1 comments/ 31108 views/ 3 favorites Summa Cum Laude By: adam applebiter (Sequel to Sins of the Father and A Ladies Companion) "...And the rest of my estate, I leave to my wastrel son, Eric. The monies to be held in trust until he graduates from Harvard Business School or until one of his offspring beats him to it, on which day the entire trust shall devolve to that individual." I'm Eric and that was my father's last will and testament being read out last fall. You can tell my father didn't think much of my academic ability, can't you? "Wall Street banker, Werner Kruppa, son of Rabbi and Holocaust historian Ezra Kruppa, died of a cerebral haemorrhage in his Manhattan home on the morning of September 6th aged 50. He is survived by his son, Eric. The funeral service will be at 11AM tomorrow at the Upper East Side Synagogue." That was how the Wall Street Journal broke the news to anyone who cared. Naturally, I already knew, but I didn't care. There was no love lost between my father and I. What the paper didn't say - nor the rabbi who said Kadesh for him -- was that the autopsy found a significant quantity of his own semen and somebody else's blood in his stomach contents. Tests showed it to be menstrual blood belonging to a female whom the NYPD promptly identified as a common prostitute who had the misfortune to be sitting on his face when his brain went pop. This didn't come as a shock to me because I have known for some time that my father had certain... predilections that his two ex-wives had not shared. The person I really felt sorry for in all this was my ex-step-mother who had received a pre-nuptually limited divorce settlement only a fortnight before my father's untimely and undignified demise. If the gold digging bitch had only put up with the arrogant bastard a few weeks longer, she'd have inherited at least ten times as much. But she didn't and now it's mine. All mine because an hour ago I graduated and the two girls sucking my cock have flown here especially to help me celebrate. * * * * * Helen and B have been my fuck-buddies since their first semester at Harvard although for most of their second year, we were all just friends because I foolishly allowed myself to get into a steady and monogamous relationship. They're a couple with a mutual interest in sex games -- the more extreme, the better. I've long suspected that I'm one of their games too. I should explain: I have a very large penis. A lot of you will be thinking 'yeah, yeah, heard that before.' And some of you will be thinking 'Ooh! I like them big.' But the truth is that a really big penis can be a handicap. In high school, I was the last guy in my class to get laid, even though I was good looking enough to have no problem getting dates. The locker room rumours got me a lot of interest from girls anxious to see if the stories were true, but whenever I whipped out my manhood, they'd get scared off by it's size. Girls started daring each other to date me, but none was brave enough to tussle with Moby -- a nickname one of the cheerleading squad gave my dick. I didn't enjoy being a freak show so I quickly started insisting the girls go first with the whole show-and-tell thing. At least I got to see -- and touch and even taste -- a lot of snatch. It was only in my last semester before graduation that a cheerleader called Rosie Boyce got up the courage to let me fuck her. Much as we liked each other, she was very sparing with her affection after that first time. The night of the senior prom was our last time together because she said it hurt too much. I wasn't expecting college to be much better until I met Helen and B: They like extreme sex and never complain about my size. Hell! They're even up for anal, which I'd never even dared suggest to any girl. And that's why I'd begged them to fly back to Boston during their gap year, to help me celebrate my inheritance. It's also why I wanted them in my life on a more permanent basis. * * * * * "When you two graduate, how about coming to live with me?" I had a head on each shoulder as we lay in bed together, the morning after graduation -- my last morning as president of Phi Kappa Delta. Later today, my successor would be elected and I would stand down as head honcho of the fraternity. "In New York?" B asked. "Anywhere you want to, honey B. I can support us all in luxury pretty much anywhere. Where would you like to live?" "New York sounds good." Helen said. "I could carry on working." "Only if you really want to. I would suggest you put your price up though. Say two grand a night. Maybe even more." "And you wouldn't mind me still being a whore?" Helen never sweetened the pill when she talked about her work. "Like I told B: Whatever you want. I'm not trying to marry you two-" "Which would be illegal." B observed. "I just think we could have a lot of fun together: travel, party, fuck." "Can we have a boat?" B liked the idea. She had no career plans after college anyway and she was used to being a rich person's plaything -- She'd spent her gap year working as a very personal assistant to a bisexual woman who disdained the dazzling variety of fantastic plastic available in a sex shop near you, preferring to pay a girl to pleasure her. "Of course you can have a boat. I'll even name it after you -- Honey B." I was pretty sure I already had a boat. My father certainly used to own a yacht. I'd have to check the inventory of his estate to be sure though. "You just want kinky sex on a regular basis." Helen knows me so well. "Naturally. I'll even pay you, if you want." "Two grand a night?" Helen remembered my suggested tariff. "I think I should get a discount -- a season ticket, so to speak." I was ready to negotiate. "Ok. A dollar a night. I'll be the cheapest whore in town." "So we have a deal? B?" "You had me at 'anywhere'." B kissed me passionately. Not to be left out, Helen pressed her lips to the back of my neck. We were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Enter!" I yelled, disinclined to climb over a girl to find my shorts. The door opened a little and one of this year's pledges peered gingerly into my room. "There's a lawyer downstairs asking for you Mr President." I was impressed he managed to deliver his message clearly and at the first attempt. Most people are distracted when they see two naked girls in bed with one guy. "Well bring him up, worm." "Yes Mr President." The pledge vanished, the door clicked shut and I went back to what I'd been doing before we were interrupted -- Kissing the girls. * * * * * Another knock interrupted us, but the girls had made good use of the five minutes to massage me to full rigidity. The bed now had a tent in the middle that a Bedouin family could live in. "Enter! Ah, Smithers!" I greeted the ferrety man in the severe suit as the worm ushered him in. He didn't know where to look, as both girls had disdained to cover up their tits, even though their nipples were clearly hard enough to hang the sheets on. "Ladies, say hello to Smithers, my late father's P.A." "I'm a P.A." Chirped Honey B, giggling at the mental picture of this man doing her work. "The other sort of P.A." I had the same mental picture of this rodent rimming my father and it was not pretty. "Good morning Mr Smithers." Helen said politely. "Good Morning." B beamed her innocent smile at him. That smile tells so many lies so convincingly. "Err...Good Morning, Ladies. And it's Smith, not Smithers." He looked really unsure of the term 'ladies'. "Mr Smith, allow me to introduce Helen..." I buzzed her shoulder, "and B" Then her shoulder. "My consorts." "Courtesans." B corrected me. "A consort is respectable. Queen Victoria's husband was officially her consort, but courtesans were just pretty young girls that the king got to fuck. Concubine might do too, though historically, they're generally just junior wives and have to be faithful to one man. Courtesans got to pick their lovers, like the hetaerae of antiquity." "My daddy told me about heterae." Helen told B. Her Daddy had actually been suggesting hetera as a better job description for his little girl than 'whore'. He failed because Helen actually likes being a whore. "My courtesans." I said to Smithers. "Why don't you girls go take a shower while Mr Smith and I discuss why he's here?" At my suggestion, the sheets got flung back either side of the bed and the girls got out, stretching in unison. Smithers' eyes nearly popped out of his head. I couldn't resist. "Pick one if you want, Smithers. I'm sure we have time and they're really very good at what they do." And I knew they would do it too, just to rock the poor little chap's world. "N-No. Thank you." He watched hungrily as they shrugged at each other and walked past him, missing him by about an inch each as they left the room -- still bare as they were born. The bathroom was right along the landing from my room and very visible from the main space downstairs so half the frat house population watched their progress. The cheers and whistles eventually stopped. "And what can I do for you, Mr Smith?" I gave the man my complete attention. "I have some papers that need signatures. Transfer documents for the trust's funds, notarised inventories of each of your father's properties." "Don't you mean my properties?" "Not until you sign these transfers of title and this receipt for the monies." He laid out the papers on my desk. "As you say. You