Chapter 2
"What in heaven's name is all that noise?" Victoria Chambliss demanded.
Other girls, including the two playing pinochle, looked up—or were already staring past Victoria at the front window. Soon all the girls in the Delta Iota Kappa sorority house—including the housemother, Mrs. Munson—were clustered at windows and doors, peering out onto the street outside. Even though it was nicely tree-shaded and the time was just after sundown, all were able to see the two men creating the disturbance.
One was a dirty-looking biker, with a lot of auburn hair drawn back and tied with a piece of leather at his nape. The other was dressed in a suit with a necktie and soiled pants, right in front, at the crotch. The two seemed about ready to tear each other apart. And yes, all of a sudden the suited one threw a punch. Although it didn't seem a really hard-swung blow, the biker jerked and went staggering backward. Some staring girls frowned. Others started jumping or bouncing up and down in high excitement. Fight, fight! And neither of those was a campus boy, either.
"They've got no business on our street!" Victoria Chambliss snapped, as if she and her sisters of Delta Iota Kappa owned tree-shaded Anderson Drive.
"Wow! Who cares! Did you see that—if that cycle jockey had landed that swing the other dude would be seeing stars and moons!"
"Shocking!" Mrs. Munson said. "Simply shocking!"
"Why did they have to pick the street right in front of the house?" Alice Wheelwright demanded.
"Just luck, I guess," Anne Treece said, smiling and avidly watching. Boy, how exciting! She hugged herself, imagining those two handsome hunks were fighting over her....
"Stupid little slut," Victoria muttered, and six tongues were stuck out at her slim straight back.
"But why here?" SaraSue Randolph complained, forgetting that she was president and should set a firm, competent example.
"Why not? Do they need a reason to start their brawl here instead of someplace else?"
Indeed they did! For while the girls and their not-so-girlish housemother coveyed at the front of the house, watching out every window and the windows in the door as well—a slim dark youth in black pants was creeping into the back of the "Delt. L" house.
He followed his nose leftward into the kitchen, which was as deserted as every other room, except the sprawling living room of the large old building, formerly the residence of one of the university's founders. Cesar was surprised to find what these well-heeled young ladies were having for supper, and he approved. A big pot of chili was bubbling on the stove.
"Even sorority girls have good taste when it comes to supper," Cesar muttered, and could not resist tasting the contents of the great cauldron. He frowned, wrinkled his nose, added chili pepper . . . and poured in the vial given him by good old Doc Driessen. Next Cesar was kind enough to stir the pot, which in the absence of the cook was forming a film on top.
Cesar quickly split then, trotted down the alley and emerged between two houses well down the street. Licking his lips and taking a goodly breath, he whistled the agreed-upon signal to the two guys creating the diversion out in front of the house that Doc Driessen had chosen.
Then Cesar stared. The girls had come out!
He saw the tall, slim ash-blonde in the soft, soft sweater and so-perfect skirt That, he was to learn, was Miss Victoria Chambliss, often called Miss
Snooty-Snotty, and she was at present engaged in giving Dave Griffey and Fred Foster a piece of her quite good mind. Also present was an older woman who might possibly have a good bod inside that nowhere dress. "Housemother," Cesar Perez muttered, solely to himself. He remained carefully within the shadows of tall old trees enhanced by dusk. It was the best neighborhood he'd ever been in, and mother-of-god, how many sports cars there were parked along it!
Other girls were on the porch, steps, and front walk of the huge Early American house with its pillars and sign containing the three Greek letters. Most of them were hugging themselves, and all stayed well back. There was a third one right out there in the front ranks though, and what a woman! Only later would he learn that she was the daughter of the university president, and the reason the disgruntled and truly wicked Doc Driessen had chosen the Delt I house for his . . . field test. She was Henrietta Nettles, and she came in queen size, all over, and she was captain of the girls' hockey Women's Hockey Team, as of a few years back, and even as Cesar watched she strode forward and actually teampunched Fred Foster, who had been pretending to have a nice John Wayne brouhaha of a fight with Dave Griffey
Cesar's eyebrows rose toward his curly black hairline; Fred was knocked down!
