Chapter 3
Sharon had no more classes until the next day, so she returned to the sorority house after lunching at the student cafeteria. She knew a more hearty, wholesome lunch could be had at the house, but she felt that, as a full-time student of State, she should become acquainted with all of the university's facilities and services as quickly as possible.
She was impressed with her history teacher, even though he had not taught anything so far. He was not egomaniacal, or a stickler for rules. Back home in high school, one of those petty teachers would have held she and Debbie in class for the full hour despite the fact that nobody else had arrived. Nothing would be learned, and valuable time would be wasted.
She meandered back to the house while taking in the sights of the campus, hugging her books to her chest and letting the light, warm breeze play with the hem of her skirt.
Only when she was in sight of the house did her reverie dissipate, replaced in her active mind by confusion.
A group of clean cut boys-she thought she recognized them from the fraternity, KKA, were hoisting ladders up to the level of the SEX house's second-story windows. In the front of the house alone, she counted four ladders, and nine brothers were setting them up.
She wandered over to Paul Slaughter, whom she recognized from the rush party, a few nights earlier. He seemed to be directing the efforts.
"Washing windows?" she asked in a light, breezy voice.
Paul looked at her with an irritated expression, but when he recognized her as the one he had a severe case of the hots for, his face softened and he smiled, "You're a pledge," he said. "The ladders are for you and your fellow pledges."
She looked up one of the ladders, a long, straight climb to the upper level of the house.
"I don't understand," she said.
"You will."
"Is it secret? Another initiation?"
"Nah," Paul scowled. "You've already been initiated. But if you know anything at all about sororities and fraternities, you know you have to go through a hazing before you can become a sister. They can't throw you out for hazing, but it gives you an opportunity to quit. It also gives you a chance to see what you'll be doing to next year's pledges once you're a full-fledged sister."
"Then tell me," she said. "What is it?"
Paul shook his head as he stepped on the ladder's bottom rung to check its sturdiness. "It's not my place to tell," he said, gazing up at the window to which the ladder reached. "Besides, you'll find out soon enough."
She looked at him, admiring him. He was a frat brother, and he would not yield. He was tall and dark and strong, and his words were well chosen, his voice sure and steady. An ideal man, she thought, from a fraternity of ideal men.
She jerked her head away, conscious suddenly that he might notice her watching him, and she did not want that. She had no rights or ties to him, and if he or any of his other perfectly acceptable brothers wanted to strike up a relationship with her, that would be up to them. She was the female, the weaker of the sexes, and she would sit and await their attentions, as a woman should do.
She did not fear their gentlemanly approaches, since these were cultured, well-bred men, not the ghastly, seamy boys who had eyed her lustfully in high school. Yet those dreadful experiences back home at least encouraged her that she was good-looking enough to attract this better class of male.
She smiled at Paul and said, "I guess I'll see you r later," and turned to go inside. Paul watched her, imagining that same walk without the hindrance of clothing, the way her firm buttocks would rotate and gyrate with each sexy, slinky step she took. Yes, indeed, he said. No question but that you'll see me later.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths-a trick he had learned as a varsity swimmer wearing those revealing Speedos order to make his erection fade back to a normal-sized penis that would not ache when he walked, rubbing erogenously against the stiff material of his new jeans.
He grinned and winked when one of the other brothers, working on a ladder as he was, smiled at him broadly.
Sharon saw none of this interplay as she walked proudly and happily into the SEX house. She waltzed up the stairs to her room and dumped her books on her bed, then waltzed back down, hoping to find some of the girls at home.
She heard voices from the den, and she weaved her way through the hallway and into the comfortable, homey room where four of the sisters and two of the pledges were engaged in amiable conversation.
They greeted her, and she sat beside Connie and listened to the chatter, waiting for an appropriate time to jump in and add her own comments.
The talk was about first classes, and Sharon told about professor Roland, and some of the sisters rolled I their eyes; one whistled. "What a fox," said Melanie, pursing her lips. "God, sometimes in his class I just want to. ..."
