Chapter 5
Miss (Call me Ms. damn it!) Victoria Amanda Chambliss stood barefoot on the soft gold rug that covered the floor of the
Chapter Room Of Delta Iota Kappa Sorority. Her Legs, Long And Slim And Mar-Velously Golden Tanned, Were Well braced. The calves tensed visibly. Her well-defined, small ass with its deeply hollowed side cheeks was turned up at a sharp angle, for Victoria was bent all the way forward, from the waist, in that toe touching fold so beloved of gym instructors.
Except . . . the upper portion of her long body lay over the presiding desk. Her legs were perfectly straight, knees locked. Her face was turned sidewise, left cheek pillowed between her hands.
There were tears on Miss Snooty-Snotty's face, and she was whining and grunting ... in pleasure.
Every girl of DIK was watching, fascinated, astounded, delighted. All except virginal Alice Wheelwright, who still knelt under the desk and sucked on Doc Driessen's erect, dripping cock, and the girl who sat on Bill Martin's cock. She had gone glassy-eyed while he reached around and clamped her moon-shaped breasts with hands that were unusually soft and gentle. , Everyone else gazed at the stiffly bent Victoria Chambliss, including Bill and Doc.
And Dave Griffey. He stood behind Sister Victoria, naked but for his socks and biker's boots and his greasy, dirty jacket Between him and the backs of Victoria's braced, quivering legs, Anne Treece had crammed herself. With her head against Victoria's thigh, pressing into the sleek column, Anne was getting off by sucking the cock of such a rough type, this biker who was one of the two she'd seen fighting earlier. She'd had a fantasy even then, about their fighting over her, Anne Treece had.
Now, eyes closed and face dickstuffed, she was imagining herself as a biker's girl, Grifs chick, ordered to please her man with her mouth. She was working at that, a masochist in search of domination—who didn't even know it.
Behind Grif knelt Sheila Ann Browning. Her nose and tongue were plunged into the crack between his tight asscheeks. Sheila Browning liked that. She knew who and what she was, and wanted. She also thought that maybe if she pleased him he'd do to her what he was doing to Victoria.
What he was doing to the tall snippy girl was this:
Grif was fucking Victoria Chambliss with the presidential gavel of DIK.
The quaking tall bitch's humiliation made him grin with the sheer delight of domination.
And was she humiliated! The snooty-snotty slut was moaning and groaning and grunting like a damned sow, he thought happily. He watched her shoving her pussy back onto the gavel, which dripped and shone along the walnut length of its handle, with her pussy cum.
The major part of her humiliation was that she most obviously loved it!
Grif was so into what he was doing, dominating, probing, stick-fucking, degrading and humiliating one who had it coming, that he was hardly aware of the other two girls: one rimming him and one eating his meat. Now and then he did nevertheless remember to hunch forward into the redhead's stuffed face, half-strangling her . . . and to shove his ass back so that its taut-muscled little cheeks splayed over the invisible ass-licker's face.
Sheila slurped. Anne slurped. The gavel slurped, in and out.
Grif pulled the length of walnut handle all the way out of Victoria's drooling, dilated cunt. The shaped, smooth wood was glistening wet and dripping, all along its length, all nine slim inches. He'd got them all up her, every inch, in her snooty-snotty vaj, until the gavel's hammerhead was wedged into her pussylips, mashing them a little and her moans were of both pain and pleasure—while she stood on tiptoes in an involuntary attempt to escape the internal pressure—right on her cervix.
The gavel oozed a long driplet of thick sap to the gold rug.
Now, while he was licked and sucked, Grif held that gavel right where he wanted it, carefully, all wet and shiny and dripping. He waited, but not for long.
With a whimpering, high-voiced little cry of need, Victoria pushed herself backward. Then her cry was a lot louder. Grif grabbed her ass with one hand while he held the gavel's head steady with the other. Several spectating girls gasped.
Victoria had run her asshole a full two inches back on the gavel's handle.
Grif was now fucking well certain that she was going to keep those five centimeters in her—and take six or seven more, right up the ass. Virginal ass? Un-probed anus? Never-touched rectum? So what Grif was no pussycat, and neither was she.
