Chapter 8
Hours had passed in the
Chapter House Of Delta Iota Kappa Sorority.
The whole second floor reeked of sex. The odors of drying semen, vaginal sap, perspiration and plain sweat combined to make the air heavy and sensually humid. Naked young women and plain girls lay strewn about in deliciously abandoned postures, sexed into that happiest of sleeps that would have them all good-humored when they awoke. Their naked bodies, plump and slim and plain thin, glistened with the evaporating sweat of sensuality, more than exertion—though there had been exertion, too. Drying semen sparkled on thighs and the pubic bushes it matted.
Some of the Delt Ts, too, bore traces of dirt and grease from the jacket and hands of motorcyclist Dave Griffey. He lay among them, tapped out and limp, with a rumpled penis to match. Grif slept soundly.
Fred Foster and Henrietta Nettles, each 5' 10", she 152—149, by now—and he 139 pounds, had not emerged from her room. Its door remained locked, from the inside. Only Fred, who was watching from her bed, knew that Hank Nettles was packing up to move out of the sorority house—and in with him.
The trucker, Mickey White, had been so gentle with the trembling virgin who came to him that three others had lined up to be uncherried by him. He had respected their imposition of the equal time rule. He had prevailed, too, though Mickey conked out before the fourth girl did. He too lay as if dead, surrounded by his conquests. They were naked and their legs were open. Their pubic rugs were matted with his semen and with the darker stain of dried hymeneal blood. All slept smiling.
Victoria Chambliss was not smiling.
She sat on the floor near Grif, and the wreckage of her fraternal sisters. Her legs were sprawled lewdly wide. She leaked tears while she anxiously diddled herself. Victoria was not only the best looking member of DIK, she was one of the very best looking students on campus. Yet, she alone had not been fucked. Surely the presidential gavel that had reamed both her vagina and her rectum did not count....
Sniffing, leaking tremulous, sparkly tears, her lips trembling, she played with herself.
Bill Martin was a man who had never been made love to, and so demanded that experience. He had received it tonight/this morning, rather more than once!
Now, though exhausted and barely able to keep awake, he sat slumped on the floor with his back against the
Chapter Room Wall. And He Watched, While His Second Debbie Bounced Up And Down On His Cock.
IBs cock was erect, though shaky. Bill Martin had amazed himself. First, he'd hardly thought of Winifred (damn her). Second, he felt no guilt. Third, he had been ridden by no less than five young women, four of whom had also mouthed and sucked his fiery-red organ. Meanwhile, he had played with thirteen tits, six cunts, and had come three times. That was more climaxes than he'd reached all last month.
This time, this last time, he didn't think he was going to make it. It wouldn't matter, though, to the girl who'd been bobbing and jostling on his upright cock for some twenty minutes; she was gasping for breath, positively running with sweat, and about to fall asleep at any second.
Alice Wheelwright lay asleep. She had knelt behind under the presidential desk for a sohd hour, nuzzling, licking, sucking, mouth-fucking the long cock of Doc Driessen. Then, for thirty slow minutes, she had lain beneath him and been gloriously rucked. She lay asleep, without an ounce of semen in her expanded vagina.
Nearby lay another girl, seventeen, who'd ridden that same old cock—for seventeen minutes before. Shuddering in her fourth orgasm, she passed happily out.
Alone of all the invaders of DIK, Doc Driessen sat unexhausted, and he had not come.
Alone of all the members of the sorority, Victoria Chambliss sat unexhausted and tightly hung up. With eyes from which tears slid to sparkle on her cheeks, she gazed at Doc Driessen. And she rubbed and fingerfucked her reddened pussy.
Down the hall in a bedroom, seventeen-year-old service station employee Cesar Perez awoke, amid a clutter of happily snoozing young women. The room was full of the sound of deep, heavy breathing. One girl snored—Jugs, he noted. Maybe it was the weight of those massive teats trembling atop her chest.
The four naked female bodies, intertwined with his legs and all with each other, reminded him of a gigantic bowl of spaghetti. Cesar smiled. Tottering to his feet, he departed the room, feeling a bit tired but rejuvenated after an hour's nap. After all, he was seventeen. He'd come six times—but after all, he was at his sexual peak, which is usually wasted in boys his age. After all, he was seventeen. His stomach rumbled as he reached the door.
