused. It was her home, she said, and she'd be damned if she'd leave on my account. So we got divorced."
"It was probably the best thing you could have done," Sharon said.
"It was. As soon as the divorce was final, I went over to visit our son, Anthony, and found Sharon in bed with two men. Two! And Anthony was in the next room sleeping. I took her to court and got custody."
"Then your son lives with you?"
"He sure does. And he's something. Thirteen years old now, and he takes complete care of himself when I'm at school. We're more like good friends and roommates than father and son."
"That's wonderful," Sharon said.
They talked until they realized they had to part, and they went their separate ways. The next day, after class, Roland closed the door, locked it, and turned down the Venetian blinds in the windows.
He took Sharon in his arms, leaning her back against the chalkboard. Her lips pressed hungrily against his, and her tongue probed the warm interior of his mouth. It grazed his gums above his teeth, then felt the inner moist flesh of his cheeks. It ran along his teeth and tasted the roof of his mouth. It fluttered and danced across the surface of his tongue, and they fenced within their open, locked lips.
"Sharon," he whispered into her ear. "I want you."
"And I want you," she whispered back. "Oh, Dirk. Let's do it here. I can't get caught."
"That's what I'd planned," he said.
She laughed gently, and the sound sent chills through him. "I know," she said. "I love you."
Those three words would have upset him, perhaps even kept him from making love to her. But at the same time she said it, her delicate hand cupped his trouser crotch, trapping his burning loins in her gentle grasp.
She squeezed tenderly, urging his erection to appear slowly but steadily, building until it stretched the fabric of his pants to the breaking point.
"Take it out," he urged.
She used both hands to undo his pants. She didn't bother pushing them down, all she wanted now was his cock. She already knew it intimately from the head she had given him before, but now she knew she would feel it between her legs, inside her lithe pussy, where it belonged.
She curled her fingers around it and extracted it. She felt the blood coursing through it, making it hot and stiff. It beat to the rhythm of his heart in her hand, and she felt like she was holding his life in her palm.
He groaned as she stroked it, getting to know it even more. She slid her cool fingers along its raging underside until her fingertips felt the fuzzy orbs of his dangling, bloated testicles They curled and contracted at her touch.
Dirk could no longer stand being handled without doing some touching and probing of his own. The boiling in his erection was so intense as to be nearly painful, and to finally let his fingers slide into Sharon's cunt would relieve some of the frustration. Soon, he told himself very soon you'll be inside that pussy, fucking the daylights out of it.
His fingers found the hem of her skirt, and inched it up until his hand could slip beneath it. His hand grazed the soft flesh of her thigh, and he felt her jump a little at his touch. God!! he thought. I excite her! I want to make her come for hours.
He found her panties, and burrowed his hand between her thighs against the crotch of her underwear. She immediately moaned and gushed forth a flow of her sticky lubricants. They moistened his hand.
Dirk sunk to his knees. He cursed the action, because he had not thought it out beforehand. By falling to his knees, he forced his stiff meat out of her hand Now it throbbed and ached far away from her silky, female touch. But he was too aroused to think clearly. He couldn't blame himself. Besides, it would be all right very soon.
His nostrils flared as the scent from her active, living pussy rose to meet them. His hands snaked up the backs of her legs, his fingers curling around the fine, fleshy form of her curved buttocks. He slid his fingers beneath the elastic leg bands of her panties and felt the flesh of her ass and squeezed it. In his mind, he saw the milk white imprints his digging fingers were making on the flesh of her cheeks.
He dropped his head, and used it to push her skirt out of his way. He burrowed his head beneath her dress and was engulfed in darkness.
Instinctively, though, he knew where he was. He pushed his face forward, and the tip of his nose turned instantly damp as it connected with her fluid-soaked panties.
"Aaagh, Dirk, God ..." she moaned as she felt his nose touch her. Her hands grasped his head through her skirt and mashed his face into her panties.
Her hypnotic musk overtook him and his head grew dizzy. He felt her dampness against his lips, and he sucked at her delicate underwear, tasting the lubricants trapped there settle on his tongue, then glide back into his throat. His excited tongue darted out of his mouth and tasted the velvety fabric of her panties, licking at it hungrily.
Her panties were sopping now, from a combination of her pussy juices and his saliva. Through the wet material he could feel her moist, downy curls, and beyond them the slit of her cunt.
He pushed his tongue, and the panties molded around it. They coated his mouth muscle, and he easily pushed it between her pussy slit.
It was almost as though the panties were not there at all. His cock quivered and trembled, and he feared he might come just from excitement. He grasped his cock with one hand at the base, holding back his imminent ejaculation.
"Dirk," she moaned. "Oh Dirk, make me come, darling, make me come against your face."
It was what he wanted, too, for starters. He eased his tongue up along her sizzling cleft until he felt the hard ball of her clitoris. The roughness of her panty fabric was enough to create intense friction against her pleasure button, and she writhed, moaning and gasping against his face.
One hand remained at her skirt, pressing his head into herself, but the other had to clutch at the chalkboard for support. Slowly, the fire of orgasm built inside her chafing pussy, and she began to contract her buttocks, pulling her cunt away from him, then expanding it, pushing her fiery loins back into his face. The back and forth movement intensified as her climax built, until she erupted violently, humping his face and using both hands again to pull him as tight against her as she could.