Damn her hoity-toity ass, he thought, and probed it.
His arms quivered with the strain. She fought. His eyes swung their gaze. He caught the pretty blue eyes of a girl who looked really, really pleased about Victoria's degradation.
"Get over here and hold her down," he snapped.
The girl blinked, then jumped to obey. Her naked breasts bobbed prettily as she hurried to the presidential desk across which Victoria lay. Victoria was trying to straighten up, to ease herself off the rearward impalement.
The blue-eyed girl held the tall one down, on the desktop.
Grif skewered another few centimeters of hard, slim walnut handle into her dilated asshole. Smooth inner tissues writhed aside. They were accustomed to the emergence of items whose diameter was larger than that of the gavel. This item was coming the other way though, and it was hardly comfortable.
With her head, Victoria butted at the crotch of the girl who held her. Grif swatted Victoria's upturned buttock, hard. The two cheeks jumped defensively together, to the tune of Victoria's instant squeal. That tightening only made her tighter inwardly, too—around the gavel. The horrid thing already felt much, much thicker than its one-inch diameter.
"Go to it, Grif baby," called the well-brought-up young daughter of the president of the Citizens' First Bank & Trust Company. "Fuck 'er fuckin' snooty-snotty ass with the old gavel, man! Take it Vic, take it Vic baby, take it Vic—right up the ass!"
Even Grif was surprised and a bit shaken by the vicious chant that rose all about him now: "Take it Vic, take it Vic, take it up the ASS! Take it Vic, take it, Vic-"
His mild concern, however, did not deter Grif from what he was doing. He gave it to Vic, gave it to Vic, gave it to Vic up the ASS!
And he moved his hips slowly back and forth, getting his own asshole tongue-fucked while his face-fucked a delighted Anne Treece.
Across the room, against the far wall, three virginal young girls had waited and watched while Mickey White, afflicted with an attack of the gentles upon learning that his chosen lover was a virgin, had spent ten minutes licking and stroking and finger-fondling her closed little brown-fleeced cunt, and another two minutes just entering her: Now she had come twice, and he was still happily easing in and out of her, and three hopefuls stood impatiently waiting equal time and treatment....
Bill Martin merely sat back, leaning against a wall, with his arms around two girls and his cock up the third, who sat facing away from him. He sucked a large rosy-pink nipple on his left and fondled the smaller, tighter one on his right. And the girl before him rose up and down, up and down, up and down, gliding the charming retreat of her passionate pussy up and down the big vein-marked, intensely male column of peter standing up from his long hairy balls.
Doc Driessen was watching Grif, and marveling.
He marveled at the bikers plain damned callous meanness, at the apparent hatred of the girls of Delt I for the tall, willowy and blond Miss Chambliss. He marveled also at the way she was taking it. She had now obviously begun to dig her ass-rape with the gavel, just as she had so obviously enjoyed being cuntally probed with it.
Driessen was marveling, too, at the stick-to-it-ivity of the tall young woman between his legs. His hand idly stroked her soft hair. Not at all idly, she lovingly sucked and slurped and let her tongue linger and crawl sweetly over each vein and the great big one running along under his hard cock, while the siphoning girl's hands eased tenderly over his balls, which were so distended that they felt ready to burst.
She had found a haven. She loved sucking cock. He was a nice, sweet old gent to let her just mouth all over his intimate sexual flesh this way, to let her hide from all the others because she was embarrassed but at the same time so uncomfortably filled with sexual desire. She nursed happily.
He was so nice. This was so nice. It was so nice to suck and fondle and nurse. It felt so nice in her mouth. She was proud, too. She had made it big, all by herself. Just she and her mouth had turned that cute wrinkly little worm into this great big sexy vein-laced thing!
Within her eagerly clasping, slavish mouth her tongue lapped avidly, constantly bathing the head of his tingling bone with her saliva.
She jerked a little as, just above her, Victoria's voice burst forth loudly. Miss Snooty-Snotty, ass-fucked with a gavel, was coming.