She stopped when Kim, a dark-haired sister with piercing black eyes, jabbed her in the ribs with her elbow. Melanie looked penitent for a minute, but shut up.
"By the way," Sharon said. "What's with the ladders outside. I asked Paul, but he wouldn't tell me."
"It's a hazing scheduled for tonight," Connie said. "KKA is involved, but it's still a sorority activity."
Sharon's curiosity was about to explode. She had images, formulated from books and movies and stories she had read, seen and heard, images of the frat brothers climbing in her window, blindfolding her and kidnapping her, leading her down the dangerous, wobbly ladder, secreting her in a car and careening away to some unknown destination. There, perhaps, they would be released and told to find their way back, walking through the quaint, rural community in only their nightgowns.
"What is it?" she asked eagerly.
Connie smiled, a teasing sort of smile. "Well," she said, "sometime tonight the KKA brothers will come into your room."
Aha! she thought. She was right. It was going to be a kidnapping.
"What will they do?" she asked, as if she didn't know.
"Actually," Connie said, "only one brother will come into your room. He'll come in when you least expect it, when you're asleep, and he'll climb into bed with you and make the best, most passionate love to you you've ever had."
Sharon's heart skipped a beat, and caught in her throat. Y . . . you're kidding, aren't you?"
Connie shook her head sweetly. "Why would I kid you about that?"
"But . . ." she said wanting to complain but not thinking of how she could possibly do that. What was there to say? She was completely unprepared for this turn of events. The initiation rite-she had been so sure it had been exactly that, an initiation rite. But this.....
"I won't... I won V." she blurted. "I'm not that kind of girl, I'm saving myself for . . . NO! I simply will not!"
"If you want to be a sister you will," Connie said, then with a sinister smile, she added, "Your mother and grandmother did."
"That's not possible," she whined, "No, it's just not possible!" And with that, she sprang from the room, running upstairs to her own room, sobs trying to wrench their way out of her throat, but not able to because her throat was constricted from fear and confusion.
Dear Diary:
What a shock! All this time I thought Sigma Epsilon Chi was a happenstance of a name, but it turns out that the letters are symbolic of their English translation as well!
They want me to give up my virginity to a boy I probably haven't even met, who is to sneak into my room while I slumber. I thought at first it was a horrible concept, a degrading exercise and I would certainly refuse to participate. And when Connie indicated my mother and her mother, both SEX sisters, had performed this act, I felt a sickening nausea rise in my throat.
The first thing I had to do, after I calmed down, was contact my mother and verify this. I told her, trying to contain myself, what was expected of me. When I finished, I heard an eerie silence on the other end of the phone.
"Mother?" I said.
"Yes, dear," she said. "That's right. You do what they say, and you'll be a SEX sister and make me very proud."
"But Mother...." I said, shocked.
"I want you to join this group for the same reason my mother had me join. You're a prude, dear, and you have a rose-colored vision of the world. This will do you good."
"But Mother."
"Listen to me, darling," she said. "My mother joined SEX strictly by accident. She was a carefree, happy-go-lucky kind of person, and she fit right in. The sorority's academic pursuits helped her raise her grades immensely, and she enjoyed the hazing because she had always liked sex. When she saw what kind of person I was turning out to be-a prude, just like you dear-she had me join without telling me any of the secrets. She couldn't, you see, she'd been sworn to secrecy. Just as I had. That organization cured my fear of sex, made me awaken to the fact that it is natural and good. It made me a more complete person."
"But Mother,"
"Now, you don't have to go through with the hazing. You can go back to the motel, or move into a dorm, or whatever you want. But unless you become a SEX sister, I don't want you to come home."
"MOTHER!"
"Besides," she said. "You'll meet some wonderful men. I met your father there. I believe, in fact, that I met him at the same hazing you're supposed to have tonight."
"But Mother!"
"Goodbye, dear."
The phone went dead, and I listened to the dial tone. I sat on my bed and thought hard. And slowly, one thought overwhelmed the rest. It was about the initiation, about how good that orgasm had felt, how unique and wonderful.
