Chapter 2
Sally was very relaxed during the rest of the trip, not saying much, srniling to herself a lot. She looked almost demure with her pants on, Paul thought once, looking over at her as she sat quietly glancing out the windows at the restaurants they drove by. She suggested, then almost simultaneously rejected, the idea of stopping for dinner at several of them.
They decided to wait and have dinner at Pete's, a hang-out in Sally's college town. In the parking lot outside Pete's, Sally turned to him and smiled.
This place is Michelle's special bag," she said. "She practically lives here. Suppose we run into her?"
"Suppose we do?"
"What'll I tell her?"
Tell her about what?"
"Don't act dumb. About you fucking her."
"Oh, tell her sure, I'm honored. We can cross swords at dawn."
The pink of Sally's tongue appeared between her open moist lips, and then she smiled broadly, lewdly, looking into his eyes.
"Dawn's not a very good fuck time," she said. "Except for roosters. But I'll tell her."
The place was crowded, as always, and they had to wait a long time at the bar, drinking beer and talking with the animated bunch there, before getting a table. When the harried, heavy-hipped, sweating waitress finally got to them, the kitchen was fresh out of everything they ordered. They could have the lamb chops, she said, but they'd take a while. They had no other choice. They were starving.
It seemed like an hour before the waitress put the plates in front of them. They ate, like hungry people everywhere, without speaking. Paul had just ordered coffee when he saw Michelle come through the door, followed by a faceless date. Sally and Paul were in a booth, with Paul on the side facing the entrance, and Michelle saw him immediately. She stopped and looked at him, her dark eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed from the autumn air. Then she laughed and looked away, pulling her date by one hand toward the bar.
"Your roommate just arrived," Paul said, his eyes following her across the room. Sally turned arid looked, too.
From the rear, Michelle was a petite brunette with a trim figure, exquisite fluid-motion hips, and spectacular legs. From where he sat, across the room, Paul had an overwhelming desire to kiss the dimpled backs of her knees, above where her calves swelled, then tapered into her short boots. "How do you like her?" Sally asked. With an effort, Paul pulled his eyes toward her. She was smiling at him.
"I've met her before," Paul said evasively.
"You didn't pay such close attention. And you're not answering my question."
"I can only see her from the rear."
"You'll see her from the front," Sally promised. "All there is to see."
Paul could not control the swelling erection that had throbbed to life under the table, or will it down. Sally, looking into his eyes, sensed something, and reached her hand under the table and ran her hand up its rigid length. She laughed aloud.
"Shall we try to arrange something for tonight?" she asked.
If you like," he said. "If she likes." God, he was horny. He should have had sense enough not to settle for one quick one with Sally before coming here.
I'll talk to her now," Sally said, starting to slide out from the booth.
"Don't," Paul said, putting his hand out to stop her. He needed a chance to settle his cock down and think coolly. You got into more trouble, he learned, going off half cocked. He couldn't picture the back seat of the Packard for the scene he had half formed in his mind.
But Michelle had seen them, and stayed only for a brief moment at the bar. She came over to the booth, alone, leaving her date with a beer and a worried look at the bar. Her breasts, swaying magnificently under a snug purple cashmere sweater, looked even larger than they actually were, because of her supple slenderness. They were precisely at the level of Paul's eyes, as he sat, and he made a feeble attempt at looking away. What the hell, he thought. He looked, in open admiration, and smiled. When he finally raised his gaze above breast level he was looking into Michelle's dark smiling eyes. "We've met," he said.
"Yes." His hard-on throbbed uncontrollably. "That's enough of that," Sally said. "For now." Michelle looked at her roommate. There was a question on her face.
"Yes," Sally said. "We've talked it over."
"And?"
"His answer is yes, of course. You knew it would be."
"When?"
"Tonight, if we can figure something out."
"Jesus," Michelle said. She made an almost imperceptible backward motion of her head, indicating her date, who was leaning against the bar, casually pretending not to be watching them.
"We can't talk here," Sally said. "Shall we?" She slid out of the booth, and the two roommates headed for the ladies' lounge, picking their way through the crowded, smoky room.
Paul watched them go. So did the boy at the bar.
They were gone for a long time, it seemed to Paid, but women in pairs in ladies' rooms always took a long time. He tried to think of other things, and gradually his hard-on subsided. By the time Sally got back to the table, alone, he was able to hold a cigarette without shaking.
"Well, obviously," Sally said, sliding back into the booth, "there's nothing civilized she can do about getting rid of her date before he takes her back to the sorority house. And he knows the witching hour is one, on Saturdays, as well as you do."