That brought a moment of awed silence on all, even Griffey and Chambliss. Cesar seized the opportunity to whistle his signal again.
Griffey half swung, straddled his big hog, and kicked it into roaring life. As he started forward, one foot on the pavement, while he angled the handlebars toward the formidable Miss Nettles—Ms, as of a few years back—Fred dragged himself up from the asphalt. He swung on behind his new friend. Cesar started running, Amid loud engine noises and many cries in female voices, the big H-D bike passed him in seconds.
Without looking back, Cesar ran all the way to the rendezvous point. All he could think about was all those yummy daughters of well-off parents. And all that chili. He hoped $hey found it yummy, too.
The girls of Delta Iota Kappa meanwhile, were returning grumblingly into the house of their sorority, which was called, with a certain lack of both respect and fondness, the Rich Bitches House. (Sure, some called it Dick, too—Rich Dick, most often.) The young ladies headed promptly for the dining room, whilst cook, warden, steward, and four pledges hurried kitchenward. This was the night of their weekly meeting, and as usual they were in a hurry to eat and would do so with swiftness. That, of course, was why they were having something so prosaic as chili.
It smelled marvelous.
Thirty-two minutes later, the six hopeful males returned.
They found the sorority house steamy, and not just with the aromatic fumes of chili. They were welcomed with open arms and blouses by thirty-two wildly horny girls, the Rich Bitches gone ape, and by one woman in her earliest forties. Mrs Munson was just as much in heat as the girls she looked after, chaperoned, and counseled.
The five men and youth were conducted through the spacious, beautifully furnished living room, across the wood-tiled floor of the sprawling parlor, which also served as game room and lounge, and up a flight of handsomely banistered stairs. Griff made a squeaky noise as they ascended; a female hand belonging to an unknown body and lust-fevered brain had grabbed at his crotch.
Upstairs, they were led, ushered, shoved, propelled past several bedrooms—though several of their ushers tried to drag this or that male into one of them—and into a large squared room in which hung a Delta Iota Kappa flag. Here too, was a long table covered by a white and gold Delt I spread, fringed, and holding three candles and several important looking books, along with a ledger and a secretary's minutes book. The room otherwise contained some forty chairs, lined up facing the table, and a number of ashtrays and smoking stands. Four high-backed, indeed majestic chairs, stood like stern sentinels behind the official table up front.
Against it leaned a good-looking girl with short brown hair and glasses. She wore an open blouse, and hose, garter-belted, and one shoe. Her skirt and fiery-red panties lay crumpled at her feet. In her hand she held a large oaken gavel, marked in gold with the Greek letters for D.I.K. The presidential gavel, of course. She stood on one leg, with the other bent at the knee and resting partially atop the low table of officialdom so that she presented a most lewd picture indeed.
None of the six newcomers could have told how long was the handle of the presidential gavel of Delta Iota Kappa, or indeed what was at its lower end, for the girl leaning against the table and partially on it was busily dildoing herself with the gavel's handle.
She stared as the six were ushered into the D.I.K.
Chapter Meeting Room.
"Men!" Her eyes sparkled. She actually paused for a moment or two in her energetic ramming the gavel in and out of her red-furred vagina.
"Gentlemen," someone called in a high voice, "our
Chapter President, Sarasue Randolph."
SaraSue inclined her head in greeting. "Never let it be said that Delta Iota Kappa, ole Delt I, ole Rich Bitches, is lacking in hospitality to guests."
"Especially males!" a curly-headed blonde cried.
"Especially tonight!" a long-haired brunette added.
"We come bearing gifts," Doc Driessen said.
