Chapter 8

Sweeney wondered about Jill and her friend Betsy. He turned his attention to the sporting magazine and thought of the slim waisted cheerleader.

It was not his habit to lose track of people on a trip. But things were so bungled that he had done just that. The chartered buses arrived late and between arguing with the drivers and worrying about the hotel reservations, he had forgotten about the two cheerleaders. Sweat poured from his forehead. Christ, he thought, why do these things happen to me? Letting a pretty young thing like Jill Watson out of his sight was one mistake his colleges would never forgive him for. It was no secret that half the science department wanted in her pants. And their jealously would push them to new heights of sardonic fun.

He remembered their exchange in biology class. In his confused state he had trouble remembering exactly what they had said. Was it not on mating instincts and how they vary in animal species. That was it, the Gibbet cat. How could he forget, the two of them arguing the merits of an obscure cat that fucks hundreds of mates when she comes into heat. His cock had straightened out stiff as a tire iron. It was sad that human beings did not follow the instinctive life patterns set down by other animals. He agreed with his colleges on at least one point. Sinking his cock into the soft folds of Jill Watson's pussy was a beautiful fantasy!

His mind raced with excitement. He imagined how her cunt must look: the thick labia parted open and juice oozing from the slit into the curly locks of pubic hair. There were many things he could do with that alluring bush; techniques that he had learned in the most expensive brothels in the Far East. Things that young American girls never dreamed possible!

His mind wandered back to the days of Vietnam and Thailand. Tiny, slim-hipped women no older looking than prepubescent girls paraded before him. He had loved those little nymphets whose tiny slots clamped their magic warmth around his barbarian cock.

Those had been good days, he thought. Quickly he focused his attention back on the present. The hotel lobby was almost deserted. The third floor was rented out for the basketball teams and the fourth floor was reserved for cheerleaders, alumni and friends. The ancient clock above the lobby desk ticked off the remaining minutes before ten o'clock. The girls had to be found soon.

He walked over to the hotel clerk, a tired looking man with hanging jowls and watery eyes, and was about to ask him to call up the police when Jill and Betsy walked in through the revolving door.

"Hi, Mr. Sweeney," said Betsy, her voice dripping with sweet innocence. Betsy walked with a suggestive rolling motion to her hips. That was something Sweeney liked. Betsy seemed her alive bouncy self while Jill looked haggard and in need of sleep. Her blouse was pulled out of her Levi's and the hard points of her breasts stuck out suggestively through the flimsy material.

Sweeney's cock went hard again. He pictured himself sticking his hands underneath the blouse and playing with her tits. He smiled and licked his lips. This was not the time to think of sex, at least not with Jill.

"The last bus arrived twenty minutes ago," he said. "I'm not going to ask where you've been. Your room is 402. And don't let this happen again."

"I'm sorry," said Jill. "We'll go right to the room." Without further conversation the two girls walked to the elevator. Sweeney watched them leave. Breathing deeply to relieve the knot of tension inside his chest, Sweeney returned to the night clerk.

"Is Benny still with the hotel?" he asked. The clerk's distant blue eyes focused in Sweeney with aroused interest. The biologist paused for dramatic effect, then asked again laying two ten dollar bills on the counter.

"I can find him for ya," said the clerk smiling.

In the privacy of their tiny hotel room, Betsy slipped out of her clothes and walked into the bathroom to take a shower, leaving Jill in the bedroom, alone with her thoughts.

What is happening, she asked herself. Why am I doing these crazy things with my body? She rolled on her back and unbuttoned her blouse. She looked at her breasts which flattened against her chest like soft water balloons. I didn't want sex on the train with Jeff, she told herself. Her finger meanwhile toyed with the stiff nipple points. The sensation excited her and her abdomen muscles tightened up as if anticipating more sex.

I must be a slut to do such awful things with my body! she said to herself. Sex with two men at the same time. And in front of Betsy. She must think

I'm a real tramp for doing such a thing!

Jill stroked her nipples harder. A small lather was whipping up in her cunt. And the familiar pangs of sexual longing were stirring within her womb. She traced the sinewy outlines of her body down along the flat hollows of her stomach and into the magical space between her legs.

It occurred to her that sex was not something to be turned on or off at will. It was a continuous, un-relenting drive that pushed her along, forcing her to perform outrageous acts. She could not control sex, it controlled her.

A loud knocking at the door brought Jill back to her senses and she hurriedly adjusted her blouse and jumped up from the bed and opened the door. A man dressed in a faded maroon suit stood at the other side. He was an older man and when he looked up she could see his years had been hard ones. His hair slicked back with pomade, brown eyes appeared to cross over and his jagged smile exposed rotting teeth, all sign of moral and physical decay.

"I'm your bell boy," he said unctuously. "I missed you in the lobby."

His watery eyes seemed to stare straight at the points of her breasts. They followed the contours of her body. My, God, she thought, he's undressing me. She shuttered at the thought of this horribly ugly man suddenly wrestling her to the bed and plunging his cock into her sex mound. A shiver of fear rippled through her and added to the sexual excitement she had experienced on the bed only moments before. Her heart pumped furiously. The fetid jungle between her legs came alive. I'm wet! she thought. I'm wetting right through my panties. Oh, how sick and twisted I am. This is awful I can't let it go on.

The bell boy looked up into her troubled face. If his eyes had been exploring the hidden recesses of her womanhood, his blank expression did not give him away.

"I'm always at your service," he said. The little man stood only inches from her, his eyes at breast level. Suddenly he stepped forward, cutting the distance in half. "Just give me a ring, Miss."

No, don't, she screamed inwardly. She felt weak and helpless, unable to defend herself. "Please! Don't put that thing in me. She had heard somewhere that little men had abnormally large pricks. The idea of him between her thighs repulsed her. Her head was spinning "Don't fuck... Don't fuck my cunt... my asshole ... my mouth!"

"Missr he inquired.

For an awful moment, Jill thought that the words had somehow blurted out of her mouth. She found it increasingly difficult to distinguish what she was thinking and what was actually taking place in the real world.

"I-I-I said thank you," she stammered. "We'll call if we need anything." She watched the little man smile and with an officious nod of servitude gripped the brass door knob with his gnarled hand and quietly closed the door after him. Jill stood trembling, her eyes staring vacantly straight ahead. Her skin gleamed in the artificial light. She felt the sweat trickling through the soft hair covering her pussy, teasing her like a feather tickling her underarm.

"Who was that?" asked Betsy appearing from the shower. Her body had a pinkish glow from the hot, soapy shower. Jill turned towards her friend who was busy rubbing the water beads from her body.

"The bell boy," she answered. Suddenly her body screamed openly for the sex that the little man had promised her with his penetrating stare. The roar of unfilled passion seared her flesh. She thought of the dildo, its uncleaned surface emitting cunt smells within her purse. And she thought of Jeff's plunging cock and the luxurious sensation of her own sweat exploding from her skin as the ecstasy rushed over her. And she thought of Kevin waiting patiently in the background waiting his turn to fill her mouth with his prick.

The vile, little man had made her wild for sex! That he was old and misshapen and sexually depraved did not matter. He had a penis. And to her that was all that mattered!