Cesar actually sneaked along the upstairs hall, and barefooted it down the steps. He didn't even peep into the
Chapter Room; He Was Uninterested In Pussy Just Now. He'd Had A Lot, This Day, In The Past Twelve Or Thirteen Hours. He was hungry. That happens often, at age seventeen.
He went to the kitchen, his visit to which eight or nine hours ago had started this wild night's activities in the Delt I house, which would never, never be the same.
There was a bit of leftover chili. He avoided it. He made himself a sandwich of leftover meat loaf from the big refrigerator. Wolfing it, he chased it with a glass of milk and left the kitchen via a different doorway.
He was padding, naked, through the darkened living room when he heard the choking sniffs. Cesar recognized the sounds of a woman's quiet sobbing. He turned that way. Somehow he managed to reach the couch without banging into anything. Standing over the couch, he was barely able to make out the pale form huddled at one end. It was sobbing, very quietly and heartbrokenly; forlornly. He squatted.
"Don't cry," he murmured, and his hand moved out to touch an ankle.
The ankle twitched. "Oh!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. But don't cry. Is it all right. Why are you crying?" He licked his hps, patted the ankle. "Can—can I help?" He did hate for women and girls to cry. Cesar Perez, in truth, was a nice boy.
"N-no one c-ca-an help," she gasped out, and it was not a girl's voice he heard there in the dark, but a woman's.
"Well . . . well ... I will stay . . . and . . . talk awhile?"
"My God! I don't need to TALK!"
Cesar sighed. Perhaps it was her tone, or instinct, or both: he suddenly was sure that this was someone who'd been left out, somehow. Ignited just like all the others by the stuff he had put in the chili, she had somehow failed to be included in the resultant fucking.
Cesar felt responsible. After all, it was he who had doctored the chili that turned on everyone in the house. His hand moved gently up her leg onto a large smooth thigh, and onto the curve of a womanly haunch. A great tremor went through her and she twitched. Her trembling mouth released a shaky moan.
"Move your arms," he said, finding her hands at her face. Brave person, she'd been muffling her own sobbing.
"Wh-why . . ." she began, but she did.
His hand went onto her breasts. They were sizable, not huge, and soft—very soft. Malleable and sort of loose, not youthfully muscular. Like big marsh-mallows. He caressed those soft tits.
"You... you're only a boy."
He knew who she was, now. "Don' call me a boy and I won' call you an old woman, Miz Munson. You aren't."
"Oh," she moaned, and reached out for him.
A few moments later she said, "Call me Thelma, Caesar," and she pronounced it imperially, "Seezer" rather than Hispanically: "Say-zarr."
Thus, in the quiet darkness of the living room, Cesar Perez and Thelma Munson got together and cuddled. The boy not yet eighteen and the woman in her forties began to make each other very, very happy.
Upstairs Doc Driessen said, "You're crying." "I'm not!" Victoria kept rubbing, and staring at him.
"Your cheeks are covered with tears and they are dripping onto your perfectly lovely breasts," he pointed out.
"Well, that's not crying."
"It may be fun to make a career of being a bitch, Victoria, and it may be something you think you have to do because of whatever your home situation has been. It sure plays hell getting you friends, though, and sympathy when you need it. You need it. I said a few words, and the moment I did your shoulder automatically extruded a chip." He yawned, only slightly. "I don't feel like knocking it off. I'll bet most people don't. They just walk away from you."
Those quiet, unaccusing words from a man of good vocabulary, a man old enough to be her grand-
father or replace the father she couldn't bear, made Victoria break down at last. Victoria cried like a baby.
After a time Doc said, "That's good. That's probably doing you a world of good, too. See how human and normal you are? Nevertheless, the man hasn't been born who can bear a woman's crying. No, not even old Marquis de Sade or Grif, there, I'm thinking. Come here, Victoria."
Crying, she hugged herself, bent forward as she sat on the floor, and shook her head vehemently.
"Victoria," he said firmly, as he'd have said to a child, without anger, "get up and come over here to Doc."
Snuffling, long and lean and curved and beautiful, Victoria Amanda Chambliss got up and went over to Doc. She stood, huddled. Definitely not as he'd have done to a child, Doc bent forward in his chair to pat her ashy-blond pussy.