"JESUS!" she yelled. "Oh lord, I'm coming, I feel it, I'm ... aaghhh!"
Dirk pulled his head away, but while he was still beneath her skirt he yanked her panties down. Then he withdrew, emerging once again into the fluorescent light of the classroom.
Sharon had sagged, her knees bent, and was barely able to support herself against the blackboard. She used both hands now to grasp the chalk tray.
With her knees bent, her legs were spread by virtue of gravity. Dirk aimed his cock at her lewdly splayed pussy as he rose. When he was nearly standing erect, his spongy crown pushed against her vulva. He straightened a little, and his cock head pushed aside the lips of her vagina.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he said, whispering into her ear.
"Yes," she responded, her voice little more than sounds formed within her hot, sputtering breath.
He pushed his cock entirely inside of her with one great heave, and he sighed a deep breath of relief. Finally, he was balling her. He had wanted her the minute he had seen her, and now she was his.
He fucked her with great enthusiasm, his hands on her hips. When he rammed his shaft into her, he pulled her pelvis to him. When he withdrew, he pushed her away. She in turn, held his shoulders. Her head was tilted back, her lips parted, her brow shimmering from perspiration.
They climaxed together, and he filled her hungry pussy with a giant load of his white hot semen. She quivered and writhed against him, and they fell contented to the floor, locked in each other's arms.
Dear Diary:
It was fantastic! Now, for sure, I know I am in love.
We made love against the blackboard, and it was like nothing I've ever experienced or felt. We lay together on the floor, and it was only a matter of minutes before we were locked in erotic, sensual intercourse once again. A half hour later, we made wild, passionate love one last time before I had to leave.
My only negative thoughts, my only worries, were about SEX. My love for Dirk is strong and real, and I am certain his is equally devoted to me. But I cannot display it in public. If I do, I suffer the agony of being an outcast.
Only if Dirk marries me can I handle that. Then it wouldn't matter if SEX threw me out. I wouldn't like not being able to return to my home, see my family. But then, Dirk would be my family, and even though I would not be happy with my being ostracized from my home town, I think my feelings for Dirk would support me through that ordeal.
All of these thoughts raced through my mind as I wandered back to SEX house, my battered pussy feeling stiff and sore, making walking a difficult task. It had completely slipped my mind that this was my last day as a pledge; that tonight I would go through the formal initiation that would make me a full fledged member of Sigma Epsilon Chi-I would be a true sister.
If only I had known what the initiation rites involved!!
Of course, I was not surprised when we, the pledges, were lined up in a straight row and blindfolded, then ordered to strip. It seemed like a repeat of our initiation as pledges. There was no doubt in my mind, even before the rites began, that sex would be an integral part of the initiation. My old belief that SEX was just a coincidental abbreviation of Sigma Epsilon Chi had long ago fallen by the wayside. Perhaps once it was that way, but today SEX is an extremely appropriate name for this sorority.
Naked, we were led upstairs, and deposited one by one in separate rooms. "Do not take your blindfolds off," Melanie warned each of us as we were dropped off. "If you do, you'll be expelled, and all your work as pledges will have been for nothing."
I felt my way in the darkness of the room to a bed, patted its edge, then sat on it. I couldn't see a thing, but I could tell by feel that this was not my room. It was possibly down that eerie hallway pledges were forbidden to explore.
A long time passed, perhaps an hour. Finally the door opened and I heard footsteps pad in. A deep, male voice ordered me to remove my blindfold.
I did as I was instructed. Before me stood a tall, muscular member of KKA whom I had never seen before. His bare legs were lightly coated with smooth hairs, but most discernable were the rippling calf muscles. He wore a short bathrobe, with KKA embroidered on the right breast.
"I have to have you?" I said.
"That's right," he answered, untying his robe's felt belt. 'The traditional initiation into SEX is to ball the member of the big brother sorority with the largest genitals. That happens to be me."
He shrugged his robe off, and I had to catch my breath. His penis was limp and flaccid, but even like that it was larger than most erect cocks I had seen (keeping in mind that all the erections I have seen have been shown me in the few weeks I have been here at State).
It shone a little from Wetness, and I surmised he had been going from room to room, copulating with each of the pledges in their turn.
I wondered if he ejaculated into each of their pussies as he bore his massive drill-like penis into them. I didn't have much time for contemplation though. He approached me, hooking his hands under my knees. He pulled me around so I was laying on the bed, my legs dangling over the end.
He pulled my thighs apart so that my sore pussy was open for him; he could clearly see into the depths of my cuntal tunnel, the folds of inner pink membrane flesh quivering and dancing in their beds of moisture.
He reached out and took my hand, which was resting idly at my side. He held it for a minute, then settled it atop my pussy. He manipulated one finger out of my hand, and eased it into the gaping hole of my cunt. "Finger yourself," he said.
"What?" It wasn't what I'd been expecting. Not that I should have been surprised. Very little that has happened to me here has been what I was expecting.
"I said finger yourself. Don't you know what that means?" he said.