I wanted so badly to be able to go home again. And to be accepted. And to marry well. But I still wanted to marry as a virgin.
But Daddy hadn't married a virgin, as I had suspected. I was so confused.
But now I have to make up my mind. I have to decide what to do.
Well, Diary, I suppose I'll let you know one way or the other tomorrow.
Sharon had a hard time getting to sleep. She tossed and turned, twisting herself in the sheets and struggling in a sweat to untangle herself. She listened to her heart smash against her ribcage, and heard it echo in the cavern of her mind.
She tried to force herself to lay still, but could not. She was surprised to find that, even though she was sweating profusely, the moisture was at a premium between her creamy thighs. She was shocked to think that some of her agitation could be arousal, that she actually anticipated the arrival of the frat brother with relish.
When she actually became drowsy, about two in the morning, her hand snaked down between her legs involuntarily, and her finger slipped under her nightgown and caressed the prickly hairs of her cuntal exterior. She felt the flesh between her pussy lips begin to sizzle and quiver, and she moaned softly to herself. Good God, was she dreaming?
Her tense thighs relaxed as she pressed her finger lengthwise into the slit of her cunt, and felt the sensation of a foreign object invading the forbidden portal of her pussy. Her finger felt moist and warm, and her hand began to shake. She had never before masturbated, and she was awed at the way her vagina felt: warm, hot, squishy and electrified. Her mind scattered in a thousand directions, and she tried to concentrate on one thought, on one idea, but she could not. All she could do was wriggle that rigid little finger up and down against something hard inside of her pussy, toward the top from where her moistures flowed.
The feeling of intensity, of liquid-induced ecstasy flowed through her and magnified with each passing stroke, and suddenly she burst into a wonderful, physical orgasm. She arched her back and dug her finger deep into the tunnel of her dark, moist cunt and vibrated harder as she gyrated her hips into the mattress, felt her arms shake, her knees turn to water, her head vanish in a cloud of delight. She heard herself moaning, but she was sure it was somebody else, or perhaps a dream.
When the feeling was gone, she eased slowly back to the mattress, relaxed and satisfied. Curious, she settled her finger under her nose and sniffed, and was aroused and excited at the smell of her own pussy. She parted her moist full lips and lay the finger on her tongue, and delighted in the sweet-and-sour taste of her own juice.
She sucked her finger clean, and lay it by her side. A voice inside her yelled at her that this was wrong, it violated all she had ever believed in.
"I know," she muttered but she was too tired to argue, or even think about it.
She slept.
In her sleep, she thought she heard a scraping sound, but it did not awaken her. She wriggled and turned on her back, and sighed contentedly.
Actually, there had been a sound, the sound of the top of a long ladder scraping against the glass of her window as it bore the weight of a human body. The body belonged to Paul Slaughter, president of Kappa Kappa Alpha, who, as president, had been able to choose which window to which he would ascend. He found out earlier which one housed Sharon Simmons, the girl who made his cock throb with excitement, and selected that ladder.
As prearranged, the window had been left unlocked, and he pressed his palms against the glass and pushed, forcing the window open. He did it silently, watching the vision of beauty sleep in her tangled, thrown-back sheets. Already his penis was erect, straining against his pants, aching to be surrounded by her fleshy wetness which would soon swallow his forceful squirts of sloshing cum.
She wore a full length nightgown, but somehow in her sleep it had been yanked up to just below her pussy, and her creamy thighs beckoned him in the pale moonlight. Her breasts pillowed out from her chest, and through the satin fabric of her gown he could see the perfect, round nipples resting just above the halfway mark of her magnificent tits. He felt his breathing accelerate, and he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes in order to slow his breathing down.
When he was as calm as he thought he ought to be, he hoisted one leg into the window, then the other, and looked back down outside. Three brothers of KKA stared back up at him, and he held his two hands out with all fingers extended. Ten minutes it meant. They nodded, and began moving the ladders from the other windows, to which brothers had already ascended, and gathered them at Sharon's. Paul was KKA president, and the honor of this particular activity was his.