know, Mr Smith..." I got out of bed and went over to the desk. "My father once paid Helen eight hundred dollars to let him sodomize her. Then he made her sit on his face and licked her ass hole clean." Smithers looked horrified. "And his autopsy found a bellyful of semen and menstrual blood. Read it if you don't believe me." I pointed to a framed document on the wall. I'd put it there to remind me what sort of man my father was. Smithers didn't even glance at the document. He was rigid. His loyalty to my father was bordering on unnatural, hence the nickname. "So, when the ladies come back, I'd appreciate it if you kept your disapproval of my lifestyle to yourself." "Yes sir." He barely even whispered. Had he not known about my father's perversions? Surely this wasn't news to him? But he looked so shocked. I felt a twinge of pity for him. "Thank you. Where do I sign?" I was right beside him now, with my penis bobbing in front of me. I noticed him noticing it -- hard to miss really -- and wondered if Smithers wasn't too accurate a nickname for him. "Here, here, here, here..." The list went on. You're not supposed to get writers cramp just from signing your name are you? "And here." He pointed to the last document, which I duly signed and he witnessed. "That's it." He drew the papers together, tapped them into line and put them back in his briefcase. "How much am I now worth?" "As of two minutes ago, at yesterday's closing prices, a little over two hundred and thirty million dollars. If you have no further questions, I'll take my leave of you, Mr Kruppa." He offered me his hand, which I shook. The movement made Moby bob again. "I'm going to need someone who knows their way around it all, to manage it. You'd be the best person for the job." Whatever I felt about Smithers personally, he had been my father's right hand man and, by all accounts, very capable. "I don't think so, Mr Kruppa." He glanced down at my hard-on. "You seem hell bent on besmirching your family name and, consequently, your father's memory. I do not care to be party to that!" He turned and stalked out. A moment later, the girls tumbled in, giggling. "What?" I asked. "We just bumped into Smithers." "Literally." "He was hard. I felt it." "She grabbed it." "But who for? You or us?" "Did he touch you back?" I asked, stroking my cock as I looked at my lovely courtesans and appreciated that for all my new wealth, their affection was still my most precious asset. "No." "No." "Then he really is an idiot because that little wiener was definitely up for you two." "So is that one." Helen pointed at Moby. "Whose turn is it to go first?" "Don't I get to choose who I fuck anymore?" "No. Silly boy. Leave these complicated matters up to us girls. Helen? Teeth, tongue lips?" B suggested. "Ok. Best of three." Helen clenched her fist in readiness. 'Teeth, tongue, lips' is their version of 'rock, paper, scissors': Teeth (all fingers curled - more like claws than teeth, but let's not be pedantic.) bite tongue, tongue (one straight finger) licks lips and lips (two straight fingers pressed together) cover teeth. "One, two, three! Tongue licks lips. One to you... One, two, three! Tongue licks lips again. One all... One, two, three! Teeth and teeth. Go again. One, two, three! Teeth bite tongue. You win." B was gracious in defeat. Helen got on all fours on the bed and I knelt behind her, easing Moby into a hole so damp they must have been warming up in the shower. "That's what I like! A bitch that doesn't need half an hour of foreplay." "She's not a bitch." B slapped my ass hard for being disrespectful. "No, I'm not. I'm a whore... And my cunt's ready greased because B tried to stick the whole shower head up it." Helen has a filthy mouth on her when she's working. I like that though. "Can't you put that mouth of yours to better use?" I stroked in and out of Helen's tight pussy. "B, can you shut the whore up?" "Sure, Big Boy." B got on the bed in front of Helen and presented her ass for rimming. I'd kind of expected her to opt for cunnilingus, but it'll be a cold day in Hell before I pass up a chance to see these girls' asses getting in on the action. Watching anything that kinky is one hell of an aphrodisiac and I could not help but up my pace, hanging onto Helen's hips as I slammed into her. She had to pause in her ministrations to B's pretty, pink bottom, as her pussy clenched around me, spasming as she screamed in ecstatic release, soaking my balls with her boiling juices. Pro that she is, she took every inch of me, every stroke, without a pause and, as soon as her climax subsided, she got back to work on B. I pulled out of Helen, intent on getting my cock into B. Gently pushing Helen's hips aside and moved up to B, rubbing my glans against her puffy, pussy lips and easing it in. She wiggled her tush as I sank in to her, then she put her head down low and moaned softly as Helen dipped her head and started tonguing B's anus again, adding a finger to the mix, just for kicks. I didn't last long, hosing B's cervix as soon as her pussy seized around me in the first moments of her orgasm. B is, if anything, noisier than Helen. When she stopped yelling, with me still rooted inside her, we heard a round of applause from the main room of the house. Well? My girls like an audience. * * * * * Later that day, my last act as president of Phi Kappa Delta was to confer honorary membership of the fraternity upon my courtesans. I'd got agreement from the committee the day before and Helen and B received their Phi Kappa Delta sweaters and lapel pins in a brief ceremony before the formal nominations and ballot for my successor. It may break with tradition, but those girls had been good friends to Phi Kappa Delta for three years and I wanted to do something for them to make up for Christabelle Deerborne's malice in disbarring them from the sorority in their freshman year. When Chrissy returned after the summer and saw those sweaters, she was going to be so pissed at me. I was sorry I'd not be around to see it. Chrissy has been obsessing about me since our first semester and, after three years, still hasn't figured out that no means no. Well, I won't be here to see the fireworks but I'm sure to hear about it. The ballot didn't take long and the winner was clear. David Barrio was duly sworn in as the new President of Phi Kappa Delta. It's odd to think that just a year ago, B and Helen took him upstairs and plucked his cherry because no frat boy should finish his freshman year still a virgin. I sent B along to his room after the party to renew their acquaintance while I contented myself in Helen's arms. Sometimes it's nice to just snuggle up with someone you love: And I really do love my ladies. * * * * * "It's just not going to be the same without you next year." Helen murmured as we nuzzled each other in post-coital euphoria. "We'll still see lots of each other. I may even buy a private jet so I can fly you to New York for wild weekends." "But it won't be like having you here." "If you're worried about the sorority bitches, don't. David will look out for you. He's going to be a good president and he thinks a lot of you and B." "I wonder why?" Helen tried to look innocent but nobody in this house is likely to forget how she and B deflowered the virgins among last year's pledges: David had been one of the lucky lads. "Just fuck him occasionally and he'll do anything you ask. Not too often though -- I'm the jealous type." That last bit was so blatantly untrue it didn't even count as a lie. "I was planning to, but not because of Chrissy and her pussy posse: I've got a secret weapon if she gets out of line." "Really? Do tell." "Let's just say your father isn't the only parent I've fucked." "Francis Deerborne? You've done Chrissy's father?" I've known for a long time that Helen worked as an escort, but she's generally quite discreet about who she sells herself to and I respect her professional space. That said, I really wanted the details now I knew that doting Daddy Deerborne was buying young flesh on the side. "Three times now." "And?" "And what?" Helen played dumb. "And what's he into?" "Stuffing Belgian chocolates up my ass and making me pretend to shit in his mouth." "Oh, now that is weird, even for you." I must have cringed because Helen noticed. "That ain't so bad. B and I regularly lick stuff out of each other's butts and you don't object if it's your semen, do you?" "Well, no, but..." "Anyway, you haven't heard the best bit. He likes to call me Christabelle the whole time." "No!" "Yes! And I've got video of it all, so don't you worry about Prissy Chrissy. Shh" Helen put a finger to my lips and cocked her head to one side. "That's B." We could both hear someone yelling 'Yes!' along the corridor. "I said he'd be a good president." "Not as good as you were." Helen hugged me close and kissed my ear, nipping my lobe. We were quiet for a while. Some dialogues are better in Braille. Finally, Helen paused with her hand still cradling my balls. "Eric?" "Hmm?" I was preoccupied with a particularly fine nipple. "Remember last year I mentioned I was introducing B to my favourite cock in all the world?" "Yes... I asked her who my competition was, but she wouldn't tell me... Even when I tickled her." It was a very fine nipple and there was another one just like it. I wondered if it's twin was as much fun to suckle. "I really want to tell you, because