"There, pretty thing, pretty blond pussy. Did the nasty gavel hurt you? Is it sore, Victoria?"
"No-o ... it just itches so! I mean it ... I want . . . he—he did all those things to me, and put me down so far, and teased me with th-the ga-gavel . . . but he he never gave me what I NEEEEED!"
Doc let his thumb slip up between soft, pursed lips and watched her teary-dewy eyes go out of focus. "Yes," he said. "I know what you need, of course. The same thing every one of your sisters needed tonight. A bit of—this." He pumped his thumb up her cush.
"Hunngh! That-that helps . . . bu-but what I need, really NEED, is—you know. You're a man." She looked down from his face. To his cock.
"Cock," he said.
A shudder ran through her. She nodded, and a tear flew. "Cock!"
"Would you like to suck one? Play with it with your mouth and fingers and tongue, move your mouth on it, feel it grow?"
"I'd rather just have it IN me-ee!"
"Ah, egocentricity, Victoria is thy name! There isn't one in this room that's ready to go in you, girl. With a little effort, though—on your part—this ole dingus of mine will fill this poor itchy cavity very, very nicely."
With a sigh, Victoria knelt down before him and began giving it a little effort. She gave it more and more.
Kneeling, the best looking girl in DIK teased and excited the scientist with her nimble tongue, nibbling lips, and naughty fingers. Wet and glistening, her sexy pink tongue licked the pulpy knob of man-flesh she held firmly pointed at her face. Playing with his balls the while, gray-furred and sizable, she slid her lips over the darkening cockhead. Her puckered lips kissed down its left side and down the shaft to his nuts, then back up the left side to the head, which she licked and licked until it shone with her saliva.
His cock grew.
Her tender, purposeful ministrations could not be ignored, even by that lanky, limp hose. Meanwhile, her other hand was very busy, down between her parted thighs.
"Oh Christ," he sighed, fondling her bare tight breast. "You keep that up and you're going to get your kidneys prodded!"
She kept it up. His cock swelled, stirred into new life in her soft, pretty mouth. It had been long licked and sucked tonight, and it had long delved in and out of warm tight young pussy. It had given up no semen. Now it filled with blood again, thickened, lifted its growing pink head.
Doc groaned. Victoria moaned and licked, then bobbed her head to drive her splaying lips up and down his staff. Up and up it came, while she licked up and down its undersurface, where the sperm tube swelled. The empurpled, swollen flesh of his penis grew until it looked about ready to split wide open.
"There," she told him, sitting back on her haunches and looking very proud.
"Oh, Victoria, you did that beautifully! Wonderfully! Look at what you created! Christ, what a mouth! What a woman!"
She smiled, but her brows came down a little. "I am looking at it. I want it. I don't want to look at it. I want it in me."
Doc started rising. 'Hit the deck."
A happy young beauty hit the deck, or rather the carpeted, body-strewn floor of the Delta Iota-Kappa
Chapter Room. And The Lean, Wrinkled Old Man With The Hellish Hard-On Went To His Knees Between Her Parted Legs, which parted wider. Her hands came up to him. He told her to use one to guide his cock, and she did. He leaned out over her, on his knees, and as he stretched out she fitted the knob of his swollen dick into herself.
"Aaaghhaaaa!" she cried out in triumphant delight. "Gaaahhh! It-fee-feels WON-der-fulllll!"
"Christ almighty, doesn't it!" he said, and began moving, slowly and fully, all the way in and nearly all the way out, with infinite patience.
His lustful stabs into her wetly pulsating pit increased in power and frequency—only a little—and powerful sensations ripped into the wallowing girl's pussy. She keened out a little cry of sexual hunger while he leaned patiently, slowly, into the erratic spiral upward to passionate fulfillment for them both.
Neither of them was in any hurry for that. Both of them were happy just to be fucking, to fuck and fuck. His cock was wedged tightly up her tight, narrow canal of lust.
"Good . . . fuckin' . . . cunt," he groaned in a quivery voice, plumbing that good fucking cunt And she felt not the least bit insulted.
"Good," she murmured, jerking her head back and forth with blond hair flying. "Goo-ood! It's—nice to have a—good, fucking cunt!" And she fucked with it.