"So long's they come," a girl cried out, and no one admonished her; they only tittered. She was wearing | her sweet little pink sweater bunched up around her throat, making it easier for her to pinch and wring both her fiery nipples.
"Gifts?" SaraSue Randolph queried.
"Beware Greeks bearing gifts!"
"We ain't Greeks," Cesar said, clutching the hand that had appeared high between his legs, from behind.
"Gifts," Doc Driessen nodded.
"And what are the—uh!—nature of these gifts?" President Randolph said, with as much official dignity as was possible for a girl who was coming all over a large oaken gavel.
"Cocks!" Dave Griffey called out, and stepped forward to display his gift
A great chorus of delighted noises arose. His gift was obviously accepted by all present.
SaraSue extricated the dripping gavel from herself. She extended it to Griff. "Trade you," she said.
"We bring six such gifts," Fred Foster said, getting into the swing of things. The no shorts wearer, he displayed his own offering, which, despite his afternoon's experience, did not yet show blue balls.
"Aha! And there are thirty-two of us!" a squeaky-voiced girl said, eyeing the nice cock Fred Foster was displaying.
"Rank," SaraSue said, lifting a magisterial finger, "hath its privileges! Officers firstl"
"Bitch!"
"Fair enough," Mickey said, at last finding voice among this impressive collection of daughters of considerable income. He stepped forward to take his place beside the biker and the assistant manager of the FastShop Super Market. CAT cap on head, Mickey looked about while he opened his pants. "Where's the vice president?"
"Mel President in charge of vice!"
Amid the clamor that rose at once, a sweet-faced old gent in rumpled clothing paced past the line of three bare-cocked males and moved around behind the official desk. Next he reached around the young woman leaning against it. Deftly, Doc plucked the gavel from her hand.
"Tsk tsk," he commented, wiping its handle in the long hair of the nearest girl. Then he rapped the gavel, hard, and again, and slowly silence slipped over the assembly. Eventually all eyes were on him. Almost all.
"Officers of Delta Iota Kappa! Step forward—if you are desirous of sexual congress with my stalwart crew."
With some pushing and some holding, the officers made their way to join their president. They lined up; president, vice president, treasurer, secretary, and
Chapter Historian. The Warden And Steward Were Turned Away Grumbling, As Being Lesser Officers. Steward Rothschild, dropping to her knees before Fred, was rudely pushed aside from behind, and turned to find a stern-faced SaraSue Randolph standing over her. Muttering, Rothschild joined the ranks of the impatient waiters. Muttering, Fred stared at Driessen, silently bidding him hurry it up.
"Clothes," Doc Driessen said, seating himself in the chair no one sat in save Delt I presidents, "Will be Removed." The chair's back towered above his angelic white-haired head.
"Let there be a general movement throughout the land," the disgruntled warden said. She stood behind Bill Martin, hoping no one saw her fondling his ass.
And there was a general movement, and soon clothes were everywhere except on bodies. Some few articles of clothing were retained; stockings, garter belts, one set of crotchless pantyhose, two bras-one with open tips through which thrust pink nipples like the pretty pink noses of cute kittens—and various pieces of jewelry. Last to strip completely was Mickey White, who was in truth pretty nervous about such a group-grope scene. He was being groped, too.
"Jeee-zusss," he said, looking around. "I never seen so many—there aren't this many titties in Pent~ houseF
Then he surprised everyone by making the first move; the naked trucker—naked except for his CAT cap—took a step forward and clamped each big hand around the wrist of each of Marianne Cooper's wrists. Marianne was the
Chapter Historian, And A Bit Beyond Being Pleasingly Plump. She Looked Just As Surprised As Everyone Else.
"Little darling" Mickey said, 'let's blow this joint."
She gasped, met his eyes, looked down at his semi-erection. "Is—is it all right if I just blow it enough to get it up and then we fuck?" Marianne's voice matched none of the rest of her; it was high and tiny.
Mickey looked nervously around. "Uh—well . . . could we go someplace else?"
