Chapter 1
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.