Chapter 5
It was amazing how much a girl could learn in so short a time. Christian morals, chastity, all the other trappings of the faith became meaningless once a girl was away from her parents' supervision. Well, maybe not meaningless, but at least a whole lot less important.
It was only February now, little more than a month since Hampton Budd had first fondled Wiffie's organs February, the beginning of the semester break, and once again she and Hamp were going home on the same train.
It was Hamp's fault that she was now in his roomette. He had talked her into coming with him, and she had been embarrassed and worried as they walked together through the coaches. Did anyone guess what they were up to? Were there students who suspected that Hamp and Wiffie weren't going to the buffet car for a snack, but to Hamp's roomette and into one another's arms?
And now, here they were. Her dress was off, hanging on the coat hook, and her slip was bunched around her waist, leaving her now-naked breasts open to Hamp's lips and gaze. She almost wanted to reach for her bra, to get dressed and go back to her coach seat and fall asleep with the knowledge that no one could accuse her of really doing anything wrong. And yet she wanted to stay, too; she wanted to feel his hands on her breasts and thighs and elsewhere; she wanted to feel his hard penis pressing against her through his trousers. For their activities, wrong or not, never failed to excite her. His hand would slip up her leg to touch her parts through her panties, fumbling through the thin cloth until he could feel her begin to respond. And then, every time, it was fingers inside; fingers tickling the richly-haired lips and stroking the clitoris and bringing her to orgasm, almost against her will, but somehow with her cooperation, too.
Oh, yes, it was wrong; all of it was completely wrong by the standards her family had so clearly set down for her. Still, she loved it. Her better judgment might tell her no, but her instincts told her yes. And Wiffie had become a creature of instinct. Hamp knew it, and he made sure that she realized it too.
In a matter of minutes, her fears and second thoughts began to fade from Wiffie's mind as Hamp's fingers tiptoed through the tulip stems of her fur, and the fluids of passion began to moisten the jungle of hair. Hamp's hand moved onward and inward, and before long, Wiffie was quivering in the agonizing but lovely quest for sexual release.
She felt her panties being pulled down. "Leave them there," she mumbled, but it was as though Hamp had not heard. He touched her clit again, then let his hand go underneath to the perineum, then back and forth between the close-lying cheeks of her behind. She didn't fight back when his wrist pushed on her panties so that the thin silken garment slid down further on her thighs; and seconds later, when she arched her hips in search of greater pressure from his fingers, his hand left her clitoris just long enough to pull the panties past her knees and off her ankles before her bottom could settle on the seat.
But the panties didn't matter to her now; she sought only his fingers, and she let him pull her closer to him, her knees forced to open themselves across his thighs until she was straddling his lap and tightening her leg with passion as his fingers probed to the fleshy mass of wetness which, jelly-like, now quivered more than ever with desire.
And then, without her knowing it, Hamp unzipped his pants and freed his stiffened penis. A moment later, she felt it pressing against her clit,. then sliding between the swollen lips and resting in the vestibule, with his right hand moving it around and around till it made her gasp with need.
It was too much for her, this prick at the entrance to her cunt, swirling about as the organs of both Hamp and Wiffie bounced against each other to the rocking, jarring rhythm of the train. Suddenly she felt it go deeper in her, and she forced herself down on it, virtually swallowing the prick in one fast and painful move, sucking it into her and squeezing her cunt walls about it.
In an instant she was moving up and down on him, sucking his hardness with her quivering cunt, entirely unaware of the blood that mingled with her juices and ran down her thighs. Then, hardly seconds after he had entered her, Hamp came. As she held his penis fast with her vaginal muscles, the semen burst forth inside her, lubricating her cervix in a fountain-like frenzy before falling back on the rapidly shrinking head of his prick. She tried to keep him locked in her, but her efforts were in vain. In a moment he was out, his prick hanging worm-like through the opening of his pants as his hand moved quickly to dry it with a handkerchief, and then to staunch the flow of blood and semen from Wiffie's aching cunt.
Barely conscious of her actions, she grabbed his prick and fondled it; she squeezed its tip and fondled its underside and tried to make it big again, so that it could force its way back inside her and give her the satisfaction she needed so desperately. But her caresses were of no avail.
"I'll cuddle you," Hamp told her, his hand moving to tickle her heartbroken clit.