I trust you and I don't want to fuck anyone I couldn't tell you about." "So tell me." I sat up. Helen's nipples had gone flat and she looked as worried as I've ever seen her. She took a deep breath then... "It's my Daddy." She breathed out again, visibly sagging as she fell silent. "Your father?" I wasn't sure I'd understood. Surely not? "Yes... Daddy's been my lover for two years." She looked really scared. Was she frightened how I'd react? "Ok. So you weren't an abused child?" It was the first thing I thought of. "No!" She was shrill. "Daddy would never... I just..." She started to cry. "Shh." I drew her close and stroked her hair. Whatever else, I knew how to react to her tears. I think I was more than a little shocked too... and I thought, after three years as Helen's friend, I was unshockable. While she calmed down I had time to take stock of how I felt about her confession. It didn't take much deliberation to decide that what I felt about that didn't matter a damn: What I felt about her was what was important, and that was unchanged." Summa Cum Laude "I..." She sniffed back the last of the tears. "I knew you'd misunderstand." "So explain it to me. I'll listen." And I did listen as Helen told me the whole story: How her father had discovered her working in a nude chat room, how he'd become her best customer and how she'd discovered that. How her shock had quickly turned into arousal and she'd blackmailed him into bedding her. How their relationship had grown, how she'd shared B with him, how she'd first spied on then seduced her mother too. I listened to all the graphic details. When Helen finished her story, I was rock hard -- all the proof she needed that she'd done the right thing in confessing her sins. Absolution comes only from confession and penance. Penitent, Helen got on her knees. * * * * * With that big secret out of the way, the floodgates opened and I found myself the custodian of Helen's video collection. She insisted on showing me her one time with my father. I really didn't want to see my late father having that much fun but I watched it because Helen asked me to. I should tell you that my father only paid Helen for sex once, not because she in any way fell short of his expectations in bed, but because the discretion he expected afterwards failed to materialize. When I used a compromising photograph to renegotiate my allowance, he figured out that I knew 'the devious little whore' -- an epithet Helen still delights in -- and when I took Helen along as my date for his fiftieth birthday -- well, I'm surprised the weak blood vessel that killed him didn't burst that bit sooner. There was... a scene. Father told me to get the whore out of his house and I obliged by introducing Helen to my stepmother. It wasn't the story about sodomy and semen drinking that got Stepmom's attention so much as a copy of the same photograph I'd used as leverage, showing my father's credit card between Helen's labia with his open wallet between her legs showing his driver's license and a picture of my dear Stepmom herself. When Helen said "I can prove that's my cunt if you want." And reached for the hem of her cocktail dress, Stepmom just walked away from us. Next day, she found herself a divorce lawyer but not before I re-enacted my father's perversion with Helen against the soundtrack of my parents' extremely noisy break-up. It came as a revelation to me, just how many men Helen had rented out to. There were hundreds of hours of hidden video footage and a fair bit of more conventional camcorder stuff taken during what Helen called her summer of love, last year, when she seduced her mother into an incestuous lesbian affair that culminated in her persuading her Mom to sneak into Helen's room after sex with her husband, just so Helen could 'taste Daddy's seed' -- Which Daddy was supposedly oblivious to, but actually got to watch on video, courtesy of Helen's little spy camera. I asked Helen if she actually had any unfulfilled fantasies, thinking there must be something even she hasn't done yet. There were two: Being gangbanged by the entire fraternity -- the original version of her fantasy was her high school football team -- and a threesome with Mom and Daddy. She also claimed she'd stop renting out her cunt when it had earned a million dollars. * * * * * "Honey B?" I was having breakfast in bed with my ladies the morning after the night of revelations. "Mmm?" Her eyes gave me their full attention over the rim of a glass of OJ. "Yes?" She repeated. "But you don't know what I'm going to ask you yet." "The answer's still yes. Whatever you ask me." B really means that too. "Do you have any unfulfilled fantasies?" The same question I'd asked Helen late last night while B was down the hall with the new President of Phi Kappa Delta. "Lots. I wanna be there when Helen fucks the whole fraternity, to lick up the mess. I really really want to get a crack at her Mom because then I've had the whole family. I want my pussy to become the most famous in the world. I want to be spit roasted by Brad Pitt and George Clooney So I know who's the best fucker, then have Angelina Jolie for desert because that mouth of hers makes so many promises. I want a perversion named after me... Lots of fantasies." "What about your fantasies, Eric?" Helen asked. "You've heard ours." "Not many of mine are unfulfilled. I used to fantasize about anal sex a lot -- then I met you to. I always thought it'd be cool to have more than one girlfriend -- which I have. I always wanted a virgin. Perhaps now I'm rich, I can buy a hymen or two." "The record is a hundred and fourteen." B said. "What?" "A hundred and fourteen cherries plucked in one night." "The things you know!" Helen exclaimed, "Who did the plucking?" "Some Chinese emperor was given a hundred and twenty virgins as concubines and tried to do them all in one night." "Did he run out of time?" "After a hundred and fourteen girls, who cares?" I have stamina, but I wouldn't last a tenth long enough. "Oh, he didn't fuck them all, just poked through their hymens and moved on to the next girl." "What's the point in that?" Helen frowned in distaste. "That's no fun for anyone." "I don't want to set any records. I just want a virgin." I'd settle for one. "We'll find you one for your birthday." B promised. "Blonde, brunette or redhead?" Helen asked. "Any...as long as she's gorgeous." I'm not fussy. "A gorgeous virgin who didn't put out in high school but will give you her cherry just to satisfy your curiosity -- no problem." Helen was being sarcastic again. "Don't be negative." B admonished. "It's easy. Just keep stuffing money into her panties until they fall down under the weight of it all. There're plenty of students who need money." "And you two have an unlimited budget if you can pull it off." I pledged my newly acquired resources to their quest. "And I have a suggestion for you two too. It's not exactly the gangbang you wanted, Helen, but I'll pay you two grand for every Phi Kappa Delta boy you fuck. If you're going to carry on being a whore, I'd like you to be my whore from now on -- same deal for you B. What about it?" "Sure." Helen hugged me and sealed our bargain with a kiss. "Do I get paid for last night?" B asked. "Of course!" I pulled B into a one armed embrace and we shared a three-way kiss. I'd been wondering how to give them money and this was a better way than just giving them an allowance each. "Just provide photo or video evidence of each new conquest, not because I don't trust you, but I want to see what you're up to." "Alumni too?" Helen asked me. "What? Oh yes. When you come to New York, I'll introduce you to some very influential Phi Kappa Deltas." "Ok, Mister, you have a deal, now will you please shut up and fuck us? We have planes to catch this afternoon." B rolled me onto my back and straddled my thighs, stroking my cock with both hands. Helen followed her lead, straddling my face and shutting me up with the best gag in the world -- a mouthful of moist vulva. B impaled herself on Moby and rode it hard while I tried my best to get Helen off with my tongue. I won by coming last of the three of us, with Helen gushing into my mouth and B squealing as her pussy contracted around my cock. * * * * * All that was last year. I'm back in Boston to see the girls graduate, not that I've been absent from my alma mater that much. I've been here for all the high days and holidays, except when Helen and B flew to New York instead. It's been a busy year for all of us: I've had to get used to having money and the girls have been earning it off me as if they're trying to bankrupt me. The deal we struck has cost me over four hundred thousand this last year. Do the math: that's two hundred and something frat boys laid in two hundred and something days: about two and a half per girl per week although Helen had the lion's share. I've sold some of my father's properties. The rest I've had redecorated and refurnished, removing all trace of him from them. People in New York are already talking in disapproving, hushed tones about 'That boy' because I've made it my goal in life to be New York's Byron. Before I'm finished, my father's family name will be synonymous with sexual excess of all kinds. And I've decided on a career. I'm going to exhibit my photography. It probably won't earn me a living but that hardly matters, does it? What it will do is publicly