"Of course I know what it means" I said. I began to work my finger into the moist flesh of my cunt. My pussy responded by growing excited, hot and horny. Each time I pressed my finger into the slit of my cunt, between my moist lips, I shot a hundred volts of electricity through the interior of my dark vagina that made my bowels cringe and my flesh shudder. My voice now quivering from the sexual arousal I felt, I asked him, "But why?"
"I've already screwed three of your friends," he said, his eyes locked on my active finger. "You may be the most beautiful, but I still need some sort of stimulation to get turned on."
I succeeded in exciting him into an erection slowly. My eyes grew wide as I realized just how large his immense cock would grow. It seemed to never stop, just expanding and widening and thickening and telescoping to surrealistic proportions.
"I ... I can't take that in me," I croaked, but my actions indicated otherwise to him. My finger was vibrating madly, rubbing against my throbbing clitoris and dipping deep into the sloshing wetness that had formed inside my hot little hole.
"You'll take it," he said, "or you'll be out on the street."
Finally his penis stopped growing. It danced and jiggled in front of me, and far back behind it I saw his huge sacks of testicles dangling, curling and gyrating in anticipation of entering me.
He kneeled. He was tall, and on his knees his cock came right up to the height of my spread legs. I was madly working my finger now, at the height of self-induced orgasm, but he grabbed my hand and pulled it away.
I moaned in protest, but my finger was replaced right away by the head of his meat-like cock. He had not yet entered me, but his cock crown covered the entire surface of my vulva. "Oh God, no," I said, fearing he would tear me apart.
My words were futile. He inched forward, and I felt my pussy portal being painfully split apart as he began to violate my cunt. He moved slowly, and I could feel every centimeter of his throbbing shaft skewer into me. I was in agony, half from pain, half from ecstatic, orgasmic pleasure. I opened my eyes and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and bunched up fistfuls of the bed blanket in my hands.
I would never have imagined there was that much room inside my tiny cunt. It was filled to the hilt, stuffed completely full, spread to its limits to take in the incredible thickness of his cock.
I was hyperventilating, desperate for breath, and my breathing came out in audible, moaning sounds, "Ah, ah, ah, ah...."
I dared to look up, over the fleshy mounds of my quivering breasts. My nipples were super erect, little arrow points jutting out of the top of my tits. Between them I could see my pubic triangle, and beyond that I observed his cock. It was in my pussy as deep as it could go, jutting painfully against my cervix, but still only half his length was inside me.
Without even moving, his cock creating immense pressure against my overused clitoris. "Jesus," I gasped, panting like a bitch in heat. "If you're going to fuck me, fuck me now."
He withdrew, then thrust like a ramrod into me. His spongy cock head slammed into the ceiling of my pussy, and I screamed. He repeated it, again and again, and I didn't even hear the bedroom door open.
Once again, the eruption in my cunt had built to a writhing, monstrous climax, when the boy (I don't even know his name!) withdrew, with a sucking plop sound. My pussy was sore as hell now, but the need for orgasm was unbearable. I couldn't even remember the four climaxes I had had as a result of my lovemaking with Dirk.
"God, no!" I screamed. "You can't ..." But I was shut up when I looked up and saw him, his gleaming penis erect in front of him, crawling up over me on the bed. And behind him was Connie, completely naked, gazing longingly at my body.
I gasped when I saw her pussy. There was no hair on it, not even a hint of a pubic growth. It was shaved as clean as a baby's. Little tucks of pink skin peeked out of her slick slit.
The boy settled his massive, meaty member between my breasts. "Hold them together," he ordered. I mashed my tits together, trapping his rod-like cock between them.
Connie kneeled between my spread thighs. "Now you are a sister," she said, shuddering, her voice quivering as she spoke. "You have accepted the bodies of our society, the men of KKA and the women of SEX, and both at once. Nothing can tear you asunder of our fraternity now."
With that, she shoved her bare pussy against mine. The boy was stroking his long, thick penis in and out of my cleavage as I squeezed and massaged my titties, and Connie gyrated and pressed her cunt into mine.
I don't know if it's possible, but I actually felt her hard little hairless mound enter the gaping slit of my cunt, made wider by the entry of the boy's incredibly thick meatiness.
In and out it went, my ultra-sensitive pussy feeling the bone of her pelvis, the vertical slit of her pussy, the hard little pebble of her clitoris. I vaguely felt the boy tremble, and a great stream of hot semen spurted over my breasts, tickling my erect nipples. I saw through a haze that my breasts were coated with snow-colored cum, and I saw even more sperm shooting out of the open hole in the head of his cock. It caught me on the face, cascading over my chin and dribbling warmly down my cheeks.
Connie's movements intensified, and finally I came, a screaming, gyrating, writhing burst of feeling that enveloped my entire being, my body, my mind, my subconscious.
I passed out before the orgasm even ended.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Once she had become a sister, Sharon Simmons led a double life. , She learned that being a SEX sister meant very specific things. The sexual emphasis of the sorority, of course, came no longer as a shock or surprise to her. Still, it took some adjusting to get accustomed to a steady, constant stream of sex. She enjoyed it immensely, as though a new world had opened up to her, but there was always that nagging in the back of her mind. Something, she told herself, is wrong with all of this.
