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Nailed

By: Cal Y. Pygia



I've never been good with my hands.

I'd never make a mechanic, a carpenter, or an artist. I've known this since I made the mistake of taking shop in high school last year and received a "D" because none of my projects were executed well. For example, I made a birdhouse that even a wren would reject, and my lamp wouldn't light when the switch was depressed. Even the comedy and tragedy masks I made turned out lopsided. Knowing my ineptitude, I was reluctant to apply for a job as a construction crew laborer, but my friend Vinnie, who'd worked for the same crew the previous summer, assured me that I wouldn't need to be handy. As a laborer, I'd be the crew's gopher, more apt to make coffee-and-doughnut runs than to hammer a nail, saw a board, or plaster drywall.

The foreman, David, seemed to like me from the outset. He was a tall, muscular, well-tanned man in his thirties, with curly blond hair and sky-blue eyes. Like most of the other men on the crew, he often worked without a shirt, and the bronzed flesh upon his deep, chiseled chest and six-pack abs gleamed with sweat. He looked like a Greek god when he hammered nails, and I couldn't help but to admire the way his biceps swelled when he lifted his arm; I almost leaped at the sharp clang of the hammerhead as he drove each nail home with a single blow, making short work of even the most demanding carpentry tasks.

Vinnie's prediction proved to be true. I was never asked to do more than hold a board in place while someone on the crew sawed or hammered it, carry supplies from one place on the worksite to another, or fetch meals from the roach coach at lunchtime.

At first, I was self-conscious around the other guys. They were men; I was just a high school kid working a summer job. They were skilled with their hands. I was inept. They were muscular and tanned. I was pale and skinny. Their hands were rough and callused. Mine were, like the rest of me, soft and smooth as a girl. In fact, I felt more like a girl around them than I felt that I was one of the guys.

I guess a couple of them thought I was more girlish than manly, too, because Gus, a handsome young man with glossy black hair, sideburns, and a thin mustache, jabbed at my asshole through the seat of my jeans one day when he and I were working alone on one of the houses we were building. I turned, angry, and glared at him over my shoulder. "Quit it!" I ordered. "What are you, a faggot?" He just laughed at me.

The incident bothered me. It made me uncomfortable. I already felt self-conscious and uncertain around the macho men with whom I worked. I didn't need some asshole poking at me with a fucking screwdriver, as if I were some queer who enjoyed being fucked in the ass. I decided to talk to David about the incident. Maybe, I hoped, he'd fire Gus. Then, I wouldn't have to worry about the bastard.

I found the foreman by himself, hammering nails into the drywall that would form the skeleton of a living room wall in somebody's future home.

"He was just playing with you," David remarked after I'd reported the matter.

"Well, I don't like his sense of humor," I complained. "I don't see anything funny about one man poking another man in the ass." My reference to myself as a man surprised me, but David didn't seem to notice it.

"Gus is okay," David assured me. "Sometimes, he just likes to play around with the new crew members."

I frowned, uncertain as to how to respond. Maybe I was making too much of the incident. Besides, David had thrown me by referring to me, a mere gopher, as a "crew member." Was that how my boss thought of me, as one of the crew, as one of the guys, as a man among men? Vaguely, I wondered whether Gus had also prodded Vinnie in the ass when he'd worked as the crew's laborer last summer. If so, Vinnie hadn't mentioned the incident to me. Maybe I should forget about the matter.

"It's just a guy thing, Mike," David informed me, "like football players patting each other on the ass after a touchdown. I'll talk to him about it, though."

I shrugged. "Okay." As long as Gus didn't do it again, I guessed I could let the matter drop.

"Where are you going?" David asked as I turned to leave.

"Gus needs me to--"

"Stay," the foreman interrupted me. "I could use your help myself."

I repressed a smile. "Sure, boss."

We worked side by side the rest of the afternoon. I didn't do much. David did most of the actual work while, mostly, I watched. The hammer flew in his hand as he pounded nails, his fist tight around the handle of the hammer, his biceps swelling with every lift of the tool, and the deep bronze flesh of his naked torso gleaming with sweat. I thought about Gus' prodding hammer, blushing at the unbidden fantasy that it had been David, not Gus, who'd poked my asshole, and that it was his thick, hard cock, not a screwdriver, that he'd thrust between the cleavage of my ass, which hadn't been covered by denim jeans and cotton briefs but had been as bare as David's naked chest. I felt my cock stir inside my jeans, and I blushed again, more deeply, trying to concentrate on the work at hand--which, for me, was passing nails to David so that he could hammer without pause. Each time he'd snatch the offered nail from my fingers, an electric thrill flashed through me as the tips of his thick fingers touched mine.