flaunt my sweet girls and, if it all works out, will make at least one of B's fantasies come true: I'm hoping to make her pussy the most famous in the world by making it the focus of my first exhibition. * * * * * "Mr Kennedy, Mrs Kennedy," I shook their hand's vigorously, "I'm Eric Kruppa. You must be so proud of B today." B's parents looked unbelievably average. How did these people produce such a beautiful creature? "Eh? Oh, yes. We are. Of course we are. So you're Eric. B talks about you a lot." Mr Kennedy said. "All the time." Mrs Kennedy added. Was her speech slurred? Had she been drinking already? "Really?" I trust I looked smug. I looked at B, radiant in her cap and gown and inappropriately tight black trousers, whose camel toe gave anybody who glanced down reason enough to believe she was still not wearing panties. "Well, Eric, it was so kind of you to pay my college fees." B smiled knowingly. "Is the Kruppa scholarship a new thing?" Mr Kennedy asked me. "Only... you look somewhat young." "I graduated last year. Yes, Mr Kennedy, the scholarship is a new thing. This was my first year as a sponsor. I wanted to give something back to my fraternity brothers." B was wearing her Phi Kappa Delta pin so I pointed to it then to mine, demonstrating the connection. "Oh." Mrs Kennedy obviously didn't know her daughter was in a fraternity. "When B decided not to join a sorority in her first year, we thought that was that." "We voted B and her roommate, Helen -- have you met Helen? -- into Phi Kappa Delta when I was fraternity president. We've always stood for equality in Phi Kappa Delta. We were the first fraternity on this campus to initiate a black pledgeman, back in the sixties. We've never made any restrictions of our membership on grounds of race, creed or sexual preference and I felt it was high time that gender discrimination was consigned to the same history books as racism and homophobia. And it's been a great success. The girls have been invaluable and active members of the fraternity and I'm sure they will be missed next year. B, did you tell your parent's about our social development program?" "No." "Oh but you should have. May I?" "Be my guest." B could see I was on a roll. "Social development program?" Mrs Kennedy asked. "A lot of young men who come to Harvard are... well, let's be frank, they're often a bit bookish. This institution prizes academic excellence above all else, so we get more than our fair share of socially inept young scholars. At Phi Kappa Delta, we believe our members should leave here with more than mere academic qualifications, but also with the social skills essential to success in the modern world. B and Helen have selflessly given of themselves to help this year's pledges develop their social skills. Many of our pledges had never had girlfriends and certainly never dreamt of dating a girl as pretty as B. Under her tutelage, and Helen's, they've learned self-confidence, how to make small talk, in short turning boys into gentlemen." I noticed B looking smug at my reference to her prettiness. Her father and mother looked impressed too. "Bernadette never mentioned any of this." Her mother said, glancing questioningly at her daughter. "I didn't want you thinking I was neglecting my college work to hang out with boys." B improvised with a straight face. "Which she clearly wasn't. Summa cum laude." I reminded them that B had graduated with the highest of honours. "Are you staying in Boston?" "No. We're flying home this afternoon." Mr Kennedy said. "Such a pity, we could have all had dinner together. My treat. You're sure you can't stay longer?" "I don't think our tickets are transferable." Mr Kennedy, in objecting, ignored his wife's obvious desire to stay. "Is that all? No problem. My jet will take you home tomorrow. Tonight, you'll be my guests." "Oh, we couldn't..." Mrs Kennedy put up token resistance. "Of course you can. I insist. B, when you've finished here, would you take your parent's to my hotel and get them settled in? Be sure to tell Georges that they're VIP guests of Mr Kruppa and that he should extend every hospitality to them." "No problem." B watched her parent's face at the VIP reference. Clearly, they'd never been VIP's before. "Anything you need -- anything at all -- just charge to your suite." Yes yokels, the rich kid did say suite, not room. Gosh! But don't you look impressed right now? "Mr and Mrs Kennedy, its been a pleasure to finally meet you but I really must dash. I have promises to keep." I shook their hands again and left while they were still stunned. "What a handsome young man," Mrs Kennedy said to B. "Isn't he?" B hugged her mother's arm. "Did he say 'his jet'?" Mr Kennedy found his voice. "Yes, Pops. C'mon." B led them away. * * * * * "Call me Parry." Helen's Dad shook my hand. "And I'm Meg." Her Mom was an older version of Helen. They were clearly far more sophisticated than the Kennedy's. "Helen's told me so much about you both." And I've seen the videos. So you're Helen's favourite cock. "This must be a proud day for you." "We're proud of our little girl every day." Meg said with the loyalty of a mother. "That makes three of us, because I'm proud to know her. Helen is an inspiration." And that makes three of us because we've all fucked your daughter. And you know that, don't you Parry? Meg still doesn't suspect about you, though she's seen me in action. "An inspiration?" Parry asked. "Her work with Phi Kappa Delta's Social Development Program? She didn't tell you?" I know she told you, Parry. You've got all her earnings from it. "It takes more than just the best education money can buy to equip a man for the modern world. The Social Development Program helps those students whose social skills are lacking, teaching them self-confidence, social intercourse and gentlemanly behaviour." "Oh, yes, Helen did mention something." "Daddy, you heard about it last thanksgiving." Helen reminded him of a conversation in the dark after he'd spent the evening sodomizing her vigorously, to their mutual delight. Anyway, I've just invited B's parent's -- have you met them? Lovely people -- invited them to dinner tonight. We're all staying in the same hotel so I'd be honoured if you three would join us." "We'd be delighted." Meg voted for everyone. "We haven't met B's family yet, and it'll be a good opportunity to do so. Helen darling? Do B's parents know about you and ..." "That we're lovers? Yes. B told them the first opportunity she had." "Is that the girl who gave you such a hard time over the whole sorority thing?" Parry asked Helen. He was peering past me at Chrissy Deerborne and her father. Both of them were glancing towards our little group. "That's the bitch." Helen confirmed. "And that's her father with her." "Is she still giving you grief?" Parry asked his daughter. I'd heard about the first time he met Prissy Chrissy. "Allow me to deal with it." I offered. "I'll see you at seven." I shook Parry's hand again, pecked both women on the cheek then went straight over to the Deerborne clique. "Mr deerborne. Allow me to introduce myself. Eric Kruppa. You had some dealings with my father as I recall." "Eh? Certainly. A terrible loss to us all." He shook my hand, still flustered at my intrusion. "I have something you should see." I took out my I-phone and pulled up the video clip I'd loaded of him with Helen. I showed him the screen at an angle that prohibited Chrissy from sticking her nose in. Three seconds worth was all it took. He went pale. "What is it?" Chrissy asked, straining to get a glimpse before I pocketed the phone. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head about." I never pass up an opportunity to condescend to Chrissy. Then to the shell-shocked Deerborne, "I think we should talk in private, don't you?" He followed me away from the throng, ignoring Chrissy's objections. "How much do you want?" He hissed in a tone that made me think he was no stranger to blackmail. "Does Chrissy know you want to fuck her?" I asked in a most conversational tone. "What? Preposterous! I..." "You pay prostitutes to call you Daddy and answer to the name Christabelle while they shit chocolate in your mouth. You saw the video, sir, let's not be coy." "Very well. How much?" "I don't want your money!" I laughed. "I just want Chrissy to go over to that young woman you were eyeballing a moment ago and apologise for being such a bitch." "I can't make... Christabelle would never..." "Would you prefer that I show Christabelle all the video I have of your sick little games?" I shook his hand as if we'd just concluded a deal and walked off. * * * * * "Eric, you should have been there!" Helen was telling me all about Christabelle's spontaneous apology. "I swear every syllable must have hurt like toothache. She looked so unhappy about it." "I wonder how Francis Deerborne persuaded her to do it." It's not as if he could just tell Christabelle that he was being blackmailed with video of him pretending to eat her shit. "We may never know." Helen hugged me. "But thanks all the same. That was a wonderful graduation present." "You're welcome." I hugged her back. Helen and B were camping in my suite while they got dressed up for dinner with the parents. "At least you got a graduation present." B hinted, not at all subtly. "Actually, B, now you mention it." I dipped a hand into each pocket of my trousers and tossed them a set