She had to be available to any of the members of KKA at their whim. Conversely, they had to satisfy the girls of SEX whenever their needs grew large. And occasionally, the girls of SEX satisfied each other.
Then there was Dirk. They met in offbeat, faraway places for afternoons of leisurely, lovely lovemaking. Once they lay a blanket in a wheat field twenty miles east of town, and several hundred feet off the highway, and made love beneath the waves of grain.
It was a strange time for her. Everything she had previously known, it seemed, was wrong. Here she was in love with her teacher, and balling him passionately in the most obscure and hard-to-find places, hiding their feelings for one another. She could not share her joy with her sorority sisters, or the sorority's big brothers from KKA. And yet, on an almost nightly basis, she engaged with one (or more) of her brothers or sisters for an evening of sexual diversion. And of those delightfully sensuous and sweaty encounters, she could not tell her beloved Dirk.
And still, there was little time for self-recrimination. She felt little guilt, little of the old feeling of being a deceiver, a liar. Her pussy, so tight and small before, had by now stretched to the size of a well-used, experienced cunt, and her sizzling, hair-lined cleft opened and pulsated to meet the intruding length of a male shaft, any male shaft. She humped and quivered and moaned, writhing in ecstasy and gyrating in orgasmic intensity, panting as her efforts left her painfully short of breath. When the evenings ended, she was tired as the dead, and slept without dreams, without interruption.
During the days, she had to go to class. Dirk's class was a pleasure, because of the private looks they stole.
He was also a superb teacher, a roaster of his craft. Her other classes she muddled through.
As for homework and studying, there seemed to be so little time for it. One night she was bound and determined to lock herself in her room and study, an effort to return to her old thirst for knowledge.
She found her mind wandering, though, and fifteen minutes after she had opened the book, there came a knock on her door.
"Please," she said. "I've got to study. I'm falling so far behind in my classes."
She knew she could talk like that now. They could not misconstrue her intentions as being anti-SEX. She had been an active and willing participant in the proceedings at the house. Nobody could doubt her loyalty to the sorority at this point.
Yet they would not leave her alone. They kept knocking, and she finally had to respond, opening the door. She looked tired, haggard, with dark circles under her eyes.
Behind the door was Paul Slaughter and three of his brothers. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and a sheepish look etched in his face. "Busy?" he said.
"Very," she told him, looking sincere and hoping he and his friend would take her word for it and go away. "I've got three tests next week, and I haven't even begun to study for them. I've got no time. If I'm going to pass my classes and stay in this damn school, I've got to study."
Paul draped his arm around her shoulder. As he spoke, his hand inched down until it covered her firm, brassiere-supported breast. His fingers outstretched to reach beneath it, and he squeezed, happy to feel her nipple hardening against the palm of his hand.
"You can study later. I don't think we'll take too much of your time."
"Paul, I'm serious. I'd love to, you know that, but this is really important."
"So is this," Paul said, anger rising beneath the calm tone of his voice.
His anger bounced off Sharon, who grew angry herself. "Jesus Christ," she said, the fire burning in her eyes. "All I do around here is spread my legs for you guys. Aren't I entitled to any respect at all?"
She whirled, pulling herself out of his grasp. The other brothers looked at one another, nervous smiles crossing their lips. Paul reached out to grab her, but she eluded him. "You bastard," she said. "I want to study, and that's by God what I'm going to do."
"Like hell," Paul shouted, kicking the door shut violently. It slammed like a shot. Now the anger in Sharon's face was mixed with fear. Paul approached her and shoved her viciously down onto the bed. "You're a sister, and you're going to fucking well behave like one!" he shouted. "I don't understand you. Everybody else in this house knows the score, but after all this time you still act like a prima donna."
Paul whipped his belt off and tossed it aside, then undid his pants and pulled his cock out. He held it in his fist aiming it at Sharon-from where she sat, it was but inches from her face.
She watched, her heart smashing against her ribs, as his cock grew in his hand, pulsating, growing another inch long with each throb.
Finally, the shaft was fully-erect, stiff and turgid. He took a step closer, and the cock grazed her lips. "Suck it," he ordered her.
She looked at the monstrous thing, its blue veins moving and throbbing, its head bobbing and straining. Saliva formed in her mouth, making her tongue wet and slick. Her lips quivered, and she knew she wanted to. God, how she wanted to. She ached to part her lips over it, allowing her hot mouth to blanket his living penis. She wanted to feel it in the back of her mouth, and she wanted to taste its sweat-salt coating.
Finally, she desired for him to come in her mouth, unleashing his torrent of white hot cum so she could swallow it, feeling the slick oozing semen glide down her throat like liquid candy. Her cunt twinged, and she pictured herself dipping her fingers between her thighs as she sucked hungrily at his thick erection.
But there was a principle involved here. She could not do what Paul Slaughter said, just because he said it. "Fuck you," she said, looking over his pulsating cock into his eyes with defiance.
Paul would not let it go that easily. As much as it was a matter of principle for Sharon, it was a matter of discipline for Paul. He roughly grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her toward his waist.
She yelped from the pain of having her hair yanked, but kept her lips tightly sealed. "Suck it!" Paul shouted at her. She whimpered but shook her head.
Paul turned to his comrades. "Open the bitch's mouth up," he told them.