"Officers," Doc Driessen intoned in a voice of officialdom, "must lead and be visible at all times."
"Meaning we get stuffed here," SaraSue said, and she wrapped a hand around Grif s erection. "C'mere, you mean-looking biker you. You a hell's angel?"
"A Heaven's Devil," he said, exerting the muscle that made his cock jump in her hand. "And I've done plenty of ballin in front of an audience—but I never humped it to a president before!"
"You little devil," vice-president Helena Eriksson was saying, looking down into Cesar's melting brown eyes, "where ever did you get this great big whang? Do you know you're the smallest dude and the biggest penis I've ever made it with?"
"We haven't made it," he said, lowering his head, and staring her nipple eye to eye, so to speak.
She tugged, bending her knees. "Then let's get it on, you living doll."
The historian—or maybe it was the treasurer or the secretary—stepped past them, past Fred, and plastered her naked and very slim body against Bill
Martin. While she hugged him, she murmured in her ear.
"You remind me of my daddy," she told him. Tm a Psych major—did you know that every girl wants to ball her daddy?"
He quivered, then nervously let his hands move inward to rub her small round buttocks. "Your da— uh, I mean ... I may not be capable, Rose. I mean—in front of all these people... ?"
"Are you dead, daddy?" She ground her tight little breasts against his chest
"Absolutely not," he assured her, watching Marianne and Mickey stuff Mickey's dick into Marianne.
"Then you'll be capable, darling, 'cause only the dead can resist your loving girl's big loving mouth."
And Rose knelt before the forty-year-old credit manager, and. he grunted as she used one hand, a wide-open mouth, and her tongue to make his soften vanish into her face. Her finger began playing with his ass crease. When they encountered the hand of a sorority sister, Rose only patted the fingers—and sucked.
A largeish girl with small breasts and a lot of wild red-brown hair bent over the presiding Doc Driessen, who was watching Cesar, on his knees behind the hands-and-knees Helena, enjoy his second dog-fuck of the day.
"Uh—Mister President," the largeish girl said.
He turned mild gray eyes to look into hers. "Call me Doc."
"Uh—Doc . . . Im so horny I hurt . . . but . . . I'm a little nervous, and with all these others ... would you tell me what I should do?"
Doc pushed back the presidential chair. "You should get down out of sight, let your calves and feet go back under the desk, and amuse yourself practicing fellatio on me."
"S-Sir?"
He stroked her nipples. "Hit your knees and give me some head," he bade her.
She smiled. "Right! And no one will even be able to see!" She knelt, tucking her lower legs and bare feet back under the desk. "You—you won't come in my mouth, will you?"
He smiled and pressed three fingers against her lips. She licked them. "Sweetheart," Doc told her, "at my age I may not come until tomorrow afternoon."
Also smiling, the girl whose name he did not- know bent her face to his groin. He didn't know her office, either. Maybe she was the treasurer; she was certainly treasuring his cock, he thought as he gazed on the others with that Santa-Claus-smile.
None of the girls wanted to waste any time, as Driessen had expected. Marianne and Mickey had wasted the least; they were on the floor of the
Chapter Room, Already With An Audience. The Girls Behind Mickey Were Admiring The Soles Of Sister Marianne's feet—and Mickey's naked, hairy, bobbing ass. From deep in her throat, contented noises formed and purred from the overweight girl's open mouth. Thrills of enchantment—he had chosen her! He was balling her, whom slim Victoria so often called Gutsy, made her shiver all through her meaty body. He was fucking hard, so that the huge, jerking length of his big truckdriver's erection plugged her little pussy deeply and lasciviously. His body lunged hard against the fattened, up-bulging mound at the base of her fattened and up-bulging belly and his hairy thighs worked between the satiny smoothness of her very round and chubby thighs. Her legs pumped air and she gasped, full of the coiled spring of lustful craving, as yet unappeased.