Henrietta Nettles, aged twenty, five feet ten inches tall and one hundred fifty-two pounds, stood naked with her hands clasped behind her back like a little girl and her eyes fixed penitently on the floor. Before her, in her own room to which she had brought him, stood Fred Foster, five ten, one hundred thirty-nine pounds. He was not naked. He wore a pair of her filmy panties, beige, and they fitted. Outside, she had decked him, but she had not made him put on her briefs. He had taken them away from her and donned them himself, covering up his cock, withdrawing it from her because he said—after he'd decked her, and slapped her face once and her large ass several times—she was too damned rough with it
The college president's big daughter stood before the divorced assistant manager of the supermarket, in the pose of a humble little girl.
"Now, Hank, do you still want this cock?"
Miss Nettles nodded mutely.
His hand went out to catch one of her breasts and thumb its nipple. She shivered. "Still want me to play with these things?"
The captain of the Girls' Hockey Team nodded.
(She had said Women's Hockey Team. Mister Foster had advised her that was nonsense, she was a long way from being a woman and no group of women would elect her captain of anything. The captivated Miss Nettles, treated like a woman or a girl rather than a big object for the first time in years and years, had acquiesced. It was the Girls Hockey Team, then!)
"Then kneel down, little girl, kneel down, Hank, and lick. Lick me through your panties. Do a good job, and well see about you getting to take 'em off and get at the real unadorned banana!"
The big girl knelt down, tits jumping, and began to lick the dark lump inside her own nylon panties, stretched about the hips and over the big sexual package of this foremost among men. Standing over her, Fred regarded his wristwatch and did not move, thinking about last week's sales figures at FastShop, about what a bitch of a hung-up Southern Baptist keep away nut his wife Angie had been— about every damned thing he could call to mind except the large loving young woman so submissively kneeling before him and licking him so sexily, licking his cock through a paper-thin layer of tight sexy nylon.
When she was moaning and clutching at his ass and hips, though still sweetly and softly licking the sodden panties, when his watch told him a full ten minutes of such activity had elapsed, he bade her start to ease the pants down. "I said ease!"
And soon, for the first time since she'd been thirteen and the preacher's son had got her to do it, she was licking raw, red, twitching, throbbing cock. (Within a year she had been three inches taller than the preacher's son, and outweighed him by thirteen pounds. She had been willing to lick his cock, or others. No one had ever asked her again. She'd begun to act the part of the big dominating man-hater. She'd also cried herself to sleep a lot.)
Now, very happily, loving what she was doing, the captivated girl licked eagerly over the straining length of the rigid staff that rammed hugely out between his thighs.
She heard him groan. She smiled, and licked. Raw lust was making him shiver. She wasn't going to be Miss Unwanted much longer. She wouldn't have to be a virgin much longer!
With her face pressed into the bare, sweaty flesh of his crotch, the truly sex-oriented young woman continued to whip his silky prick with a tongue like a wet velvet lash.
Drop after pearly droplet appeared at the very tip of the distended nut of his cock, and she deftly licked away each one, smacking her lips just a little to be sure that he knew she loved it.
The vicissitudes of fate! The inequities wrought or at least tolerated by a cruel never-married god borrowed from a lonely desert people He had bade Take No Prisoners, again and again, while his more berserk servant Joshua murdered his way across the land called holy; The cruelties of life and human thought . . .
Jugs hated her huge breasts and wished they were smaller. Mary—and many others—disliked their own breasts and wished they were larger. Cesar wished he were older and Doc Driessen wished he were younger. Victoria Chambliss secredy wished she were not so tall, while other girls envied her her slim, regal willowy height. SaraSue Randolph was not fond of her large, chubby ass and Anne Treece wished hers was not so tiny and boyish. Rebecca Rothschild disliked the superbly rounded calf-development of her legs, because her older brother had once told her they looked like a halfback's legs. And tall Helena Eriksson thought those legs were just beautiful, and wished hers had a bit of shape to them.