Maybe I'd reacted so strongly to Gus' asinine behavior with the screwdriver because, secretly, deep down, I was attracted to other men, too--or, at least, to certain other men. Maybe I was a faggot and just hadn't realized that I thought of men--or men like David, anyway--the way that women thought of them.

As I continued to hand off nails to David, I found that my eyes had wandered to his crotch. His jeans were tight, and the outline of his cock and balls showed beneath the snug denim. Judging by the bulge there, he was long and thick, and he had big balls. I wondered if, beneath the jeans, he wore any underwear. The clear outline of his genitals suggested that he did not. Did Gus wear underwear? I had no idea. I'd never glanced at his crotch.

Another thought occurred to me. Vinnie didn't wear underwear, either, not since he'd worked for David as a laborer last summer. I know, because I'd had physical education class with him, and I'd seen him dress and undress before and after showering. I'd even asked him about it. "Vinnie, what's up with not wearing underwear?" I'd enquired, curious. He'd smiled. "I don't wear them anymore," he'd confided. "They're too restrictive."

Was Vinnie's decision to go without briefs after working for David a mere coincidence? I wondered.

The next day, I decided not to wear any underwear. At first, I was afraid that the other guys on the crew would notice. They might say something. Even worse, Gus might be inspired to try something stupid. Maybe, I thought, it hadn't been such a good idea, after all, to omit my briefs. On the other hand, not wearing underwear made me very much aware of my cock and balls. My dangling genitals swung and bobbed when I bent or crouched, and the glans of my penis rubbed against the denim that covered my otherwise bare crotch. I was also more conscious of my ass. When I sat, there was one less layer of material between my buttocks and the hard wood of the floor or the bed of the pickup truck that doubled as a lunchtime bench. I felt liberated.

During the day, I surreptitiously glanced at the other guys' crotches, even Gus', and saw that none of them seemed to wear boxers or briefs, either. The bulging outlines of their cocks and balls were plain, clearly indicating their respective dimensions. Gus' cock, I noticed, was relatively small. I smiled to myself, glad that the asshole had been cursed with a little prick. Maybe the size--or lack thereof--of his penis was the reason he felt the need to poke other guys in the ass; maybe he felt more like a man by symbolically feminizing other males.

Toward the end of the day, I had to take a leak, and I was approaching the porta-potty when I heard a low moan. Someone has been hurt, I thought. I rushed forward, toward the sound, which had come from behind the portable toilet. I stopped in my tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape, when I saw Gus and another crew member named Steve lying on the ground, naked, with the latter's cock up the former's ass, thrusting like mad. Steve grunted as he shoved his prick farther into Gus' asshole, and Gus moaned again, more deeply. They were both so intent upon themselves that neither had seen me. Thank God! I thought, as I hastened away from them, the need to urinate suddenly gone and forgotten.

What should I do? I asked myself as I returned to the job site. Report them to David? Let Gus and Steve know I'd seen them fornicating? Ignore the whole matter? The sight of the two men fucking had shaken me. I found a seat on the steps of a brick Colonial and sat, trying to collect myself.

"Mike!" It was David, calling to me from the second-story window of the adjacent house. "I could use a hand."

I rose and went to him, deciding not to mention the incident between Gus and Steve. After all, they were grown men. What they decided to do on their break was their business. I just wished I hadn't seen them doing it. I made another decision, too. From now on, I was going to wear underwear. I didn't want faggots like Gus and Steve eyeing my cock and balls through my jeans. The next time I was alone with Gus, he might want to use more than a screwdriver on my ass!

Inside the house, I found the stairs and climbed them to the second story. Oddly, I didn't hear David's hammer. Maybe he was waiting for the help he needed from me. I crossed the space that would become a bedroom and hurried down the unfinished hallway to what would become the master bedroom. This room was partly finished. Drywall had been hung on the four walls' framework of two-by-four timbers, closing off the view except through the window out of which David had looked when he'd called to me a few moments ago.