"No," she said, pushing the hand away. "Come back inside me," she whispered with passion and a touch of shame. "Please!"
He couldn't, of course. Not yet, anyway. And so he did what seemed the next best thing. Holding her tight against his torso with one arm, he reached out with the other and grabbed his open overnight bag. He rummaged for several seconds, then drew forth the object he sought. It was a candy bar.
He ripped off the red and white wrapper. It was an ugly thing, consisting of chocolate-covered nuts with a chewy center; it looked remarkably like a hard piece of shit.
Wiffie didn't see it, but she felt it soon enough. She felt it being pushed into her; felt its hardness lacerating the walls of her cunt. She tried to cry out with pain, but the sound wouldn't come; her chest held itself in a tight knot as the candy violated her sopping crotch.
But it wasn't long before the intruder was lubricated, and Wiffie let her vagina close about it, the muscles caressing the candy bar as her hands tightened around the back of Hamp's neck. As he moved the bar, so she moved her cunt, and with each thrust, the pleasure was greater. At last there was a bursting of sensation within her; a climax of such intensity that it left her on the verge of fainting.
Wiffie collapsed against Hamp's chest and gasped for breath. "Lie back," he commanded, a tremor of renewed excitement creeping into his voice. She obeyed, rolling off his lap as he moved from the seat. She let him spread her thighs as she lay back on the small sofa, and it was with warm contentment that she allowed her fingers to play in his hair while he brushed his lips along the insides of her opened legs.
"I love you," she heard him say before his mouth moved to the chocolate stump extending from her cunt and then she felt a pleasant tickling sensation as his teeth began to nibble on the candy bar's tip.
When he sank his incisors into the bar and pulled it back an inch or so, she felt a tiny twinge of pain; but when his mouth pushed it in again, the pain gave way to a tentative tingle of pleasure and before long her knees were firmly pressed against the sides of Hamp's head as he ate the candy, at the same time moving its remnant in and out of Wiffie's ever-tightening cunt.
The spasms came, after a while; spasms of pleasure, ending only when the last of the candy was pulled from her thrashing crotch.
When it was over, Wiffie's emotions were tainted suddenly by shame. But her remorse was cut short when she felt the hardness of Hamp's penis pressing into the palm of her hand. She strove to suppress the tears which had formed in her eyes as he lifted her hips from the seat and prepared to mount her. She did her best not to cry out as she felt the prick slide into her aching cunt.
May third-three months later. It was clear that Wiffie was no longer a virgin. Fourteen fucks had made that pretty obvious. Fucks on the train. In the hedges near the chapel, in a motel on the several occasions when they had managed to sneak off campus by crawling through a cyclone fence-a hole thoughtfully created by Hamp and another male student whose libido required regular doses of gratification.
Fourteen fucks. Her love-hole had been tight at first, but with each meeting of prick and cunt it had widened its horizons, until now she could accept his penis as painlessly as a child's mouth sucking in the shaft of a peppermint stick.
The early love sessions had been a mixture of shame and passion, but after the fifth she had thrown away her guilt for the most part, trading it for the touching and heart-warming oneness of physical and spiritual union. They had performed their own marriage ceremony, using his prick as a finger and her vagina as a wedding band. They needed no minister to bless the union in the eyes of God; the Lord knew of their love, and of their sincerity, and they felt that to His way of thinking, as to theirs, the union of Hampton and Wiffie was as binding as any sanctified in the candle-lit sanctuary of a church.
How Wiffie loved Hampton! Wonderful Hamp. His prick was like a gift each time he pushed it in. Each time they made love, he brought her to readiness with the glorious tickling of his finger on her clitoris, and then came the standard missionary fuck, with him on top; or occasionally a fuck from behind, both of them lying on their sides. Or they would do it like dogs, or sitting, or standing, or with Wiffie kneeling over him as he lay on his back. Unfortunately, there were problems. She had missed a period. Twenty-six days had passed since the first stain was to have appeared, and not a dribble or a trickle had made its way onto the napkin which, with crossed fingers and hope, she had kept strapped to her crotch almost constantly for three weeks.
She lay on her dormitory bed now, unpinning the napkin and removing it, baring the furry entrance to her cunt. Holding a mirror between them, spreading the love lips and examining the tissues inside to see if anything seemed different.