He pulled the window shut and advanced to the bed, looming over her like a dark figure from Victorian romance, about to sweep her out of bed and down the ladder, off to a wild adventure.
Instead, though, he peeled his letterman sweater from himself and folded it neatly, and draped it over the chair beside the bed. His shirt came next, and then he sat on the chair and took his shoes off, his socks, and his pants. He wriggled out of his tight underwear and stood naked above her, his muscles rippling across his chest in the moonlight, his cock stiff and erect as blood coursed through it, pulsating in the spongy crown and making the long thickness dance and wiggle.
He accomplished his undressing in complete silence, as he knew his brothers were doing in the rooms nearby. His meaty thickness was burning with anticipation, and he wrapped his long, strong fingers around his aching shaft to calm it. Feeling something surrounding it only made it more excited, though, and he released his cock in fear that simply touching it while gazing at Sharon would be enough to make a geyser of viscous male cum leap from his pinhole and splatter across her delicate sleeping figure.
He bent down and delicately lifted the hem of her gown up over her belly, exposing her trim, triangular fur patch to him. He gasped at its exquisiteness, and let one finger touch the downy curls he saw there. They were moist, and he smelled his finger and delighted in the familiar scents of female excitement. It made his already rigid cock stand up even straighter, throbbing and pulsating and aching to gouge between the hidden pussy lips so close to him now.
She shifted slightly in her sleep from the touch of him, but settled back into her deep slumber. He then continued lifting the bottom of her gown up, up over her amazing, alabaster-like breasts which took his breath away. Never had he seen so perfectly sculptured a set of tits. They were large without looking huge, and round without being too bilious. He yearned to close his hands over them, letting the nipples peek through his finger. But in a moment. First, he had to get her ready.
Gently, he slid the flat of his hands beneath each of her firm, incredibly soft cheeks, and shifted her so she lay flat on her back. She almost awakened, but he was gentle. He had done this before, and knew how to do it.
Besides, he could not fail. The whole idea was for the KKA pledges downstairs to watch and listen so they could perform these duties in the years to come, when Paul and his peers were gone on to the real world.
As he carried her by the buttocks her knees bent, and her legs instinctively spread, and his nostrils were assaulted by the scent that arose from her pussy. He looked between her splayed, soft thighs into the entryway that now made itself clear to him. No hairs crisscrossed over the slit between her legs, and the pink, glistening membrane flesh within her was smooth and moist and unwrinkled. She was without a doubt the most perfect woman he had ever encountered.
She rested the bottoms of her feet on the bed and crossed her arms over her breasts, but her legs remained bent and spread for him, inviting his ready manhood inside.
He took her hands lightly by the wrists and settled them at her side, then kneeled on the bed, his erection poised and ready. One quick thrust and he would be inside her finally. It seemed to him he had been waiting an eternity.
He gave it a moment, relishing the position he was in. Then he took a deep breath and yelled, "PLEDGE!"
Sharon jerked convulsively out of her sleep and started to sit up. She felt a hand on her chest pushing her back down and as the haze cleared from her eyes she looked up and saw it was Paul Slaughter, gloriously naked, a massive penis erect and ready to impale her. It was the first cock she had ever seen, and it made her numb with fear and anticipation.
She opened her mouth to say something, deciding at the last instant she could not go through with this, but it was too late. Paul held his impaling thickness in his meaty paw-like hand, and guided it between her ready-spread legs. She felt the rocky crown of his erection jam against her vulva, pushing the pink flesh of her inner pussy lips aside, and it continued down into her, pushing away her virgin cuntal walls, and then, in a lightning bolt of pain that staggered her senses, he burst her delicate little hymen.
She opened her mouth to scream from the excruciating pain, but Paul clamped his hand over her mouth. "Just lay back, Sharon, and enjoy me," he said. "You're getting the cream of the crop."