One of them slid behind her and held her tight, while the other two pried her jaws apart. With his fist still wrapped around his shaft-base, Paul steered his cock into her mouth.
The two who had opened her mouth moved away, and she could see out of the corner of her eye they were both lustfully rubbing their full crotches. The other Greek remained behind her, holding her still and steady, and Paul continued to hold her hair as he pumped his cock into her mouth just as though it was a cunt. He had no regard for her feelings now, no interest in whether or not he was hurting her, choking her.
Her hands flailed uselessly at her sides as she felt his hot, slick meat sliding vigorously in and out of her mouth. It filled her mouth, then suddenly she felt only the small round crown between her lips. But before she could clench her teeth again, the cock was rammed back in, jackhammering her.
Paul tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her head to him with each thrust, shoving it out of the way with each withdrawal. Her teeth scraped against the fleshy covering of his thickness, but he did not care. He was fucking her, and that was all that mattered.
His cock swelled with his approaching orgasm, and he yelled and nearly tore a tuft of her hair from her head as he shot a gusher of sperm down her throat so quickly and viciously she had no time to taste it.
Still, her hands had somehow wrapped around Paul's firm, muscular buttocks, and she was eagerly cooperating with him.
"Christ, look at that," she heard one of the brothers say. "She likes it."
Spent, Paul withdrew his limp member from her mouth. But he still held her hair. "Eddie, your turn," he said. Eddie, a tall good looking red-head, eagerly unzipped his pants. Sharon's eyes widened as she realized she was expected to suck all of their cocks, bring them all to orgasms and swallow down every last drop of each of their ejaculations. She was horrified.
But Eddie's stiff thickness was before her before she had too much time to think about it. Her jaws were sore from working on Paul's cock, and she knew she could offer no resistance. So when Eddie's throbbing shaft appeared before her mouth, she simply opened it and even held his cock, guiding it between her soft, moist lips.
Eddie wasn't as violent as Paul; he let her suck his delicious cock, taste it, slide her firmly-pressed lips along the length of his shaft. He vigorously rubbed her hair, and Paul finally released the aching bunch of hair he was holding.
But Paul wasn't finished either.
"Spread your legs, Eddie," he said. Eddie heard him through a haze of sexual arousal, and spread his legs. Paul crawled between then, and was faced with
Sharon's knees. He hoisted the hem of her dress up, and viciously pulled her panties off, taking one or two strands of her curly pubic hair with him. He heard her whimper as he ripped her panties away, but cared nothing about that. Her gaping, pink-rimmed hole was open for him, and he lapped at the shimmering slit with his tongue as though he were licking a popsicle.
Sharon clamped her thighs around him, and redoubled her efforts on Eddie's ready-to-explode erection.
Paul's tongue finally reached her pebbly clitoris, and he licked at it with the hardened tip of his tongue. Sharon responded with a deep, guttural moan that vibrated like a machine against Eddie's impaling thickness. He gasped, lurched once shoving his length beyond the limits of Sharon's mouth and into her throat, then withdrew with a yank.
His viscous male sperm splattered across Sharon's face, and dribbled down her chin. She came then, climaxing in a fit of aroused passion, shaking uncontrollably against Paul's face.
When Paul arose, he was smiling. His face shone from the liquids she had gushed onto him.
"I've still got two friends who aren't satisfied," Paul said, as Eddie stuffed his cock back into his pants. "You guys come here."
The brothers stood in front of Sharon, grinning, awaiting their pleasure.
'Take your dongs out, boys," Paul said. They did as they were told. Both of them had long, thick erections, dancing and bobbing in anticipation of the touch of female flesh.
Sharon was shivering. Her face was coated with a cooling layer of cum-some of it was turning into a dry crust already. Her skirt was hiked up to her belly, and her sopping cunt was exposed to all of them. And two cocks faced her.
"Jerk them off, Sharon," Paul insisted. "I want to see them cum all over you."
"At the same time?" Sharon said, a quiver in her voice.
"At the same time. Two hands for beginners," Paul quipped as he leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
She took one penis in each hand, and began to slide her hands in rhythm back and forth along the length of each shaft. Each one felt distinctively alive and individual. One was hot and pulsating rapidly, the other was cool and beat steadily. But they both spurted their loads of cum onto her face and her dress at the same time.
"Lick them clean," Paul said.
She did as she was told. "See?" Paul said. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Laughing, the four of them left the room, closing the door behind them.
Sharon collapsed on the bed weeping. All of her activities in the last several weeks caught up with her, and she lay in the puddles of semen, her cunt lewdly splayed, and cried.
When she was done crying, she showered, then ran from the house. She had to find Dirk. She had to confess it all to him. Things had finally gone too far; she had been humiliated this time, and there was no reason she should have to put up with it. She would tell Dirk.
She didn't see Paul following her as she left though. She had no idea this was the beginning of the end.
Dear Diary:
They're coming for me. I am huddled in my room, with the door locked and a chair shoved under the knob, but I know they'll get in. It's only a matter of time.
I don't know what I'm going to do, and I don't think I care. I can never face Dirk again, after what they've done to me, and without Dirk I don't know why I should even bother.