He worked his hips up and down her hips. He worked her malleable tits up and down on her chest. They were nice and smooth and tight under his hands, tight as the skinned, ripe oranges they resembled. He could feel her body trembling with excitement Slow and easy, he kept telling himself. And he fucked her on the floor, slow and easy.
Her hips humped softly, pleading. Her hands caressed his sagging asshceeks. The rippling membranous walls of her young pussy massaged his old dog of a cock.
A grin came over her face. "Good fuckin' cock," she said, and they smiled together, the delighted old man and the delighted young woman.
Her stomach muscles twitched and jerked and ripples raced through her taut body. Her rutting lover was foraging between spongy, honey-slick lips and into her deep wet trench, until his dick was powerfully lodged far inside. Her strong-muscled fleshy vault squeezed it.
That sweet cuntal action on his cock enveloped him in a fog of pleasure. He forgot where he was, and all the naked girls sprawled about. Forgot Grif and Mickey and Bill Martin. He thought only of sensation, of fucking, of himself and this wonderful supple slim tight girl.
"Ah—ah Victoria," he gasped, rooting deep.
Her arms enfolded him and her hands tugged lovingly at him. "Call me Vicky," Victoria Chambliss, Miss Snooty-Snotty, said.
"Jesus Crise," Dave Griffey muttered staring. "That's sickening!"
Beside him, Anne Treece slipped her hand into his crotch and whispered in his ear. He jerked his head to stare at her. His hand came up and clamped her breast as if it wanted to tear off that pretty morsel of woman-flesh.
"You silly bitch," he said, and twisted.
She smiled and pressed his cock.
Yanking her breast until she fell with a little squeak, Grif lurched to his feet. He found his pants. Stepping into them, he stared at her. "Get dressed, slut. That's yer name: slut. Get some clothes on, slut!"
She bounced up to obey, red of breast and smiling of face. A couple of minutes later they were in the kitchen wolfing down food from the fridge. With his hand in her hair, twisting, Grif made Anne Treece gobble down leftover chili. On their way to the door, they passed through the living room. Dawn lit it dimly.
They saw two people in the room, and they paused to stare. The lithe, dark young boy and the plump older woman. She was holding her white pil-
lowing soft tits for him, wrapping them around the cock he hunched between them. His hand was fiddling around in her crotch, which was wet and drooling.
Grif shoved Anne out the door. "Jesus fuckin' Crise, that's sickening!"
Moments later several neighbors were awakened by the kick, kick, and roar to life of a big motorcyle engine. Just up the street, an angry woman got to the window in time to see the motorcycle roll by. Hmp! Not even the usual college lads, she thought. Just some nasty leather-jacked biker with his slut mounted up behind him, her arms around him while that big machine vibrated between her legs.
The big bike roared off, and away.
"C'mon back to bed, Mabel. They're gone."
She turned to glare at the man in the bed she'd left. "Those damned nasty kids, wakin us up at this hour! We'll never get back to sleep."
"Yeah, well, Mabel—c'mon back to bed."
"What for? I can't get back to sleep," she ranted. "Might as well stay up!"
"C'mon back to bed," he said again, grinning, stretching out a hand. "I see an ass and a few other things I want."
"Mike! I—you—ifs not even SaturdayF
"Yeah well, I don't hafta get up for work for an hour, and like you said, who can get back to sleep?"
Wearing a surprised smile, Mabel returned to the bed, and she had a soft spot for motorcycles ever after.
Thelma Munson astonished Cesar. She was tighter in the cunt than a girl. He said so. She chuckled and squeezed him lovingly to her.
"Why not? It doesn't grow bigger inside with age! The child I had was a Caesarean, Cesar. I've never been stretched—uh. Well . . . maybe not . . . uh!—until . . . now ... oh you beautiful lo-OHver . . . um, uh, unngh, ummm . . ."
Her loins pistoned in rhythm with his movements and cunt swallowed cock in great gulps. The yearning woman's breasts heaved with every persistent stroke of that virile, rigid youthful cock that prowled around inside her. His lean young hips were beating out a steady rhythm on her lower belly and the nice fluffy-haired mountain of her pubis, which he stuck full of hardened dick.