While . . . Henrietta Nettles mooned for males, and hated her height and size, and eventually took refuge in being the girl some called "butch" secretly, behind her back—although she was not among the several of her sorority sisters who played lesbian games right here in the house. And Fred Foster had despaired ever of finding a woman who reminded him of his mother, a big woman of Nordic descent, kinswomen of the warrior-women Valkyries with their mental breastplates, or one who loved doing things his way, with a not-cruel male firmness and control, or one who loved cock, cock, not what it did but what it was, cock for cock's sake—and would happily go down on him, and love it... and him....
"Do you love that cock, Hank?"
She slurped her tongue over his standing hard-on. "Yes," she murmured, and opened very wide, and pushed her face down his dick.
Parted, pinkly unpainted lips hollowed ovally to nurse on his stiffened prick. It stood forth from the jungle of hair at his groin to vanish into her sweet little girl-face, a face that very few had ever seen as sweet.
He trembled at the way she lashed at his dick with her facile tongue.
He could feel the jutting hills of her breasts pressing warmly, smoothly against his legs. He loved them nestled warmly, quivering there. Too, there was the hair-rilfling warmth of her breath, huffing gently into the fleece of his groin. It was delight, powerful ego-boost to a man who needed it, to look down at his cock drilling into her face—a broad face, actually, with a strong chin—piping into her head, tingling with sensual bliss while she sucked broadly and ardently.
"Suck, Hank. Suck, little girl."
As if that were necessary! Oh, but was she sucking!
The lovely big girl was sucking and slurping like mad, cocksucking, moving her head so that furry balls of heat slapped her chin.
Running her nibbling mouth up and down the lust-tormented tube of masculinity, she would lift her face completely to let her tongue loll over the inflamed hole at its tip. Anything to please him. How pale her face looked, in contrast with the blood-surging dark pink of his cock!
Fluid, clear and thin and slightly sticky, continued to exude and gather at the very tip of his organ. She slurped it up, gulped it down, sought more. Her hands wandered up and down his nicely hairy legs. Her shining-tressed head moved steadily in lip-loving dedication to the excited big cunt-sticker that slid in and out, to and fro in her cocksucking face.
The tight skin of her face was stretched tautly over her cheekbones by the wide, wide distention of her mouth and jaws. It was no darling little boy-pecker she took in, but a damned goodly and good-sized mancock, a twitching jerking log of flesh designed to open up cunts and stuff em full, a truly thick and swollen mass of real man-meat, fat stiff throbbing bobbing cock that stretched and filled her lips and her mouth beyond anything they had ever taken in.
After all, her cocksucking experience was ... beginning.
With her movements, the incredibly firm flesh of her surging tits shook and shimmied, bobbing sweetly against his legs. He felt her breasts; she did not feel the tremble her oral action was imparting to those planted male legs.
As her slightly curly locks flashed in the light, her head moved rhythmically, noisy-slurpily up and down the bursting masculine vitality of his swollen dick. It was shiny with her saliva. It was wet from glans to pubic hair. Saliva oozed down through the curling hair and onto his balls, hairy-silky globes for the storing of male milk. They transferred it back to her, smearing her chin with her own saliva as they swung with the impetus of her head-bobbing movements.
The moist, warm caress of her mouth was staggering.
He loved the way she sucked his horny cock.
The marvelous cocksucking big wench is putting me right into orbit, he mused, although his lust-enflamed brain was barely capable of any thinking at all.
He stared glazedly down at the large athletic woman sucking his cock. At the pink ring of shining oral flesh that stroked his meat with such passionate attention and verve. He watched her, the college president's big daughter lip-loving, face-housing, tongue-slicking his prick. What she was doing to him with her magnificent lingual efforts was tumultuously exciting and the sensual pitch in him was building almost unbearably.
The thought had never hit him before, but . . . he felt he knew then something of what it was to be a girl, a woman. A woman, that is, who loved sex. A woman who loved cock. A hole waiting to be filled. His desire to come, to blow off his tight-packed nuts, was like that: a great gaping physical hole that needed to be filled, that demanded to be filled.
A web of sensuality enclosed him, standing over the heroically proportioned daughter of the college president while she blew him.
He was going glassy-eyed with the pressure of her powerful, hard-working lips. Silken woman-locks lashed his thighs with the bobbing jerking plunging of her head. She never asked how she was doing. She just kept on trying harder. Muscles rippled beautifully in her gorgeous face.