Nearby, while a titsy girl with multi-colored hair fondled his bare ass, quiet Bill Martin stood with bulging eyes. He quivered all over. He stared down. What he saw was the top of Rose Peterson's head. The kneeling Psych major was sucking madly, strongly at his swelling organ, sliding her whole face up and down the blood-engorged shaft of meat.
Lovely, Doc Driessen thought, while the kneeling girl at his feet licked his own ropey old cock. Martin deserves this. Mister Meek, age forty—standing over a hot and lustful cocksucker of about nineteen. Called him Daddy, eh? Ah, the old incest yearnings! Then he grunted; on her knees between his thin, widespread thighs, big Alice Wheelwright drew at his soft penis with leeching lips.
As for the other man, the oldest of Driessen's recruits—he was unable to be still under the impetus of the hungrily-milking mouth of the kneeling redhead. The credit manager's blood tingled and raced in his veins, and he began moving.
"Wow-w-ww," the girl behind him muttered, and she lovingly fondled his ass. "Whatta man!"
With rocking hips, he was fucking his "daughter's" face, because he absolutely had to.
Watching glassy-eyed, Miss Snooty-Snotty Victoria Chambliss was pinching hell out of one of her truly gloriously-shaped breasts and rubbing her pale-furred crotch in the manner of a young woman who knew what she was about. She did. Victoria had discovered her clitoris at age nine, and she'd been in love with it ever since.
Doc reached over to pat the brown-haired head of SaraSue Randolph. She was bent forward across her presidential desk, grunting and whoofing while the naked biker long-dicked her presidential cunt from behind. She turned her head toward Driessen, rubbing her head against his hand like a cat.
"Uh—would—hooohhh—you take-ooghhh—my ger— lassesssss off—HUNGH—please?'
Doc did so, laying the round-lensed gold-framed specs beside her on the table. He gave Grif a little smile. The biker winked. Standing behind her. spraddle-legged, his boots planted firmly and with the young woman's hips gripped in his unrelenting hands with their filthy fingernails, he whipped the full length of his hard-on remorselessly in and out of her body which quaked and was rocked by nervous spasms—and shivers of pure carnal pleasure.
Leaning a little forward, he moved his hands, sliding them along her bare flanks, then under her to cup the girl's dangling tits. She squealed, and Doc was certain she came, right then. How nice for her, he thought, knowing that many young women of her age were never able to relax enough to climax.
No more then two feet away, big Henrietta Nettles was staring at Fred Foster.
To horny young supermarket toiler had fallen the
Chapter Secretary, A Tiny Girl With Large, Very Jumpy Breasts And Nigh-Straight Brown Hair, Center-Parted And So Long it covered her back to the dimples above her well-developed buttocks. As she had automatically started to mount Fred, he had assumed the dorsal position beneath her. It was great to let her do the fucking—and to watch the way her good pink titties danced and bounced and swung all over the place.
Strong thigh muscles deliciously bulging, her calves rounding out as she raised herself, the anxiously moving girl established a rhythm that was most pleasantly stimulating to them both. Up and down she bounced, clicking herself right up the middle.
She uttered incoherent gasps and made little sob-bing sounds. Her dark eyes rolled loosely while she screwed herself with might and main—and utter delight at being prodded straight up the center of her passion. Shining like polished ivory, her naked floppy tits swayed and jolted entrancingly, wildly. They heaved and shook, sank and swung-swayed, danced and bobbed irrepressibly. The sex-charged sorority secretary fucked her man with tremendous energy and zeal.
The vice president and her young latin lover had every reason to be delighted that she had chosen him, though she was several inches taller. While he rummaged about inside her deep large vagina, Cesar happily and devotedly ate Helena's breasts. Shudders ran sexily through the delectable, jutting circumference of each lovely hemisphere he mouth-loved.