While he balled the very mature woman on the couch, his hands couldn't get enough of her fluffy, squishy breasts. He kneaded and kneaded them, while he drove cock in and out and in and out of that long-unused slice between her thighs. She had not had a man since the shocking accidental death of her husband, nine years ago.
She had not forgotten, the young lover noticed. He loved her movements, her grunts and groans and moans and gasps, all signals to let him know she loved it. Too many younger gals Cesar had noticed tried to be too cool, and didn't make the sounds a guy needed. Also, Thelma wasn't the sort just to lie there and be fucked. She was an eager and active participant—and good at her eager actions, too.
The passion-ruled housemother felt his ramming cunt-spreading pole throbbing in her and loved his youthfulness. Way up inside her body he was, seeming to swell hugely and then subside with each blood-pumping pulsation and strong thrust and tug, thrust and thrust. Her soft breasts jumped and jiggled and gave under his hands and his hard chest; they were neither empty sagging sacs nor tight and girlishly upstanding, the moaning woman's mature breasts. His hands on them sent quivers of delight and ever-strong desire through her sensitive flesh.
In a helpless state of sultry desire, the older woman met his strongly fucking young body with strong upthrusts. And she gave free, liberated vent to every noise she felt like making. He made her feel like making lots of them.
She moved fluidly, squirming about all warm and sensual and working her hips in a circular motion. He-fucked her well and thoroughly, with squishy squashy sounds while he half-knelt over her on the couch. Small and red, her pointed tongue rolled around her swollen hps.
His taut ass bobbed furiously up and down. He thrust sword-like, in and out of her snug, twitching sheath. Hanging onto the lovely dumplings of her titties, he pushed and pulled her on his swording cock.
Luscious, voluptuously pink cuntlips flowed over his shank in constant fleshy caresses.
He liked the feel under him of her belly, not flat and taut but soft and cushy. With her hips shifting and her asscheeks tightening just as his did, into hard softballs, he threw a thorough fuck into the woman just a year older than his mother.
She felt even his balls, banging her, thudding heavily against the juddering cheeks of her abundant ass. Her lip was quivering. Her features writhed. Now they were both gasping for breath so hard that they could speak only with their writhing, lunging bodies.
Grinning, groaning hoarsely, he pumped. He had come six times already, and. his balls were in no hurry to give up the little semen they had barely had time to store up. It was a beautifully long fuck.
Upstairs, Bill Martin awoke. His brain required some time to get itself together and remind him where he was. He looked around. Jesus.
He looked at his watch.
"Jesus."
Bill Martin carefully moved a very female, very curvy leg off his, twisted away from a warm female ass shoved up against his flank, and—with the help of the wall behind him—got to his feet. He gazed down at a thin, loose-skinned, wrinkled old ass bobbing up and down, up and down, with a rhythm like a metronome. On either side of it long prettily shaped legs pumped the air.
Martin half-smiled and gave his head a single shake. Victoria looked like she was riding a bicycle, while lying on her back, getting herself balled with a slow and perfect rhythm by ole Doc Driessen!
But the time, Bill Martin told himself. Winifred ...
He collected his clothes quietly, pretending he didn't notice the eyes of the girl under Doc. She was watching Martin. He dressed, and he left. He didn't even notice the couple on the couch in the living room as he went down and let himself quietly out the front door. The sky was no longer black, or deep blue; it had gone gray with the approach of sunrise. Bill Martin hied himself homeward, a bit wearily but most happily . . .
As he went, he thought about his marriage, and about his wife. Winifred . . .
"Now," Doc said, propped on his elbows. "It—it's cominnng . . . move! Move under me g—woman! Bring ... me ... off!"
With a sudden determined, delighted smile, the willowy girl did. Her sleek asscheeks went into permanent tension and drove her up hard enough to jar him while her cunt streaked up to swallow the male strength of his fleshy club, right to the precious semen-loaded balls.
Her cooing sounds of joy caressed his ears. Joy! Sheer joy! The joy of fucking! The joy of being fucked by a man who was a born woman-pleasing fucker, and to hell with his age and his wrinkles! The joy of working to bring him off-She did.