She didn't know what to look for, of course. Indeed, she didn't know if there should be anything to see. Could pregnancy change the appearance of her outer organs? She had no way of knowing. But she examined herself anyway, figuring that if there were any differences, she would see them.
She moved the mirror to her left hand and put two fingers of her right inside her cunt. Nothing seemed particularly different. The dry fingers irritated the sensitive tissues, however, so she withdrew them, lubricated them with a generous quantity of saliva, then put them back and pushed them in a bit deeper. Again, nothing different, though she absent-mindedly began to think of Hamp and his six-inch prick. Her index finger moved out and up to her clitoris, which swelled to meet the searching whorls of the fingertips.
As the tingling grew, with Wiffie watching each fondling and swelling in the mirror, someone knocked on the door.
"Wiffie?" The voice was Mrs. Ardsley's.
Wiffie threw down the mirror and stood up, grabbing her panties and pulling them on in one fast jerk. "Come in," she called, in what she hoped was a normal voice. She sat demurely, hands folded in her lap, as Mrs. Ardsley inserted her master key in the door, opened it, and strolled in to sit on the room's only chair.
Mrs. Ardsley stared at Wiffie for a moment, her eyes boring into the girl's, her face bearing an expression which Wiffie couldn't fathom. Finally she spoke.
"There's been ugly gossip about you, honey."
"What do you mean?" Fear. A tightening in the bowels.
"Some of the girls have seen you vomiting lately."
"Oh, for Pete's sake! I can't help it if I get sick now and then."
"You were seen vomiting on three different occasions, Wiffie, over a period of a week. And Phys Ed tells me that you didn't miss your usual three or four days of gym."
"Well, I was sick three different times. Too many candy bars, I guess. And I didn't miss gym last month because my period wasn't as serious as usual. I took some Midol for my cramps."
"Of course."
Mrs. Ardsley sat silently for a moment, then shook her head and muttered a tsk-tsk-tsk. "But that doesn't stop the gossip. The last time you went home, you were seen going into the Pullman section with Hampton Budd."
"That's a lie," Wiffie protested. She regretted the denial immediately upon uttering it; there was no use quarreling with what obviously was the truth.
"Don't lie to me, honey. I have it on good authority that you did."
"All right." Her mind sought frantically for an excuse. A moment later, she had one. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. We were just going to the observation car; that's all. Hamp wanted me to see what the first-class lounge car was like."
"Four hours is a long time to spend in an observation car, dear. Particularly when there isn't one on the train."
Wiffie didn't know what to say, so she simply sat with her head bowed in shame while Mrs. Ardsley told her of the consequences of her behavior. Suspicion of illicit sexual behavior brought automatic expulsion from FBCC, and lying to a campus official-such as Mrs. Ardsley-earned the same punishment.
"You're in trouble either way you look at it," the woman warned finally.
Wiffie was on the verge of tears. "Please, Mrs. Ardsley, don't let them expel me. What would my parents say?"
"You should have thought of that before you started.. .messing around, darling." The woman's voice was firm.
"Isn't there anything I can do to make up for it, Mrs. Ardsley?"
"There's one way, Wiffie," the woman told her in a soft tone of voice. "Come to my room, and we'll talk about it."
"Can't we talk here?"
Mrs. Ardsley shook her head. "In my room."
Wiffie followed her down the corridor, her stomach aching with butterflies as her eyes wandered to Mrs. Ardsley's enormous ass.
"Take your clothes off," the woman ordered as she locked the door of her suite.
"What?" Wiffie wasn't sure she'd heard right.
"I want you to take everything off," Mrs. Ardsley commanded.
"Not everything, please!"
"Well, you may leave your panties on for the time being, I suppose. Undress in the bathroom if you wish."
Wiffie was reluctant at first, but when the woman reminded her of possible expulsion, she went into the bathroom and did as she was told. Five minutes later, she emerged naked except for her panties, clutching a towel to her chest.
"Drop the towel," the housemother said.
Wiffie hesitated, but did as she was told.
Mrs. Ardsley's eyes scanned the youthful body, resting first on the bud-tipped breasts, then gliding down to the belly with its pert navel, and settling finally on the lace bikini panties with the wisps of pubic hair peeping through the leg openings, to lie dark against the creamy skin of the girl's thighs.