"What the hell," Paul said, trying to appear as if she'd just said they had no pistachio ice cream, would vanilla do? "Another time, maybe."
"However," Sally said. His heart, as they say in the Rover Boy books, leapt. Not only his heart.
"However?" he said. "You girls will slide down the drainpipe?"
"Not exactly. You'll slide up it."
A recollection started forming in his mind.
"You remember that time Michelle was in the infirmary with the flu?"
"I sure do. I didn't leave your room till dawn's early light. But I almost walked into the arms of some insomniac lady biology instructor on the walk outside."
"How do you know she was a biology instructor?"
"She wore sensible shoes."
"You can leave earlier this time."
It--had really been very simple. The room Sally and Michelle shared was in the rear of the sorority house, on the second floor, with the fire escape running right by the window. All you had to do was get a short run, jump for the bottom rung, and haul yourself up. You didn't have to be Tarzan to do it, all you needed was to be in fair shape, and have balls. Paul qualified.
They'd been fairly quiet, he remembered, he and Sally, the night Michelle was in the infirmary, and they hadn't even found it necessary to turn out the lights. Then he thought of something else.
"Listen," he said. "That was a weekday night Wednesday."
"It was Tuesday," Sally said. "But Saturday's no different. The girls come in later and noisier and talk longer, is all."
"It's different" Paul said. "There'll be two of you this time."
"You chicken?"
"No, I'm rooster. It's just that I don't like that business of not being able to lock the door."
"I told you, we hang a bra on the outside knob. It's the only thing we ever use a bra for. Nobody'd ever walk through a bra'd door."
Paul suppressed a laugh. He didn't want to spoil her. Then he took a deep breath and let it out. Too good to be true, he thought. Michelle and Sally both, tonight All of a sudden, a plethora of pussy, the loveliest pair of pussies in the whole damn' school. A little risky, maybe, but what the hell. It was worth it. Ten times over, it was worth it.
"Okay," he said. "Wonderful. When do we begin?"
"Michelle will get her date to take her home a little early, and you do the same with me."
"Why?"
"So we can, you know, get ready for you. Girls have certain little feminine niceties to attend to, you baboon."
"Then what? After I take you back to the sorority house?"
"You go out and kill some time, lap up a beer or two. And then, right after the witching hour, trot around back and up the fire escape. Don't even knock at the window. It'll be wide open. So'll everything else."
He waved to the waitress for the check.
"What's your hurry?"
"I thought we'd spend a little time in the old Packard, just you and I. Just for old times' sake." His zipper was about to burst.
"Oh, for Pete's sake," she said. "Can't you wait?"
"No," he said.
"Look at your watch."
He did. It was ten after twelve.
"I'll be goddamned," he said. "I didn't know it was so late. Just barely time for a quickie."
"Save it, pretty poppa," she said.
Paul stayed close to the building, out of the fallen leaves, and made no noise. He was pretty sure no one had seen him coming around the side of the house. There was a little moonlight, and he could make out a shadowy growth up the back wall of the building's vintage brick. He looked closer. Ivy. I'll be a son of a bitch, he thought. That's pushing tradition a little too far.
He looked at the luminous dial of his watch, which didn't work in the moonlight. Fuck James Bond, he thought, and flicked his lighter. One twenty-five. High time for the fire escape.
He caught the lower rung on his first jump, swung up and got a heel hooked. Change fell out of his jacket pocket and fell to the ground, tinkling. "Shit," he said, to nobody. Leave it for the sweeper. He struggled out onto the first platform, thinking, I wonder how many second-story men work with hard-ons?
He climbed, his crepe-soled shoes silent on the iron rungs. Sure enough, the window was raised halfway, and there was a fight from a lamp inside.
He stuck his head through the window and they were sprawled on the twin beds, grinning at him. He raised the window, carefully. Thank Christ it didn't stick.
He stepped inside, awkwardly, almost knocking over the lamp, and closed the window behind him.
He turned around.
He had lost most of his erection during his exertions, but when he looked at Michelle it rose again, rigid and ready.
She was standing at the foot of the nearer bed, smiling at him. She was wearing a white transparent thing that stopped just below the hips. It had a demure little ribbon bow at the throat and the ribbon was the only thing he couldn't see through. The deep red nipples crowning her full, high, swelling breasts were already erect, in the fight from the one lamp from the window, and the wisp of a garment seemed to be suspended from them. Her hips flared roundly from a tiny waist; and clearly visible beneath the transparency of the filmy gown, starting on the lower curve of her belly, was a truly magnificent pubic bush, jet black, luxuriant.
Paul reached out for her.