of car keys each. The black prancing horse on a yellow shield gave it away rather. "No!" B was beaming. "Ferraris?" Helen wanted to be sure. "In the garage underneath us. Think of them as company cars. As of now, you're on my payroll. Also, I'm now the proud owner of a yacht called Honey B: Eighty feet of pure decadence. As soon as the jet gets back, tomorrow, we're all off to Antigua to collect her." "If we're on the payroll, what're our job titles?" "And how much do we get paid?" Helen asked. "Your job title is the same one we agreed a year ago: You'll be my courtesans and what you get paid depends on how often I get laid. Basic will be a hundred grand a year each. You'll still get paid for fraternity alumni and anyone else I may need you to seduce. Helen, you can still work freelance if you want but I do insist that your fee goes up to five grand a night. If you're going to be a whore, you're going to be a damned expensive one." "Can I work freelance too?" B asked. "Under the same conditions, of course. But I already have plans to make your pussy famous. It's going to star in my first photographic exhibition, next year. What are your plans for later?" "We thought we'd come back here and thank you properly for our graduation presents." B jingled her new keys. "Helen? Did you want to invite your Dad?" I asked. "That might be difficult unless Mom's asleep." "I'm sure I can find a business matter that he and I really should discuss, if you want to spend some time with your Mom. B? D'you fancy keeping Parry and me company until Helen's Mom nods off?" "Do I? I haven't been properly DP'd in ages." B beamed at the prospect. "Can we go and see our new toys now?" Helen tossed her car keys into the air and caught them. "Sure." I offered them an arm each and we headed for the elevator. * * * * * Summa Cum Laude And then there were five... The Kennedy's made their excuses and left the party at about eleven. They're definitely not night people. Having spent an evening with them, I wonder if B was adopted or Darwin was wrong: Our Honey B has nothing in common with those people. And then there were four... When Honey B left too, a while later, with a stage-whispered admonition to Helen not to stay out too late, there were only four of us. Of course, B hadn't gone back to their apartment: She was up in my suite, showering, douching and lubing up in preparation for what Parry and I were going to do to her - Which Parry didn't know yet. I was talking shop with him as planned and it struck me that here was a man ideally suited to become my personal business manager -- to attend as proxy all those board meetings I could not avoid. I made a mental note to discuss with Helen the merits of employing her father to be in New York a couple of days a week. I felt sure she'd see the up side of that. While we sipped bourbon and branch water and discussed money, Meg and Helen, at Helen's instigation, also decided they'd been sociable long enough, made an excuse about a long day and went up to Meg and Parry's suite. And then there were two... "Bring your drink." I said to Parry, standing as soon as the ladies were out of the room. "We mustn't keep B waiting." "Pardon?" The penny didn't drop. "B? She's upstairs waiting for us. Ever shared a girl with a buddy before?" I ushered him into an elevator. "No." "You'll enjoy it. Helen's keeping your wife busy -- with her tongue -- and you and I get to share B while we wait for Meg to go to sleep. Your daughter promised she'd be along later." And all doubt disappeared when we found B naked on my bed, three fingers buried in her hole, masturbating. "Parry! She pulled out her slick sticky fingers and bounced onto her feet. "I missed you." She stuck her cum drenched fingers into his mouth as she flowed up against him. He sucked them briefly then kissed B forcefully, tongue probing her open mouth. I watched while I undressed. "B, let Parry get his suit off first. We don't want to have to explain cum stains on that." I gently eased them apart and led B back to the bed. She bent over to reveal a crystal acrylic butt plug. "That's for Moby." She said, wiggling her hips suggestively. Like she needed to be suggestive at a moment like this. A glance to the left showed Parry stripped to his underwear already. I pulled gently on the base of the plug. It was a big one and came out with a faint pop, leaving her ass hole gaping. B has good muscle control and can keep it gaping longer than most. God it looked good. When Parry joined me to admire the spectacle, I lay on the bed and lowered B, ass first, onto my cock. She hissed as I stretched her lubed anus and eased into her rectum. With me as deep as I can go, she lay back on my chest to expose her beautiful, soon to be famous, pussy for Parry. He didn't need a written invitation. Parry knelt between two pairs of spread legs, mine and B's, and guided his cock into that sweetest of all havens that is our Honey B. He had to do most of the work but didn't seem to mind, setting a good pace that I could accompany with thrusts of my hips without dislodging anyone. B let me support her body and lifted her legs high and wide, eventually getting her knees up either side of her tits, one of which Parry was kneading hard, making her squeal encouragement. "Yes! Fuck me hard, Daddy." B was in the habit of calling Parry 'Daddy' when he was fucking her. The story goes that it started the first time they fucked and she promised him such a great time he'd want to adopt her and have two daughters to violate. "I missed you." He grunted and changed up a gear. "Parry was impressing me. Firstly because he didn't seem at all self-conscious about the size of my cock compared to his -- which has always been an issue when I've shared a girl before - and, secondly, because the feel of another guy's cock rubbing against his through the thin wall of flesh that separated us, and the occasional collision of our balls, didn't phase him either -- and I know this is new to him. He just got on with getting off. Helen often said her Daddy was a natural born pervert. Now I believed her. B came noisily, wetting herself and us as the pressure on her bladder became too much. She squealed and writhed and clenched us both inside her as her orgasm flowed into a second and third, Parry's cock pounding her ferociously now and my hips bucking to keep up with his frenetic pace. As B came down from her multiple climax, Parry unloaded with a grunt of satisfaction, douching her cervix with his seed. I was nowhere near ready to come and B was exhausted so, being a gentleman, I eased out of her ass and let her catch her breath. She curled into a foetal ball, breathing heavily and pressing her hand over her tender pussy. "Sorry about the bed." Her pee had cooled now and the cold wet patch was uncomfortable under her. "There's another one next door." I picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. Parry followed us and the three of us showered together, washing B between us. That's where Helen found us, with B on her knees giving Parry's cock the kiss of life while I leant in the corner watching and idly massaging my own erection. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "You started without me." She dropped the bathrobe she was wearing and stepped into the wet-room to join the party. "Sweetheart! Is Meg asleep?" Parry looked her up and down with obvious lust. Helen came straight to me and kissed me hard. I could taste her mother on her lips. "She's out for the count, Daddy. There you are Eric. Now you know what my Mom's pussy tastes like." She pulled away from me and did the rounds, kissing the others in turn before kneeling to take over where B had left off. It's an incredible thing to see a girl sucking her own father's cock. Oh, I'd seen video of it and many other things but to be there, in the flesh, watching Helen's evident pleasure as she fellated her Daddy... I was so engrossed I barely noticed B's mouth around my own cock. "Don't waste it. If you want to taste it, B's probably still got a pussy full of the stuff." I suggested to Helen. "I don't think so." B had been thoroughly washed by two horny guys and she didn't think they'd left anything for Helen to find. "But Helen's welcome to check." She added with a grin up at me. So we towelled each other dry and went back to the bedroom -- the second bedroom. When I finally came, it was in Helen's mouth as her Daddy hung onto her hips and pounded her ass hole while B, underneath, licked Helen's pussy and waited for her to return the favour. As I pulled out of Helen's mouth, a final spurt of my cum splashed across B's spread crotch and Helen eagerly dipped her head to lick it up, sucking on B's clit and lapping at her engorged labia until B squealed in ecstasy once more. That in turn set Helen off on her second climax -- she'd had one already but been well gagged by Moby as Parry and I spit-roasted his daughter. This time Parry was the last to come, grunting and ejaculating deep in Helen's rectum. He stopped pumping but stayed inside her, softening slowly in the tight sheath of her ass. I had time to get my camera and capture the moment when he slipped out, limp and slick and B lifted her head to lick his cock clean. Then I got a beautiful shot of a long blob of pearly semen dribbling out of Helen's sphincter into B's open mouth. Now that's a money shot. As soon as the girls had