Gorgeous, he mused. Funny it hadn't looked that way before. Yes—particularly when it's wrapped around my dong like this—her face is gorgeous!
He wondered at her reaction if he said it aloud.
Hell, who gives a damn about her reaction? This dam' bitch knocked me on my ass, and right in front of that snotty sneering biker!
What the hell. "You're beautiful . . . with your face wrapped around my cock," he told her softly, from the throat. And damned if there wasn't a bit of quiver in his voice.
He saw her shiver, her slight flush, and he saw her lazy smile. He was glad he'd said it. She sucked cock. The kneeling girl sucked cock. She sucked cock. The president's daughter sucked his cock. With pleasure and hungry greedy, anxious-to-please devotion, she sucked cock. Within the excruciating warm prison of her head, the slavishly kneeling girl sucked cock. Gentry, nibbling, fondling his legs, his balls, she sucked cock.
She was working for his spouting orgasm now, sucking cock ever more energetically in and out of the splayed shining slot of her previously un-breached lips.
The cocksucking Wagnerian darling was visibly, manifestly thirsty for the sweet, thick honey crowding his balls, and she let him know it with her slaving, slavering mouth.
"You want to suck it off and drink it down, Hank, or you want to get fucked?"
A tremor ran through her and her tits jiggled just beautifully. Slowly, while she considered, she drew her mouth back and back. More and more saliva-greased erection slid into view. It shone in the room's—rather bright, in truth—light. When she let the huge head escape her lips at last, she clung to it with one hand, holding it down when its stiffness wanted to snap it straight up. When she spoke, he felt her lower lip moving against the sensitive under-surface of his long-sucked prick.
"I—whatever you want," she said.
"You'll drink it down? Hot cum right in your mouth?"
"If—if you want." Her eyes gazed submissively up at him. Nervously, she licked her hps. "I—I would love to be fucked____"
He quoted her something he'd read two days ago, and read again, and liked well enough to remember:
"Wrapped in the arms and legs of a woman hysterical with ecstasy, He pumped her with verve and violence and intensity."
It almost rhymed. What the hell. I'd love to shoot off in your mouth," he said. "I like you on your knees in front of me. I like my cock in your mouth. You're good at it, you know that?"
"Ill do it," she said, ducking her head. Her hand moved on his thick shank. "I . . . like ... I like your cock."
"I know you do. You treat it really good, too." He corrected himself: "Well."
She put out her tongue and licked the tip, where another pearl of man-juice had formed and was ready to be wasted on the floor.
"So I've had your mouth," he said, working to be callous, having to work at it, because he really liked this big gal, wanted her, loved what she did to his meat, wished she were his and not just some chick who'd belted him and turned out to be the world's greatest cocksucker.
He went on, "I want my cock up inside you now. Way up in your vagina, your cunt, your pussy. You can think while you're feeling it, way up in there. You can think about how your spit's all over my cock and I'm wiping it off up your pussy."
A great tremble ran visibly through her queen-sized body.
He held a hand down. Henrietta took it and rose—gracefully, he noted. Sure she was an athlete, not a humbler. He kept pulling until she was against him, all of her. The pressure of her body pressed his prick back against him. It was a hot bar that stood up against his stomach.
She looked into his face. Her eyes were . . . waiting. Her lips were visibly wet, parted.
He pulled her close to crush their mouths together in a rapacious kiss. His hand glided possessively over the nakedness of her, the lush femininity of her. There was a lot of it. Meanwhile he wiggled his tongue between her soft lips and lewdly teased her inner mouth with its sinuous tip.
She shuddered. She held him, closed her eyes for a moment—and then began sucking strongly at his tongue. Against his chest, her breasts were cushioning bulges of warmth and sensuous firmness. The muscles beneath them were firm, and well-toned, and her breasts stood right up firmly.
After a time he drew back, having to disengage his tongue. It was a little sore at the roots: She had sucked hard, with need.
"Get down on your knees again," he said. "On your hands and knees, girl—I want to fuck you that way."