I reached the doorway--and stopped, my eyes widening at the sight of my foreman standing completely naked, his thick, hard cock in hand, masturbating. My lower jaw dropped, as I turned, muttering an apology, and started to leave.

"Stay, Mike," he said. "Please."

I paused outside the room, uncertain of what to do. I'm no faggot, I told myself, but, at the same time, I had to admit--to myself, at least--that I was attracted to David. He was handsome as hell, and he had a body such as sculptors carved to represent a god like Adonis or Apollo. My staring eyes swept down his deep, tanned chest, over his firm six-pack abs, to the erect penis closed in his pumping fist and the jiggling balls in the taut, risen bag of his scrotum, imagining his manhood inside my mouth or up my ass. Run! I told myself, but I also thought, Stay!

My hesitation told David all he needed to know. "Take off your clothes, Mike," he ordered.

A moment later, I was naked, like David. I knelt before him, to worship his cock. I kissed the purple glans, licked the swollen shaft, and nuzzled his balls with my lips. I took one of his testicles into my mouth, working my inner cheeks around the elliptical gonad. David moaned (sounding much as Gus had!) I spat out the testicle before taking the other into my mouth and administering the same treatment to it. Then, I lifted my head, leaving a strand of saliva glistening between my lower lip and my foreman's balls. The thin string broke as I pressed my open mouth down, over, and along David's magnificent prick, feeling my lips drag against the smooth, tight flesh of his rigid, swollen penis. He was too long for me to take the entire length of his manhood into my mouth, but I took as much of his erection between my rounded lips as possible, and he moaned again. The sound reminded me of what I'd seen behind the porta-john. I remembered Steve's prick sliding through the ring of Gus' anus as the former's balls slammed repeatedly into the latter's buttocks. My own cock was stiff and swollen now; it stood upright against my belly. I had to confess that I was every bit as much a faggot as Gus was; I wanted David's cock as devoutly as Gus had wanted Steve's cock--and my ass.

Ravenous to be fed, I sucked greedily at David's massive manhood, my head bobbing up and down as I pumped my lips back and forth upon his distended shaft, my fingers playing with the huge balls within his silken scrotum. I loved the feel of the rigid column of flesh between my pumping lips and the fullness of its girth inside the warm-soft-wetness of my mouth. I'd become a cocksucker--and I loved it!

After another few minutes, David placed a hand atop my head, stroking me as if I were a pet. "Stop."

My mouth full of his cock, I looked up at him, a quizzical expression on my face. I knew he was enjoying the blowjob. Why would he want me to stop before he'd reached orgasm?

Dutifully, I withdrew, letting his saliva-glistening cock slide free of my mouth and lips.

"Turn around," he told me.

I knew what was coming, and I did as I'd been told, facing away from him and positioning myself upon my elbows and knees, legs wide, to allow him access to my asshole.

He knelt behind me, and I felt his fist against my backside as he guided his erection into the deep cleavage of my bottom. His hard column of flesh parted the inward-curving slopes of my buttocks, and his rubbery glans pressed against the portal of my asshole. Not knowing whether to expect pleasure or pain, I gritted my teeth and waited. A moment later, his cock, pressing resolutely against my tiny, puckered anus, gained entrance, spreading my sphincter to the same girth as his prick, and he fed the thick, hard stalk of his manhood into my bowels, inch by slow inch, until he'd buried the entire length of his organ inside my rectum and his pubic hair rasped against the sleek flesh of my impaled buttocks. My anus fluttered frantically about his invading member, as if attempting, vainly, to dislodge the trespassing organ. His cock planted in my ass to the hilt, David waited for the spasms to subside; when they did, he began to fuck me.

Withdrawing his cock from my bottom until only the glans remained within my sphincter, he drove his prick down, fast and hard, and the massive organ slid through my asshole, into the depths of my bowels. Back and forth, with greater force and an ever-increasing tempo, his prick pumped inside my anus as he thrust home again and again, assaulting my ass. My buttocks flattened beneath his every advance, bouncing back as he withdrew to slam his cock deep into my backside again, wracking my frame, shaking my jutting cock, and jiggling my balls. Every time his penis shoved into my ass, I thought he'd split me in half, but I managed to accommodate his tick, rigid prick, and, after several minutes of his ravaging assault, moaning and groaning, he slid his cock free, and I felt his warm semen splatter against my naked backside.