cleaned up Parry, he started to dress again. "I'd better get back in case Meg wakes up." He explained -- unnecessarily. "I'll walk you back to your room." Helen pulled on a bathrobe and followed her father to the door. "Don't wait up." She winked at B and me on the bed. "Eric, it's been a pleasure to meet you at last." Parry said from the open door. "Oh, it won't be the last such meeting. Count on it." "Goodnight Daddy." B blew him a kiss, caught one that came back to her and pressed it between her breasts with both hands. "You were very vocal tonight." I said to B as the door closed and she snuggled up to me. "Well? Parry likes his girls noisy. Besides, I'm entitled: Summa cum laude" "Summa cum laude? What that got to do with it?" "It's Latin for 'some cum louder'." I laughed. "I'll remember that." Sometimes it slips my mind that B is really very bright. "Isn't it cool? Watching him with Helen?" "Stimulating is the word I was thinking of." I poked her playfully with my erection and asked, "Why did Helen wink at you when she said don't wait up?" "Well, you know she and Parry have this game of fucking as close to her Mom as possible?" "Yes. The current record is about four feet, isn't it?" "Yeah. The time they nearly got caught in the shower together. Meg came in and emptied her bladder oblivious to her daughter squatting in a corner of the shower enclosure with Parry's cock in her mouth." "All of which I've heard about and none of which sheds any light on why we shouldn't wait up." I was impatient to know why I only got to sleep with one of my courtesans tonight. "Helen spiked her Mom's drink. The fire alarm wouldn't wake her before morning. They're going to set an unbeatable record by fucking in the same bed as Meg." "What did Helen give her Mom?" "The same stuff she uses if clients want to stay up all night and she doesn't. Ro... something. "Rohypnol?" "That's the bunny! When she first got a supply, we used to fantasize about using it on Prissy Chrissy and getting some pics of her with one of us sitting on her face." "I wish I'd known." "Why?" "Because I'm far more evil minded than you sweet young things. I'd have waited until Francis Deerborne was in town, got Helen to save a sample of his sperm, then dope Chrissy and leave traces of her father inside her so when she figures she's been a victim of date rape and goes to the police, doting daddy Deerborne takes a fall." "Oh dear. That is vicious." "Well, I probably wouldn't have gone through with it... but it's an appealing idea. Lick you or fuck you?" "What? Oh. Lick me please." B turned end to end and settled herself on my face, wrapping two hands and a mouth around Moby. That shut her up! No noisy orgasm this time, just several quiet ones before she quit teasing and let me come in her mouth. * * * * * Antigua was charming. I'd leased a house with a private beach and a bay to moor the Honey B in. We had a couple of weeks sheer, unadulterated laziness before we were to set sail. The house came with half a dozen staff, all attractive youngsters -- I'd insisted on that -- and it took about two days before Helen's and B's nudity led to more than just solicitous service. Honey B started things off. She noticed a servant's boner as he brought her a drink, poolside. Being B, she made sure he noticed what she'd noticed. Then she handed him the sunscreen bottle and wiggled her toes to indicate where he should start. I spotted them from the veranda when he'd got to about mid thigh and I quickly fetched Helen to watch with me. The boy went around B's crotch without touching it and started to smooth the oil over her belly. "You missed a bit." We heard B say. Her eyes were closed, head back, but she eased her legs apart to encourage him. He was hesitant but not for long. His hand slid over her mons and between her thighs, smoothing lotion into every nook and cranny. When B moaned in response to his touch, he grew bolder, massaging her pussy more purposefully. She moaned again and opened her eyes. "You still have your shorts on." "Missy?" "You can't fuck me wearing those. Take them off." "Yes Missy." He stood up, peeled off his shirt and shorts and stood beside her lounger, proudly displaying his erection. B evidently liked what she saw and what was not to like? He was young, muscular, well endowed and the colour of her favourite dark chocolate. When she started to suck his cock, we left them in private and went back inside. Oops! I almost bumped into one of the maids with Moby sticking straight out in front of me. She squealed in surprise because unlike my courtesans, I had bothered to wear clothes most of the time. I think just nakedness wouldn't have bothered her, but Moby is usually a shock to people. Certainly, she couldn't take her eyes off it. Helen took her arm gently and led her to the veranda doors to show her what had got me excited. The maid gasped and her hand flew to her mouth at the sight of her boyfriend -- we hadn't known that -- thrusting into B's mouth. The tears started. Helen put an arm around her and whispered soothing words as she brought the girl back inside. "Its just sex." Helen whispered. "It doesn't mean he's stopped loving you. We do it all the time and we still love Eric." "Mr Eric?" The maid looked at him with moist eyes. "It's true. If you want, B won't mind us watching them." I moved back towards the veranda, Moby swinging in front of me. "No." The maid -- Mary -- resisted the idea. "Or we can stay here." Helen kissed Mary's tearstained cheek. "Eric?" She called me back from the veranda and the poolside sex show. "Its big, isn't it?" I swung Moby from side to side because I appeared to be hypnotising the maid. "Oui. Tres grand." Mary never took her eyes off it. Helen softly nuzzled her neck and glanced at me with a sinful smile. "Mary?" Helen whispered right into her ear. "Come to bed with us." Her hands stoked the girl's hips. "Mr Eric?" Unsure of herself, she looked to the obvious authority figure for guidance. "Yes, join us, pour le sport. Pierre will not mind and I will be very grateful." I moved closer, reaching out one hand to cup a breast through her dress. She didn't flinch. Mary didn't flinch until she was completely naked and Helen touched her black curls. "Shh, it's all right. C'est tout bien." Helen didn't stop touching Mary, exploring by touch the girl's dark lips while I kissed her neck and fondled her breasts. I hadn't had a black girl before. Her skin was fragrant with cocoa butter and so soft under my lips and fingers. Her nipples were enormous, even her areolae became swollen and puffy under my caresses. She was passive but there were no more objections as Helen and I soothed, caressed and aroused her. Eventually, when Helen had her wet enough, we lay her down on a divan and I got between her legs, relying on Helen to guide me in. "Lentemente." Mary gasped as my glans stretched her vulva. Slowly, I sank into her. She was incredibly tight. I rested deep inside her, waiting for her to relax so that I wouldn't hurt her. With Helen beside us, soothing and stroking her, Mary did relax, making it possible for Moby to move. I slowly eased in and out of her pussy, building up the pace by fractions until Mary sank her teeth into my shoulder to stifle her cries as she seized up again, gripping my cock as she climaxed. It came as a shock when she passed out. I eased Moby out of her and Helen moved to take my place. Mary squealed in surprise again when she woke up with a girl licking her pussy. She almost kicked Helen off the divan. "It's ok, Mary." I held her tight. It's her job." "Miss Helen's job?" "Yes. She has to clean up the mess I made." A lie, because I'd made no mess: I was thwarted in that by the girl's fainting fit. Mary lay back and let it happen. I suspect the pleasantness of Helen's tongue in her pussy had something to do with her willingness. Helen kept on 'cleaning' her until Mary had a second orgasm, managing to remain conscious this time. "Mr Eric is hard again." She confided in Helen as soon as she opened her eyes. Still hard would have been more accurate. I stroked Moby idly as I watched them kiss. "It's your choice, Mary." Helen told her. "You or me?" "It is your turn, Missy." Mary looked at my hard-on longingly. "But if Mr Eric fucks me, someone else will have to clean me up." Helen looked at her meaningfully. "If you want another go, I really don't mind." And that let Mary off the hook if going down on girls was too far out of her comfort zone. "I think another 'go' would be..." Mary made her choice. "Can I be above?" "On top? Sure." I answered, lying down as they made room for me. It was no surprise when, as soon as Mary had settled herself on Moby and started posting like a jockey, Helen straddled my face and started fondling Mary's breasts, especially those amazing nipples, and kissing her passionately. And that's how B and Pierre found us. There was very nearly a scene, but B kept Pierre from exploding by the simple expedient of grabbing his balls. "She's only doing what you did." She whispered to him. "Shall we join the party? I'm sure Missy Helen would like you to fuck her too." Which solved the problem as if by magic. Two white pussies beat one black pussy any day. As Helen lifted her ass off my mouth to get acquainted with Pierre, B knelt down and kissed me. "Are we having fun yet?" "Lots. Watch this. Mary?" Mary had been watching Pierre taking Helen