I found Dirk at his home, wearing a lounging jacket, smoking a pipe and working on some student papers. He saw I was agitated, and we went for a drive. We parked in a quiet park, and as I wept, I confessed it all. Everything.
He wasn't mad. He wasn't even upset. He put his arm around me and held me close and whispered it was all right, that he loved me, that he actually wanted to marry me. It was the happiest moment of my life.
God, if only I had known Slaughter had followed us, that now he knew about us. Dirk and I made love, and even though sex had been such a humiliating experience a few hours before, this was beautiful and wondrous. Then Dirk dropped me near the edge of town, and I started back toward the house.
But Paul and two of his brothers intercepted me. "What do you want?" I asked them.
"We know about you and that scumbag teacher," Paul said. "Don't you know the rules, you cock-happy bitch? You can't fuck anybody but KKA. You don't learn your lessons very well, do you? We're just going to have to teach you another one."
Everything was so bright in my future I couldn't let these childlike imbeciles stand in my way. I tried to run, but Paul caught my arm and forced me into his car.
"Where are we going?" I asked. My voice trembled from fear.
'To your teacher's house." He said. I started, but Paul laughed. "Oh, don't worry. A couple friends of mine stopped him. He'll be a while getting home."
"Oh God, what have you done with him?" I shrieked.
"If I were you, I'd be more concerned about yourself," he told me.
"But Dirk ..." I could think of nothing else. If I had learned anything since joining SEX, it was that the sisters and brothers would do anything to accomplish their goals. In every instance, that meant sex, but what enjoyment could they get out of Dirk? All I could think of was violence. My Dirk!
"He's just being delayed a little," one of the brothers said.
Paul shot him a hostile look. "You fuckin' talk too much, man," he said.
The brother looked down, ashamed for having aroused Paul's anger. But that abated when Paul looked back at me, and a smile crossed his face, lighting it up.
"You come along with us, little sister," he sneered. He grabbed my wrist and flung me into the back seat of his car, and the two brothers got in on either side of me, making escape impossible.
Paul slid into the driver's seat, and gunned the engine. I tried to relax, since there was nothing I could do, but it was not possible. I was nervous, shaking, and I could hear the deafening echo of my heart pounding in my head.
I tried to watch his route, but it was dark by now and my eyes were clouded with eye moisture and fear. But I knew where we were when we arrived there. We were at Dirk's house.
When they saw my reaction, Paul said, "Don't get your hopes up, little sister. We've got other plans for you."
The doors flung open and I was hauled out of the car, and dragged up the walkway to Dirk's front door. Paul didn't knock or ring ... he just opened the door and walked right in. His friends pushed me in after him.
Dirk lived in an old house, two stories, that was almost gothic in appearance. Anywhere else, it would have been considered a valuable, lavish piece of property. At State, though, only faculty and administration could afford houses. And even most of them were waiting to get a better job, so their interest in investing was small. Dirk rented this house for a song.
Upstairs, I heard what I thought was giggling, female giggling. That didn't sound too ominous, so I didn't resist much when Paul began forcing me upstairs. His friends followed behind us.
His words inspired fear though. "You're about to pay, you bitch," he whispered as we mounted the stairs. "You've been warned. You were told there was a price, even before you became a sister. You gave an oath, you cunt. And you've been violating it every goddam day behind our backs. Now it's get even time. You get yours tonight, shrew."
The sound of giggling increased until I heard it coming from beyond the door at which we stood. Paul pushed it open and shoved me in.
I toppled, and didn't have a chance to see what was going on until I could sit up on the floor to which I had fallen.
My eyes must have widened three inches. Connie was there, naked and panting, sweat glistening on her body. Melanie too. They were on the bed, locked in one another's arms. Melanie's lips were closed over Connie's erect nipple, and Connie had her hand buried in the growth between Melanie's thighs. They both giggled, even after seeing me.
Mixed in, and beneath their tangled bodies, I saw a leg covered with fine, black hair. I knew there was a boy beneath them, naked as they were, and obviously a KKA brother.
Connie looked up at me, saw me, and reached out and grabbed something. It was a cock, the boy's, thick and covered with liquid that made it glisten. As she wrapped her long fingers around it, it grew a little, throbbed, and I heard the sound of a male moan.
Then she dove on it, her mouth unhinging and the cock disappearing into her throat. She sucked hungrily and the boy moaned loud, again and again, guttural sounds that were pure instinct and no reason.
When she pulled away, she pulled her soggy breast away from Melanie's hungry mouth. I saw her lips quiver, and it reminded me of the time Melanie and I had languished on the floor of the punishment room. Even though I was sore where my hip had hit the floor, I became somewhat excited against my will. I tried to force it back, but it paid no attention.
Suddenly my heart stopped. Across the room, I saw Dirk's son, Anthony. He was naked, tied by both wrists to the handles on his closet doors. This was his room! I realized with a start. He had been bound there and forced to watch Connie and Melanie making love to each other and to the KKA big brother. And now, even though his binds tore at his flesh, his little penis was erect, bouncing happily as he struggled, aching to participate in the scene that had been going on before him.