While his tight, tiny ass humped to power cock into her, he pretended to feed on the cherry-pink bullets her nipples had become. His tooth-squeezing of her tender buds made her whine. Her fingers leaped to his head—but twined themselves lovingly in his curly black locks and pulled his head to her, while she tightened her buttocks beneath her and thrust her deeply-sliced cunt up to the happy youth.
With his thick meat buried between her twitching legs, be began to dig with rapid strokes in and out of the moaning girl's lust-fired cunt. So he'd come a few hours ago. That was forever, to a seventeen-year-old! He balled her hard and drew strongly on her nipples with his pursing Bps. Clear sap dribbled from the sprawled collegiate as her pussy worked on the thick erection that plied it She loved it! Fucking was great! And everybody was seeing it happen, watching her make it with a boy, a male! Now no one ever need know that she'd been a virgin about eight minutes ago, despite the fact that when she'd gone on the pill two years ago, hopefully oh so hopefully, she had the doctor open her hymen for her. She'd never tell anyone her terrible secret—virginity at age 22—although it would be nice to let him know that he was her first . . . Some other time!
He stroked in deeply and pulled slowly forth, guiding his lean pelvis in such a way that his jamming organ raked every tissue of her hot, clinging pussy. Mother-of-god but she was tight and hot inside! He was aware, almost as of pain, of the clasp of her cunt and the tight vibrating of his own body. A fog of lust rose about his pounding form and grasped his brain until his vision dimmed.
Bill Martin wasn't doing so well.
Despite the girl kneeling before him with his cock in her mouth and her head racing up and down on it, despite the other one behind him, playing in between the cheeks of his ass, tickling at his sensitive anus, despite the one who was trying to kiss his cheek, Bill wasn't high and hard. He had been having a hard time for years, and as far as he knew it was age, though he had plenty of desire. How could he know that being low man at the office and catching so much flak from his wife at home had been working on his manhood, had begun the slow ghastly process of making him impotent? He might have guessed, had he thought about it. After all, he did fine when he jacked off....
That thought gave him an idea. When he jacked off, he always imagined either Ethel, the huge-breasted blonde at the office, or ... his wife. Clara. In the bathroom, beating his meat with saliva-slick hand, he closed his eyes and saw Ethel, beckoning, begging him to make it with her, make her happy, while she stripped off blouse and big white bra and showed him a pair of watermelons the color of snow. Or, with his eyes closed, he saw Clara. She wasn't beckoning. No. In his masturbatory fantasy, Bill Martin had conquered himself, gotten over this quiet chickenshit meekness, and had conquered Clara too. And Ethel was helping him...
While his new friends balled, and Doc watched and was mouthed, and all the other girls—and Miz Munson—stared at the wild activity in the
Chapter Room Of Delt I, Bill Martin Closed His Eyes. A Hand Played With His Sensitive Ass. Fingers Slipped And slithered in its crease. A loving wet large mouth slurped up and down his dick. And he saw himself in another setting, with Clara, and Ethel. . . . He had already told Clara off, and when she tried to mouth-off at him he punched her a little until she sobbed and groveled. Now, as the naked Ethel grasped her arm, the naked woman trembled. Bill and Ethel pulled her to her feet. She looked around. They were in a punishment chamber for rotten wives. She had no idea what they were planning to do to her with all these devices. She moaned in despair when she was led over to a rough-wooden table structure that was a replica of an old-time rack for the torment of just such captives as herself. Ethel grasped her left arm while Bill lifted her onto the table. The two spread Clara's ankles—they were good, slim ankles—really wide apart and fastened leather manacles on them. Then her arms were jerked and stretched out and she felt the leather cuffs being tightened around the soft skin of her wrists. Rough wood pressed against her naked back as she stared at the ceiling and trembled in terror. She tried telling him she'd never be a bitch again, but Bill climbed up onto the table, naked, and sat on her tits. He shoved his penis at her face and ordered her to eat dick. She did. For the first time in her life, Clara Martin gave head. She sucked Bill's cock. To Bill, it was very exciting, and he saw that it was for her, too. His cock grew and grew, strained and broadened and thickened, turned red and lengthened, became one hell of a male fucking instrument in the mouth of that soft sucking woman....