on her knees. At the sound of her name, I had her full attention again. "Missy B needs cleaning. Shall I send her over to Helen?" "I think there is no need. Pierre is my boyfriend. If he made you messy, I will clean it up." And that was the last hurdle overcome. B is flexible; she assumed the classic gymnast's crab position over me so Mary could keep her promise without moving. I couldn't see the action from where I was, but Pierre evidently could -- he couldn't take his eyes off her. Helen shuffled around to face the main event too, so they could both watch Mary's first taste of pussy. I couldn't last the course this time and blew my load, flooding Mary's pussy with more mess to clean up. She came as I did, stopping what she was doing to B and squealing in excitement. Pierre and Helen managed a similar simultaneous climax a few minutes later while B and Mary put on a soixant neuf show for them. I think the sight of his girlfriend's pussy leaking jism into another girl's mouth finally did it for Pierre. Personally, I thought the high point was the squeal when B's tongue went south and probed Mary's ass hole. I got the feeling that was virgin territory. * * * * * Almost all the other staff were seduced the following day. The thousand dollars tip Pierre and Mary each got may have been an incentive. Only one of the girls didn't want any of it. She caught B being spit-roasted by the pool and left without waiting to get paid. I sent her wages on. The loss of one girl was not really a loss. It left me with a household that comprised four cocks and four pussies: A perfect balance. The staff stopped going home at the end of their working days and stopped wearing their uniforms. Mostly, they stopped wearing anything. By the end of our two weeks, I had decided to buy the beach house. Pierre and Mary would stay on permanently as caretaker and housekeeper. Pierre's family had a construction business so I placed an order for a new jetty, big enough for the Honey B to be properly moored and a wall around the estate to replace the existing fence and keep prying eyes out. All that arranged, we said farewell to our new playmates and took the Honey B to sea with a crew of frat boys I'd hired for the summer. There was a happy reunion the first night at sea and Helen and B earned a few grand by fucking the only two of the crew they hadn't had an opportunity to bed during the college year and the skipper, Jay Ashley, who'd been president of Phi Kappa Delta before me and had sailed in the Stanley Cup. It was a happy voyage and the girls got a new job title for their résumés -- Ship's doxy. * * * * * I propose to maintain strong ties with Phi Kappa Delta, including giving my fraternity brothers the use of the yacht during spring and summer breaks, provided they can field a competent crew. As for skippering her, Jay decided he preferred sailing to teaching English and definitely preferred the salary I offered him. I think he liked the perks of working for me too. Honey B promised him she would spend lots of time on board 'her' boat. Summa Cum Laude I think I spent about forty million in that first year, but I did get a new house, four cars, a jet, a yacht and my own studio and art gallery in Greenwich Village. I decided that owning my own gallery was the best way to exhibit my photography. As the first instalment of my promise to make B's pussy famous, I found a company that makes mosaic panels to order. And commissioned a new tiled floor for the entire gallery space -- a rectangle of about six thousand square feet. The mosaic is an enlargement of one of my ultra close-up pictures of B's pussy, gaping a little and glistening with recent use. The floor is made up of three and a half million half-inch ceramic squares and B's clitoris is well over two feet across. I'm particularly pleased with the effect we got by using unglazed ceramics for most of the floor and glazed tiles only where the flesh was moist. I know it sounds like a monumental task to lay a floor like that, but these tiles come in two-foot square sheets with a nylon mesh backing so they go down almost as fast as normal floor tiles. B was delighted with it and that made it worth every penny. Her pussy made it onto the front of the gallery too, because I used a monochrome image of her pussy photo-shopped into the centre of an orchid as a logo. It was one of my first true 'art' photographs and B's personal favourite. It now appears on the sign above the door, our letterheads, my business cards and any brochures we may produce. I've called my gallery 'L'origine du Monde' after Gustave Courbet's inspiring painting. B is going to be the gallery's manager -- her art history degree will lend it some credibility and I like the idea of her meeting the people who buy images of her pussy: That makes it so much more personal than mere porn. Don't you think? While all this was going on, Helen discovered that New York has a reasonable supply of men who could afford five thousand dollars a night for her. She limited her work to two dates a week at my suggestion, because exclusivity keeps the price high. By the time my first exhibition opened, she had some very useful Wall Street contacts in her address book and on video -- because B and I loved to see her work. * * * * * "Well, B? Does that count as a success?" I'd just bid farewell to the last of our opening night guests and locked the gallery doors while B was totting up the sales and bids. Limited edition prints were a fixed price, but the major pieces were available only by Dutch auction over the fortnight the exhibition was to run for. "We've taken bids on over half the unique pieces and sold almost all of the catalogues. Quite a lot of the limited prints too." B didn't look as happy as I'd expected. "So why the long face?" "Helen's cunt fetched the highest bid." Then B smiled and the room lit up. Jealousy was not something I'd ever seen between my courtesans. The piece in question was a hundred and sixty nine separate photo's collaged together to create an eight foot high picture of Helen in extreme close-up, wide open and oozing copious quantities of semen, a pool of which was the only thing obscuring the view of her ass hole at the bottom of the image. It was an early piece of work, originally for my bedroom wall. Now it appeared to be worth fifty thousand dollars. Helen was going to be beside herself. "What's the next highest?" "Girl with a pearl earring." This was a portrait of B with a blue headscarf on and an enigmatic smile. Stretching from the corner of her smile to her one visible ear is a splash of pearly semen, a large blob of which is hanging pendulous from her ear lobe. "And the titillating Titian?" A homage to the Venus D'Urbino, with B on a divan clearly masturbating. "No bids. But the frot shot comes third." The frot shot is a monochrome study of the girls wish-boned together, pussy-to-pussy, each with a hand on her mons, a middle finger just brushing her clit. "And the rim-job got a couple of bids." The rim-job was another monochrome ultra-macro shot enlarged to five feet square. It showed a three-foot long tongue tip burrowing into a depression that could easily be mistaken for a navel but is in fact B's perfect ass. "Well, it's early days yet. I wonder how outraged the critics will be tomorrow?" I was expecting to be pilloried as a pornographer but that was all part of the master plan to ruin my family's name. Besides, notoriety is free publicity for the gallery. "Who cares?" "I do. I want to be scandalous and you want to be famous. Shall we go straight home or out for a bite of supper?" "I'm famished. Lets go and eat." "Do you want to change first?" B had hosted her opening night in a near sheer white Lycra dress and nothing else, which had really set the tone of the evening and drawn more than a few admiring glances but might be a little too under dressed for, say, The Ivy. "Why?" B looked down at her dress and clearly saw nothing wrong with it. Who was I to argue? "No reason. C'mon." I offered her an arm and we stepped out together into the cold night air of Greenwich Village. * * * * * "If art holds a mirror up to life, Mr Kruppa is holding a mirror up to art..." "Mr Kruppa's self-indulgent and pornographic parody of art is an exercise in the degradation and objectification of women. Not to be missed -- by anyone with a flame thrower." "Pornography has come of age. It is no longer hiding under an adolescent's bed..." "...muse refutes any accusation that he is objectifying women in the most purile and vulgar way... Gallery manager and self-styled courtesan, Ms B Kennedy, is eminently qualified as an apologist for Kruppa's body of work, being not only his favourite model, but also an art history graduate from Harvard... ...but it is hard to keep one's mind on her cogent justifications for the art when the provocatively attired B and I are standing in the middle of the sixty foot long image of her vagina that is the floor of the gallery. Is it the biggest pornographic image in history? According to the engaging Ms Kennedy, the answer is probably 'yes'." The reviews were better than I expected. Opinion was divided fairly evenly but the net effect was that the exhibition was a hit. We had a busy fortnight and -- a pleasant bonus for me -- dozens of unsolicited emails volunteering to model, some even offering to pay me to photograph them. We printed out and