In an instant, Paul and one of his friends were upon me, ripping my clothes from me. I felt each garment come off, torn from my body. My dress strained against my back, tremendous pressure, and the material finally gave and I felt the dress shred from the top to the bottom. It peeled away easily after that. I had lost my shoes in my fall. I felt my brassiere being tugged by the hook that held the two brimming full cups together, and it too, finally snapped, and my large, orb-like titties flowed loose, the mammary flesh rippling as the two mounds filled the space they were meant to.
Something tickled the hairs of my cunt, and I was aware that Paul was reaching far up between my legs, grabbing the ribs of my stockings. He wasn't concerned about running them; he just pulled them off, ruining them for good. My panties came next, they could have easily slipped them down my long, tapering legs had they wanted to. But that wasn't enough punishment. I was to undergo a humiliating experience, and it was necessary for them to rip my panties off, pulling them so hard that they dug painfully into the flesh of my hip before it finally tore.
Now I was nude. The boy Connie and Melanie had been fucking held me by one wrist, and the KKA brother with Paul held my other wrist. Connie held one of my ankles, and Melanie the other. They spread my legs wide, obscenely displaying my gaping, wet pussy for the sole satisfaction of Anthony Roland, the son of my lover.
He strained tearfully at his ties, but could not escape. There was no question in my mind though, after seeing his cock react to the sight of my splayed legs.
He wasn't trying to set himself free-he wanted to put his long, virgin cock up my tight little pussy hole.
Paul emerged from somewhere, holding a can of shaving cream and a razor blade. He showed them to Anthony, who didn't really understand.
I struggled,, because I understood. But they held onto me tightly, and I succeeded only in tiring myself out more.
Paul expelled some shaving cream onto his fingertips, and knelt between my spread legs. He rubbed the creamy, white stuff into the downy curls of my silky pubic hair. It was that kind of shaving cream that turns warm after it goes on, and the folds of my cuntal flesh, just beyond the crevice that leads into the depths of my pussy, starting to get hot. I squirmed, but this time it was only half from anxiety-and half from arousal. I couldn't help it, the warmth of the cream on my cunt was more than I could stand.
When he had rubbed it in good, so my pubic mound was thoroughly saturated with cream, Paul wiped his hand on his pant leg and flashed the razor before my eyes.
I screwed my eyes shut and tried to relax. A razor over tense flesh, I reasoned, would have a better chance of cutting than would a blade over loose, eased pussy skin.
The razor scraped over me, and I whimpered against my will. In my mind, I pictured Anthony, his mouth agape, his eyes bugging out as he gazed into the space between my thighs, the sizzling pink flesh of my cunt.
The razor passed over again, and a chill swept my vulva. It was, I realized, the air hitting the now-naked flesh of my vagina. I shivered, and the razor swiped again.
Suddenly, it stopped. A dry, fluffy feeling grazed my cunt, a towel, I realized. I had been shaved clean. I opened my eyes and saw Paul stepping back, gazing at the honey pot between my splayed thighs.
"Like a baby's," he said.
He moved away, and let Anthony see. Blood droplets had formed on his wrists near where the ropes gouged into him. But his face was red with sexual frustration; he wasn't even aware of the pain in his wrists.
His erection throbbed like a man's, thickened by the sight of my naked pussy. Over the pinhole head of his cock, a large drop of white semen had formed. I closed my eyes again and wished. I wished Connie would go over to him and wrap her hand around his meaty boy's shaft and stroke his hardness once, twice-enough, no. doubt, to stimulate him enough to come, shooting a geyser of hot sperm. Maybe it would land on me, who knows? Anything, though, to keep him from putting his cock inside me. Not that! He was my lover's son, just a little boy. It wasn't his fault, he was forced into it without choice. Still, the idea of the hot, pulsating penis of the son of my beloved Dirk made me ill.
I had no choice though. They pulled my legs apart farther, so that the tunnel that led up my cavernous pussy was easily visible. At the same time, Paul used a pocketknife to cut away Anthony's restraints.
The instant he was free, he fell upon me. He was naive in the ways of love, as I was when I had first come to State. I felt the rockiness of his thick cock jammed against my pussy, but he couldn't find the entrance. He moaned and whimpered as he humped in vain, the underside of his fleshy cock sliding along the bare exterior of my cunt.
Maybe, I thought, he would come like that, and never have to enter me.
But the SEX and KKA people had planned this, and they did not have any intention of seeing it go awry. Melanie reached between my body and Anthony's; I felt her cool hand on my sensitive pube skin. She felt around for the cock she knew was pressed between us, found it, and pointed it between the slick portal walls of my cuntal entrance.
The head of his turgid cock penetrated the slits, and jammed against the hard pebble of my flaccid little clitoris. I gasped as my pleasure button jumped to life, twitching and growing hard.
Connie straddled our interlocked bodies, and planted her bare feet on Anthony's quivering, hairless buttocks. She pushed, and the boy's cock shoved hard and fast into me. It had no trouble moving in, since there was no pubic triangle through which to navigate. And my lubricants were flowing freely, offering him no resistance at all. In a split second, his hard, full cock was filling my cock-loving pussy.
His breath was audible and rapid, and he was aroused beyond control. His tender young penis had never before felt anything like this; I don't even know if he'd ever even masturbated before.