"Wow-w-wwww!" the girl playing with his nipple breathed, and the one behind him with a centimeter of her fingertip up his ass echoed the appreciative sound. The girl kneeling before him, meanwhile, spluttered and sniffed.
Bill opened his eyes. The dungeon and Ethel and Clara vanished. He was in the
Chapter Room Of The Sorority House, And There Sat Old Doc Driessen, Beaming At Him. Doc Winked. Bill Looked down.
"Wow," he said, for one part of the fantasy scene hadn't vanished. He had a big, fat throbbing scarlet hard-on, and it was far more than the redheaded Rose could handle in her mouth. She rolled her eyes hopefully up at him.
He glanced around. God, all these people. Could he fuck in front of all these eyes? He didn't know. He was proud; felt about ten-feet tall. Had a better, bigger hard-on than that cocky fart-ass motorcycle hippie, by God! And suddenly, Bill Martin was grinning. Hell-o yes, he could fuck in front of all these fuckin' dam' people! The president of Delta Iota Kappa was squealing in happiness, and Grif's ass had gone rubber-band tight while he shivered. He was coming!
Grinning, Bill Martin half-turned and kissed the tallish brunette beside him. "Thanks, sweetheart"
Then he slid a hand into Rose's hair, withdrew his huge erection from her face so that it snapped upward and rapped his belly sharply, nipping a shinning droplet of her saliva into the air. He kissed the girl behind him, who was small and fleshy. "Thanks, sweetheart," he told her, and palmed her breast. She smiled. Then he turned back to the girl kneeling at his feet
He spoke words then that were not like any he'd ever uttered before.
"Get up and get stuffed, sweetheart," he told the gasping, sniffing redhead. Behind her, Grif was staggering away, spent, and SaraSue just lay forward over the president's presiding desk, groaning and gasping and panting. "The president is out of it—it's tune for the secretary to take her place on the sacrificial altar and—uh, get stuffed!"
"Oh yes, oh yes Daddy," she said, her eyes shining as she rose hurriedly.
"Daddy yer hot little ass," he said firmly. His hand caught her breast, gave it a squeeze. "I'm Bill, and I don't have a daughter, and I want to fuck!"
"Absolutely, Bill darling," she told him, squeezing his cock. And she told herself way back inside her head. But as soon's I'm bent over that table and you start shoveling it to me, Mister, Tm gonna close both eyes and think it's Daddy!
As they replaced Grif and SaraSue before the cloth-draped desk, Bill heard two comments on the size and beauty of his erection, and he stood tall and swelled his chest. People would think him crazier than ever if they knew he'd been surrounded by all this young woman flesh and had fantasized that it was his own wife going down on him, he thought. But by God, it had worked, and here went Miss Rose Peterson, right over the moon on the end of his prong! He beamed down at the saucy, well-spaced jrink cheeks of her upturned bottom, and he guided his cock right in under them, into the split center of the red-furred bulge of her vulva.
He started his entry into her waiting, softly-fleeced young pussy, pressing forward against her outthrust ass and feeling her labia opening up to become a straining cock-shaped ring around his inglid-ing erection. He looked down, watching it go in.
Slowly his lower belly pressed more and more firmly against the excitingly firm mounds of her rear-cheeks. The swelling oval shapes quivered, parted, resisted being flattened with a muscularly resilient strength. Rose was compact, all right! All the strength of youth was in her muscles, and her ass was tight and firm as a seventeen-year-old tail could be.
In went his questing stave, to be immersed in wet warm flesh.
"Oh, it burns, it burns... burn me up, daddy!"
And Bill Martin, stud, began fucking hell out of her from behind, while nearly thirty pairs of eyes watched and admired and respected him. And felt just for him....