"You wear rather revealing underwear," the woman said softly. Wiffie merely blushed.
Mrs. Ardsley, too, was undressed. Her enormous, blubbery body bounced with each step she took, and Wiffie could hardly bear to look at the pendulous breasts, the Santa Claus belly, the vast black menopausal patch of pubic hair. When the woman walked to the closet, Wiffie felt sick, staring at the fleshy buttocks and the backs of the varicose thighs; her stomach went weak as she watched the woman open her legs slightly and stand on tiptoe to reach the top shelf of the closet; it was disgusting, seeing the hint of vaginal hair from behind.
When Mrs. Ardsley turned, she was holding a plain cardboard dress box, which she carried to the bed and opened as carefully as one would open a case bearing precious stones. She put her hands in the box, then withdrew a black corset which hung stiff with wire and whalebone. Slowly, face flushed and lungs wheezing, she slipped the corset around her torso, then turned her back to Wiffie and with both hands grasped a post of the old-fashioned brass bed.
"Come here, Wiffie," she commanded in a voice heavy with sexual excitement.
Wiffie obeyed, and stood directly behind her.
"Wiffie, I want you to lace this up for me. Lace it as tightly as you can."
Wiffie did so, taking several minutes to get the laces through all the holes. Mrs. Ardsley stood gripping the brass bedpost, trying to be patient but breathing more erratically with each passing moment. "For heaven's sake, hurry up!"
Finally, when the laces were in place, Wiffie began to tighten them. With the first tug, Mrs. Ardsley's body stiffened; Wiffie heard a sudden gasp from the woman, and stood back, afraid that she had hurt her housemother in some way.
"Keep tightening, please!" Mrs. Ardsley said with a slight shudder.
Wiffie stepped forward and resumed her labors, pulling the laces tight until she feared that the woman was on the verge of nervous collapse.
She need not have worried. As the corset was drawn tighter, Mrs. Ardsley seemed to grow stronger in body as well as in passion; again she urged Wiffie to pull harder, and she continued to show greater excitement as Wiffie yanked on the strings until red marks appeared where the top of the corset cut into the housemother's Jello-like flesh. "Tighter," Mrs. Ardsley hissed once more; and Wiffie, bracing a foot against the frame of the bed, leaned back and pulled with all her weight and strength.
Mrs. Ardsley arched her back, then fell shuddering against the bedpost, pressing her crotch against the metal and, in a moment, going limp and almost falling to the floor.
'"Are you all right, Mrs. Ardsley?" Wiffie poked at the woman, fearing that the housemother had suffered a heart attack.
"I feel wonderful, dear," the woman said in a soft, kindly voice. A minute or two later, she regained her strength and composure and stood up, taking Wiffie into her arms. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," Wiffie replied. It seemed the appropriate thing to say.
"Let me do something for you now," Mrs. Ardsley offered.
"That's all right."
"Please." The woman's tone was pleading. 'That's okay. You don't have to. It was nice just seeing you happy." Wiffie didn't want any more of this, of course, though she felt a twinge of excitement in her loins. She just wanted to go back to her room.
"I want to," Mrs. Ardsley insisted, her voice losing some of the grandmotherly quality now, and becoming more firm.
Wiffie sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
"Lie down on the bed," Mrs. Ardsley commanded. Wiffie did as she was told, and then the woman grabbed Wiffie's panties in both hands and pulled. Wiffie blushed as her pubic thicket sprung into view.
Mrs. Ardsley patted her thigh. "Just relax, dear." She tried, but without much success.
In a moment the woman had Wiffie's thighs spread and was moving her lips up one leg to Wiffie's well.
"Please," the girl whispered.
Mrs. Ardsley misunderstood. "Of course," she said, and with a plunge, buried her tongue in Wiffie's sweet young cunt.
A short time later, the girl's fears had begun to subside. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all; she was helping to make an old woman happy, was she not? Kindness was the golden rule.
She lay there, thighs open and hands gripping the sheets, her nipples hard and her body tingling as Mrs. Ardsley's tongue ran up and down her slit. At last Wiffie's climax came, and her hole was like a waterfall as she pressed her crotch against Mrs. Ardsley's face and tightened her legs around the fat, gray-haired neck.
Somehow Wiffie found herself thinking of Hampton Budd's prick, and with that image to spur her on, she came, and came, and came again.