She backed away, as if startled. Then it was evident she was not startled, she just had her own plans about how she wanted to play this whole scene.
"No," she said. "Please. Get undressed first."
"She's been asking me how you're hung," Sally said casually from the other bed. She was propped up against the pillows, smoking a cigarette, wearing pajama tops and no bottoms. Her long white legs, moving lazily, made no attempt to conceal the pink dusky lips of her cunt in their shiny, dewy blonde nest.
Paul undressed in a hurry, tossing his sports jacket over the back of a chair, then his tie, then his shirt. He had to sit down in the chair to get his shoes off, and Michelle sat on the bed and watched him with an odd sort of fascination-as if the whole operation gave her some variety of intense excitement. Her lips were slightly parted, and she licked them occasionally. Like she's waiting to see the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Paul thought. I'll give her, her pot of gold.
Once out of his shoes, he stood up and dropped his trousers, and Michelle's eyes and mouth both opened wider. The left leg of his blue shorts stood straight out, stretching to contain the upthrusting surge of his stiff straining cock.
He peeled off his T-shirt and thought he might get some nicker of admiration for his chest and shoulders and biceps, from the girl, but she never took her eyes from the awesome limb down below. He bent to peel off his socks, then straightened again, wearing only his shorts, with the grotesquerie of his enormous hard-on making the wearing of them nothing less than ludicrous. Michelle still sat there on the bed, staring, with her filmy short negligee still held demurely by the ribbon bow at her throat.
"Aren't you going to take them off?" she asked. "The shorts?"
"While you sit there fully clothed?" Paul asked, answering a question with a question. Two questions. "What do you think I am, immodest?"
From the other bed, Sally laughed.
"Jesus," she said. "What a scene!"
Michelle stood up, fumbled at her throat, and the diaphanous white wisp fluttered to the floor. She kicked it deftly aside, and Paul got a glimpse of a small red orifice opening and closing in the thick red clutch of her black cunt hair. She turned completely around, once, for him to see the perfection of her whole body. In all its smallness, it was superbly sculpted, the contrast between her tiny waist and the sudden flaring of her hips and her wonderfully pouting round ass a throat-lumping sight Paul tried to swallow, and couldn't.
Michelle sat down abruptly on the bed.
"Come here," she said. "Please."
Tentatively, Paul took a step forward, then looked over at Sally. She was smiling broadly, one knee raised and moving slowly back and forth. One hand was on her Stomach and Paid noticed that the middle finger was very close to the upper opening of her pussy.
"Go ahead," she said. "This is Michelle's party."
He walked over then and stood directly in front of Michelle, where she sat on the edge of the bed. She reached up her hands to his hips on either side, tucked her fingers inside the elastic of his shorts, and slowly brought them down, until they hung up at the thick root of his hickory-hard cock. She pulled the elastic out in front, then, her eyes widening, and managed shakily to get Paul's shorts the rest of the way to the floor. He stepped out of them. Michelle had lost her cool, he noticed.
"Oh, my God," she breathed. "It's beautiful. Cest magnifique. Sally, you never told me."
"I told you," Sally said, from the other bed.
"Not the whole truth," Michelle said. "You never told me how really big it was."
"I told you it was pretty big," Sally said. Paul's back Was to her and he didn't turn around. She sounded Smug.
"You know damn well it's more than pretty big," Michelle said. "It's gigantic."
Paul looked down. His rigid cock, at an angle above the horizontal, looked squarely into Michelle's face. The eye in the middle of the head, he knew, should be winking a vertical wink at her, but he had no control over that. A pity, he thought. There would be the parlor trick to end all parlor tricks. Beautiful, Michelle called it. From where he stood, there was nothing beautiful about it. It was just long and broad and very hard. The skin was brownish in color, except for the head, bigger than the rest of the shaft, in diameter, which was dark and red and swollen and glistening; the tender skin stretched tight, as if it were ready to burst Under the velvet-soft skin of the shaft a blue vein ran a meandering course, like a river on a sectional map.
"It's so beautiful," Michelle said again, still staring. The rich scarlet areolas capping her breasts had contracted and puckered so that the nipples stood out, cylindrical and flat topped, like tiny rigid erections.
"Well, that much I did tell you," Sally said, behind him. He heard her weight shifting on the bed.
"Are you girls going to leave me standing here while you talk all night?" he asked plaintively, putting his weight on the other foot. It was Michelle's move. It was her party, Sally had said.