She hadn't come, but then she never had with a man, and she knew or at least hoped that someday she would. It wasn't so unusual, she knew—and if anybody can do it for me, she thought with some amazement, it's this man right here—ummm! This gallant darling man shooting my pussy full of slippery semen!
With her cunt like a warm, oily-gloved hand pumping his cock, working almost feverishly beneath him, Doc's entire nervous system exploded in glorious sexual release.
Jerking penis inundated her cunt with pressurized blasts of cascading sperm. In a copious cascade, semen kept coming and coming into her clasping, twitching pussy. Doc groaned and writhed and leaned into her, and she hugged him lovingly.
Neither of them had any notion that his orgasm was simultaneous with that of the much, much younger Cesar Perez, downstairs, his cock blowing loose inside a woman whose age suited her more to be Doc's partner—though he was nearly twenty years older than Thelma Munson, at that.
And then, on both floors, strange words were spoken.
"Ooooh, lovely!" a voice said, from behind Cesar. "Doesn't it feel wonderful, Miz Munson?" another voice put in.
"I remember very, very well what that good old stuff feels like, coming in!" a third voice said with enthusiasm.
Caesar and Thelma twitched around to stare. Three naked young women stood there, grinning, though they were only just visible in the still-dark living room. They were Mary, Kathy and Kathy-who-was-Jugs.
"Oh my god!" Thelma Munson said.
"Ah, don't sweat it, Miz Munson," Kathy said, with a wave of her hand.
"We've been talking," Jugs said.
"We think the sorority ought to have a man around the house. The KD's do, you know. Old Mister Cartwright. But we might need some really tricky work, you know?" Mary was grinning. "Like, work we'd need a young man for."
"What lind of a time is this," Thelma Munson said, "to come barging in here and—"
"And here's something else," Mary went on. "That room in the basement. All that nice room going to waste down there, with the separate entry. Oh, it's part of your apartment, Miz M, but you don't even use it.
"Perfect room for a hired man for Delt I," Jugs said hopefully.
"So how about it, Miz Munson?" Kathy asked.
"How about it, Cesar?" Mary asked. "Like a nice interesting job, little work, fair pay, nice room, good food? Weill . . . pretty good food . . . and excellent fringe benefits!"
"Oh," Mrs. Munson said, in dawning understanding. "Oh!" And she smiled, holding Cesar's ass-cheek fondly in one hand without even knowing it. "Ah-oh!"
While upstairs . . . almost directly over their heads, Victoria Chambliss was speaking, and her words were just as surprising—both to her and to Doc Driessen, who still lay on her. He had to. Her arms held him there, lustfully, lovingly clamping.
"Doc," she said, quietly and earnestly, "I'm twenty years old. Be twenty-one this year. I was a virgin until just year before last. Since then I've made it with thirty-three guys. Eighty-nine fucks, exactly. You make ninety, and I don't count that dam' gavel! The oldest guy was about twenty-seven, and the youngest was seventeen. He balled me three times in an hour and a half. I hardly noticed."
"Why—are you telling me all this?" Doc asked, frowning.
"Sh—just listen a minute, OK? I should call this number ninety and ninety-one. NO one's ever hung in there so long before. Man, it's the absolute greatest. If I'm ever going to come, this is what it's going to take. Doc . . . would you like to be my guy?"
"Victoria—" "Call me Vicky."
"Vicky, you are not quite twenty-one . . . and I am three times that!" "So?"
"So! So aren't we a pretty weird couple?"
She squeezed him. "Gee Doc, all I'm asking is if you'll let me come around and get properly fucked now and then. You don't have to let anyone know you're making it with such a silly youngster. I mean, I'm not talking about going to the movies or rock concerts or dinner!"
Suffering an attack of caution, the elated Doc Driessen was smart enough not to give her his address or the rest of his name.
"I'll call you, Vicky. Here. Day after tomorrow."
"Oh, Doc! I think I love you!" And she squeezed him tight and about then someone let out a terrible shriek. It came from the bathroom.
"I'M BROKEN OUT ALL OVER LIKE-like MEASLES! Only it's GREENISH! AND ... and so's my PISSSSS!"
At those anguishedly howled words, Vicky let go Doc and jerked up, frowning, and Doc noticed her face. It was all broken out. Looked like measles—except that the irruptions bore a definite green tinge.