He humped me madly, and I felt my wrists and legs released by those who had held me. Instead of trying to get away, though, I wrapped my arms around the boy's shoulders and pulled him close. His head nestled into my hot, jiggling bosom, and my nipple found its way between his lips. His anxious tongue flicked over the nipple, forcing it to harden from excitement.
"Ah, God, fuck me," I said involuntarily. At this point, a cock was a cock, and that was exactly what was inside my pussy, gyrating and thrusting in and out, drawing forth an animalistic excitement.
My head and face were completely exposed, and Connie decided that was just the way she wanted it. She straddled my face, and I opened my eyes to look up at her splayed cunt lips.
Something dripped on my face, hot and musky. It was a drop of her lubricants, slipping out of her aroused pussy, which was shaved as slick and clean as mine!
Before I had a chance to say anything, she sunk to her knees. The smooth, moist flesh of her cuntal skin pressed into my face, against my lips. As Anthony fucked me, his skewering, impaling thickness shoving into my cunt and out again, I began to lick at the sticky lips of her pussy.
Her fluids were like alcohol, and I lapped at them hungrily, my tongue burying itself inside the folds of her cunt, and then receding again back into my mouth so I could swallow her juices.
"Yes," she hissed, leaning forward and rubbing the moving cheeks of Anthony's buttocks. "Yess, fuck him and eat me, baby, fuck him and eat me!"
Her words aroused me, and I nibbled tenderly at her shaved vulva. I was so wet I could just barely feel Anthony's cock sliding moistly in and out of my pussy. Nothing mattered now, not Dirk, not education, not my morals-only cock and pussy. I wanted to come so bad it hurt.
I felt hands on my side, and realized somebody was trying to force me over onto my side. It was a difficult maneuver, but whoever it was forced me. Anthony just rolled with me and kept humping, his arms locked around my back. Connie also rolled, locking her thighs around my face.
She lay on her back, twisted around at her waist, and I continued burying my face into her gaping, delicious pussy.
I felt somebody pulling the cheeks of my curvy, milky ass apart. I gasped, realizing what was about to happen, and the gasp vibrated against Connie's pussy. "AAAGH," she screamed. "Yeah, baby, fuck me with that hungry mouth of yours." Then she sucked in air violently and vibrated against my face. Her fluids were flowing like a river now. Electric shocks sang from my breast where Anthony sucked at my nipple, and his rigid penis continued jackhammering into me.
I felt the head of a cock push up against the tight little button of my asshole, and shove. "GOD NO!" I shouted into Connie's pussy, and she screamed back, her arousal intensified a hundred times by the vibrations from my voice.
'TUCK ME!!" she screamed in a piercing voice. "Make me come, make me come all over you, make me come."
She repeated her litany over and over again as I felt a cock push deeply into my tight rectum. "There," a voice said as the penis had entered my ass all the way. It was Paul. "Now you can fuck everybody."
He began thrusting in and out, falling into time with Anthony. Connie gyrated and writhed on my face. From every direction it came, from every angle. I twisted and shivered, but every move I made only made me aware of one other genital, the cock in my ass, the one up my pussy, the cunt blanketing my face.
Anthony came, shooting a virgin load of semen that seemed to be a full gallon up my pussy. It spurted against my throbbing clitoris, and I shuddered to a violent, writhing climax.
The movements I made, and the deep, loud moans issued by my orgasm, led Connie to hers, flooding her juices over my face and filling my thirsty mouth with them.
She rolled off me, as did Anthony, who was crying and shaking. Connie held him as Paul forced me on my stomach and violently humped my puck-ringed anus until I could feel it bleeding. Still, when his gusher of white, viscous semen filled my bowels, I shuddered to one more climax, shouting, "Yes, yes, this is what I want. It's all I want, it's all I want."
He withdrew from me. I lay alone in a puddle of semen and cunt lubricant. I thought for sure I would cry. But I didn't. I was smiling.
CHAPTER NINE
Dirk Roland sat in his car for a long time, looking at the SEX house. He knew Sharon would see him, and come down sooner or later. She would have to.
Finally she emerged from the house, and walked slowly to his car.
"I've missed you," he said as she leaned on the open passenger window and looked at him. "When can I see you?"
She smiled emptily. "You can't," she said. "I'm a SEX sister, and I can't."
"What about before?" he said.
She shrugged. "People make mistakes."
"Look, Sharon. Anthony told me what happened. I understand. You were forced into it. It wasn't your fault."
"It wasn't a fault at all," she told him. "It's what's supposed to be. I liked it. I like everything here."
"I thought you loved me."
"Little girls think lots of foolish things," she said. "I'm a big girl now."
Dirk looked dejectedly up at the road, empty and gray before him. "Your grades are slipping. Fast!"
"There's more important things."
"Look, Sharon...."
"I can't talk any more, Professor Roland," she said. The formal name sent a stab of pain through his heart. "My friends are waiting."
She turned and walked sexily back to the house. Dirk's cock ached for her, particularly now that she wore tight jeans and a SEX sorority tee-shirt that displayed her jutting breasts nicely.
But she wasn't interested anymore. She had been . .. assimilated.
He started his car. He'd have to forget her, if he could. It would take a long time, but now she was one of them.
He drove away as Sharon closed the door to SEX house behind her.