The scream was still there, but it was trapped behind his hand. She splayed her legs further to allow him more room, and then she realized she was no longer pure, that this man's organ was grinding into her, pushing as deep into her hair-fringed fissure as it would go. She felt, finally, his cockhead bang against her cervix, and he lay atop her, his firm, strong chest crushing her fleshy tits as his pelvis rose, and she felt his thick skewering prick withdraw from her. Her cuntal walls snapped closed again, like a rubber band that had been stretched and then released, and before she could gird herself for the next assault, his hips came crashing down again to meet hers. His cock impaled her again, tearing her inner flesh apart once more as it buried itself in her sticky, wet cavern.
She felt something warm trickling down her thigh and knew it was blood from her mangled cherry, but she only felt a bit of pain now. Instead, she felt glorious pleasure, a delight something akin to the sensations she had enjoyed as a tongue roamed her pussy, or her finger had explored its powers of pleasure. But this was something more, something intense, something exquisite.
This was the way it was supposed to be.
Sharon had often wondered what she was supposed to do while engaged in intercourse, with her hands for instance. No such thoughts crossed her mind now; her hands acted impulsively, on their own, and sought his broad shoulders and dug their nails into the firm, hard flesh that she found there. Then she rubbed circles in his back, and finally reached down and held his taut buttocks with both hands, pushing him even more deeply into her tight, quivering little hole.
"Oh," she stammered, her eyes open but seeing only fireworks that were actually going off in her head. "Oh God, I'm going to cum, oh!"
Paul's mouth was nestled inside her ear, and he blew his steamy breath into it and whispered, "Come all over my cock, baby. Come on, do it."
She wrapped her legs around his, intertwining them, and helped him jackhammer his meaty member into her strained, sore pussy. Each thrust dragged across her engorged clitoris and raked it with a million new sensations until she finally lost control of her grip on reality and fell into the lost dimension of sexual climax.
She shook and shook some more, like jelly in a car without shocks, and she quivered and trapped Paul's thighs and legs in a viselike grip of her own limbs. She arched her back, lifting Paul's considerable weight with her, and screamed and groaned and humped her happy ass against the mattress, trying to squeeze every last possible sensation out of his magnificent, virgin-shattering penis.
She had no idea Paul was coming too, at the same time, unloading a fountain of sperm into her gaping, cock-hungry vagina. She knew only after he pulled out and displayed his cock for her, still hard but not as big or thick, dripping with the shiny white stuff.
Hypnotized by the experience, but having had her first man, by the sight of semen she knew had coated his cock while still nestled deep inside her cunt, she slid on her back so she was looking up at the underside of his penis.
Slowly, she reached up and held it, feeling its slimy coating over the bonelike rigidity of the member. She held it tight, then released it and brought her hand to her face and gazed at it in rapture. Then her serpentine tongue, pink tipped and waggling from nerves, from activity and from excitement, licked her own palm. The cum on her hand tasted warm and salty and creamy, and spilled down her throat like a favorite drink. She licked her hand clean hungrily, then reached up and grabbed him again.
"Don't you think that's enough?" Paul asked.
She shook her head, not wanting to use her mouth to speak, not wanting to use it for anything but tasting his penis. She lifted herself by pushing down on the bed, then, took his thickness inside her mouth and licked it clean as well. Paul groaned, delighted at her eagerness, but when she began to suck for more cum-coating that simply wasn't there, he pushed her head away. He felt his drained cock fill with sharp pain, and he knew he had no more fucking in him.
"Congratulations," he said. "You pass the first haze."
"Fuck me again," she whimpered.
"Not tonight," he grinned at her. "But any time you want, you just ask." He looked to the window, and winked.
Sharon followed his gaze, and saw three male faces pressed against the fogged glass. "That's part of their initiation," Paul said. Mortified, Sharon grasped for the covers and pulled them over herself.
Paul dressed as he watched her, then went to the window. "You're the best I've ever had," he said to her, sincerely, and he disappeared out the window. The other faces were gone too, and she heard the sounds of the ladders being removed.
It was a long time before she fell back asleep.