kept the ones that included photographs. Some of them might be fun to follow up on. The night after the exhibition closed, the girls and I appeared on a late night arts program called The Review, to discuss my work and the controversy that had surrounded it for two weeks. * * * * * "Good evening and welcome. Anyone who is anyone in the New York arts scene has had an opinion on tonight's guests. Two weeks ago, the only newspaper he'd been mentioned in was the Wall Street Journal. Today, he and his courtesans are the most talked about people in New York. Ladies and Gentlemen, Eric Kruppa, Helen Barrington and B Kennedy." The applause lights went on above the cameramen and the audience dutifully clapped their hands but, in the wings, we didn't feel the love. After our entrance -- the girls in their shortest and sheerest dresses and killer heels -- after the kisses and handshakes, our genial host wasted no time getting to the point. "Eric. Isn't it strange that there has been so much media interest in your exhibition but really very few people have seen your work because, for all the reasons it's controversial, we just can't show any of it?" "It's not strange, Michael. Goya's Maya and Titian's Venus both caused similar debates and they were seen by even less people. It's easy for the people to take offence by proxy. Critics would be out of a job tomorrow if everyone formed their own opinions." There was a smattering of laughter from the audience. "I think we've just become too used to the mass media censorship. So we assume that whatever they can't show us, must be truly awful." I was actually quoting B. "Well I for one can see what all the fuss is about." Michael had discovered, like so many before him, that B doesn't wear panties. "That's why I wore such a short dress." B quipped to the audience's general amusement. "Now I know how Michael Douglas felt in Basic Instinct." That made B dimple, but neither her legs nor her hem moved a millimetre. "We may not be able to show the viewers just what has got the press so excited but, with your permission, we put some of your work on show in the studio lobby earlier and asked our audience for their opinion. Would it surprise you to know that their views are quite polarized?" "Not at all. I'm pleased to hear it. Art should provoke strong responses. Love it or hate it? Either way you're not indifferent to it." Again, I was paraphrasing something B read to me once. "Ok, but I was surprised that nearly half the positive response came from female audience members." B cut in. "Why?" "Why was I surprised?" "Yes." She gave Michael her sweetest smile. "Well... certainly porn has traditionally been a male vice." "And does looking at Eric's images of me arouse you more or less than porn?" Again B's innocent expression belied the nature of her question. Michael was losing control of this interview fast. "Ok. I'll rephrase the question." "You didn't actually ask a question, Michael." Helen pointed out helpfully. I wondered if our host had noticed she wasn't wearing panties either. "I surrender." He held up both hands. "Eric? Are they always this tough?" "All the time. Want to start over?" "Thank you." There was another bit of laughter as Michael made a show of composing himself. "Eric? What do you think men and women respectively get out of your work?" "I'll let B answer that. She's the one with the art history degree." I passed the ball. "Eric's camera focuses on the most defining feminine characteristic. Hindu art and iconography has depicted the yoni -- the vagina -- for centuries and it has always defined women's role in society -- every society. Its condition defined our purity, its function defined the earliest religions and its desirability defined our worth. Only its innate beauty has not been closely examined until comparatively recently. But that's changing." "By recently, you mean the porn industry?" "Not just porn. The fashion for Brazilians and Californians isn't just for porn stars. Women are much more comfortable with their vaginas than ever before. Labiaplasty is getting more popular and no woman goes through surgery to have a prettier vagina if she thinks its something dirty to be hidden under layer after layer of clothing and surrendered only grudgingly to her husband in return for the privilege of bearing his children. The success of The Vagina Monologues is testament to the leading role the vagina is taking in defining what it is to be a modern woman. It's a medical fact that the clitoris is the only organ in the human body that has no purpose other than pleasure. So whether you believe in intelligent design or natural selection, there's no escaping the fact that women are clearly meant to enjoy their vaginas. Eric focuses on that one aspect of our nature, not to deny all the other aspects but because it is the one universal aspect of femininity." "And Mr Kruppa's images are certainly beautiful." "Thank you." I said. "Thank you." Echoed B, choosing to interpret his comment as a compliment to her too, as the subject of my work. "And you, Helen?" Michael turned to my other courtesan. "How do you feel about the way you've been represented?" "I love the way Eric has represented me. I sent my parents one of the prints of B and I together. They thought it was beautiful. Mom hung it up in the family room." "Your parents?" Michael looked shocked but he already knew this from the pre-show interview. "I'm not ashamed of my body, nor of my choice of lovers." She glanced at B. "And it was an image of you that became the star of the exhibition." "Yes." Helen looked proud. "The most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of my life: strapped to a brass bedstead so I couldn't move while Eric took about two hundred pictures for the collage." "One hundred and sixty nine." I corrected. "Fifteen minutes." Helen repeated, pointedly. There was laughter. "Make the most of it Darling." B leant forward to speak to Helen. "According to Andy Warhol, that's your lot." There was another ripple of laughter. "So none of you think the images are unnecessarily explicit?" "Unnecessarily explicit?" I knew what he was alluding to but I wanted him to say it out loud. "Several of your photographs appear to have been taken during or immediately after sex." "Yes. A picture of a woman breast feeding isn't any more controversial than any other image of a bare breast so why should a picture of a vagina in use be more 'unnecessarily explicit' than a picture of a breast in use?" "There is a difference." "Agreed, but my work asserts that, while that difference does exist, it shouldn't. I show women in a state of arousal. That is the proof of the pleasure they take in being exhibitionist. If anyone is being exploited by my work, it is the people who look at it. Your voyeurism is what motivates these women to expose themselves to the public gaze. I'll bet you a thousand dollars for the charity of your choice, that B is moist right now because, as you mentioned earlier, you can see up her dress." "Don't bet, Michael. He knows me too well." B hugged my arm for a moment. "Spoilsport." I lightly kissed B's hair. "Michael, the short answer to all your questions is I take the pictures because I enjoy looking at these girls naked. I sell the pictures because people want to buy them. Nobody is forced to look at them. Nobody is forced to pose for them. To be offended by them, you have to go out of your way to find them because they're not in magazines, on the Internet or on show in public spaces other than my gallery. If you visit a friend's home and find an eight foot high cunt on the wall and it offends you, complain to them, not me." I realized too late that I'd used one of Helen's favourite words. "Well that's all we have time for tonight, but I'm sure your work will continue to polarize opinion for a long time to come. Thank you all for being on the show." "Thank you for inviting us." "Ladies and Gentleman, Eric Kruppa, B and Helen." There was more than just Pavlovian applause as the on-air signs blinked out. I think we won at least some of their hearts and minds. * * * * * "Girls, you're going to have to have some new fantasies." We'd just got back from the TV studio and I was drinking bourbon and branch water while Helen and B, naked already, undressed me from the shoes up. "Why?" Helen asked. "Because B definitely has the most famous pussy in North America, you've both fucked a whole fraternity, Helen had a threesome with her Mom and Daddy -- ok, so your Mom was unconscious but it's as close as you're ever likely to get - and your cunt has now earned over a million dollars." "There's still Brad, George and Angelina." B reminded me of her Hollywood fantasy. "Which is probably not possible." "And B wanted a perversion named after her." Helen recalled. "Oh, that we can do. That trick where you two try to grind your pussies together with Moby trapped in the middle: Sort of half frotting and half pole dancing. I can't recall ever seeing that on the Internet. I don't think it has a name. B could have that one." It had been a great game too. "Really?" B's face lit up. "If we can get some pictures of it and call it B's waxing, it may just catch on." Helen looked at B. B looked at Helen. They both realized that I'd been thinking about that for a while. "Get your camera." They said in unison. You know? I think I can really make a career for myself in art.