Michelle reached up a hand, slowly, deliberately, not taking her eyes away from the stiff object of her immediate adoration, and put her thumb under the base of his cock, pushing gently upwards. The angle of erection sharpened abruptly, exposing the soft-skinned, sensitive underside of his cock. Michelle leaned forward, the tip of her tongue appeared, and she began to lick the underside of his cock, barely touching it with the tip of her tongue, from the base right up to the wrinkled soft shawl of loose skin around the neck. She was at his cock's very throat, he thought. The most vulnerable part. There she lingered, licking.
He shuddered. Jesus, this Michelle. Phi Beta Kappa material, for sure.
She drew her tongue away, and he saw her open her mouth wide as she released the pressure of her thumb. His cock resumed its normal angle and the whole head disappeared in her mouth. It was a strain, but she made it. Her eyes were rolled up, looking at him.
"Hey," Sally said, from the other bed.
Michelle drew her mouth away, her lips reluctant, lingering wetly at the tip of his stiff, tingling prick.
"I only wanted to kiss it hello," Michelle said.
Paul could stand no more, and could stand up no longer. He sank to the side of the bed, scooping up the little brunette and lifting her to deposit her on her back in the middle of the bed. He leaned over her, resting on one elbow, and covered her open mouth with his own.
Her quick darting tongue vibrated in his mouth with the rapidity of a hummingbird's wings, fluttering against his own probing tongue. His free hand kneaded the firm proud hills of her breasts, squeezed the hard, jutting nipples. His hand moved down over the gentle yielding swell of her belly, around the delight of her hips, and cupped and squeezed the delicious white globes of her buttocks. His little finger, exploring, touched the bottom of the tender lower extremities of her cunt lips, and came away wet. She was ready. She'd been ready all along.
He moved his hand around between her thighs, and his middle finger found her clitoris-swollen, slippery, evasive as a tiny eel. He arched over her, his weight on his knees and elbows, and she reached out and guided the bursting head of his cock to her eager, wet, open little twat entrance. She placed it squarely in the embrace of the swollen outer lips, and Paul began to ease it into her, slowly.
"Oh, sweet Jesus," she said, and her legs spread wide, then clung to him, her ankles locked behind his hips.
Christ, she was tight, Paul thought. When his shaft was halfway in, he stopped to let her get used to the thick stiffness, but her butterfly hips beat a soft tattoo on the bed as his giant pin impaled her further. When he had buried it to the hilt, she was squirming, and writhing, and gyrating, all in one motion. He withdrew it to the head, and plunged it in deep again.
"You've forgotten something," he heard Sally say, from somewhere.
He'd completely forgotten about Sally.
Driving his prick firmly home, holding the base of it squashed tight against Michelle's squirming cunt, he hooked an arm under her waist and swung her out from under him, turning as he did so, holding his cock jammed tightly into her. When she was on top of him and he lay flat on his back, she got the message, and began joy riding up and down the length of his shaft, gasping and groaning the while.
Sally, standing beside the bed, smiled down at him.
"You're so clever," she said, and raised one long lovely white leg and stepped up on the bed. Carefully, she placed one knee beside his head on the pillow, the other knee on the other side. He found himself looking straight up into the moist dark valley between the pink swollen outer lips of her twat She let it descend slowly, his tongue extended to meet it, and then his tongue, his mouth, his face, were buried in her wet velvet cunt.
He sucked, and licked, and gobbled, while Sally shuttled her hips and groaned. His own hips were pumping and thrusting up to meet the squirming descents of Michelle's tight, clutching twat. Licking, sucking, fucking, fighting for his breath, he felt as if he were thrashing about in a great sea of quivering cunt, a swamp of cunt, an ocean of cunt, a great steaming jungle of wet cunt.
The bed was bouncing and creaking and groaning, Sally was gasping now, on the verge of coming, and he heard Michelle screaming aloud as she went into a series of palpitating orgasms. He wanted to tell her to quiet down, but his mouth was full. Anyway, he was coming himself, exploding like a giant rocket into the warm suction of Michelle's gulping cunt.
He was taking one final lick at Sally's sated pussy when he heard the door open.
He made one convulsive move to rise, but lay back, knowing how futile it was. Sally lazily raised her twat from his face and stood up at the side of the bed, trying inanely to cover herself with her hands.
Mrs. Halsted, the housemother he had charmed so carefully, stood in the doorway. She had turned on the overhead light, flooding the room in baleful brightness. He had never seen such a rapidly shifting set of emotions register on a human face. Shock. Horror. Lust. Delight.
He smiled at her, wetly.
"Mr. Beck," Mrs. Halsted said, looking quickly away from him and the girls as if they were a ghastly street accident. "How nice of you to pay us a visit."
She backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.