We dressed, and I left, looking forward to another day of work. On the way to my car, I saw Gus. He smiled at me, and I smiled back at him, no longer thinking him a disgusting "faggot." In fact, he was kind of cute. Had he been with David, too? I wondered. Most likely, I decided. There was probably a good reason that no one on David's crew wore underwear. I knew that I never would again. As Vinnie had said, they were too restrictive.

Good ol' Vinnie! I thought. When I got home, I'd give him a call. When he answered the phone, I'd say, "I know why you don't wear underwear anymore, Vin; I don't either." After all, like David, Gus, Steve, and the other guys on the crew, Vinnie's kind of cute, too. 

Nailed



The eleven minutes past ten pulled out of Doncaster station bang on time, pulling me towards an interview that could change my life – if I got the job. Big 'if,' I thought, sweating and feeling distinctly un-presentable as I made my way down the carriages, looking for an unoccupied seat. 

I don't deny it, I'm fond of women, but no thought of sitting close enough to chat one up, or anything like that, crossed my mind, as I walked down the carriage that Tuesday morning. My mind was still on how I had only just caught the bloody train – how the useless taxi-driver had dawdled all the way to the station, and the queue at the ticket-window.........

I sat down, with a resigned grunt, in the first free seat I found, dumping my slim briefcase on the overhead rack, and watched as the trees gathered speed outside the window. It wasn't until we had passed Bawtry, and I had settled more comfortably in my seat that I became aware of the woman in the seat opposite. Dark glasses obscured a slim face under a swept-up blonde hairstyle, exposing very long pendant ear-rings, which touched her silk-clad shoulders. She was reading a paper-back copy of what appeared to be an Anaïs Nin novel in the original French. Interesting, I thought. But what was most fascinating about her was her fingernails. They were longer than is fashionable, painted vermillion red, and one – the left pinky – had a ring inserted through the nail itself, from which a diamond (I can't say with honesty it was diamond, on second thoughts, it could have been any stone) depended. What a remarkable thing to wear! My interest was really piqued. 

By the time we passed through Newark, we had been served coffee, and I had offered her my napkin when the train's motion made her spill a drop on the table between us. She smiled slightly, and put down her novel, shifting in her seat. I felt then the electric touch of her ankle against mine, and wondered instantly if it were an accident. I decided on a bold test, and responded in kind, moving mine against her's in a deliberate way. She made no move to retreat, but I felt her gaze upon me, even though she kept her shades firmly on.

I now knew that my advance was not unwelcome, and began to caress her leg with my ankle slowly and firmly. I was getting hard and no mistake. She pursed her lips ever so slightly, then I felt her foot come creeping up the leg of my trousers, infinitely slowly, until it reached my crotch. I reached down and took a hold of her foot, finding it encased in a strappy, patent leather, stiletto-heeled sandal. I looked at her, and saw a gentle smile playing across her lips. Then, very deliberately, she opened her lips just a fraction, and her tongue darted out for a fraction of a second, and back again, in a gesture I could easily have missed. Taking that as an invitation, I unbuckled her shoe, and took it off, placing it on the seat beside me. Her nylon-clad foot ground into my groin, and I stiffened so suddenly that I almost came there and then. She knew, and grinned. I wished she would remove the glasses, but no word had passed between us, and somehow to speak would have broken the spell.

When she withdrew her foot, we were passing through Huntingdon, and I couldn't believe how quickly the journey was passing. She became almost distant again, and picked up her novel again as Biggleswade came and went. Then the London suburbs, and we rolled, on time, into Kings Cross.

I thought the episode over, and was about to consign it to my store of nasty memries, when we all got up to alight from the train. I took down my briefcase, and the lady opposite took down an almost identical one from the same shelf, then walked down the aisle ahead of me, without glancing back. I now saw she wore a blue business suit and was slim and elegant – probably around forty years of age. As she got off the train, she stood for a moment on the platform, and turned as I got down, looking deliberately in my direction. Then she simply extended a finger into the air and crooked it, just once, indicating that I should follow. With that, she turned on her heel, and left the platform in a clicking of high heels. I followed obediently.

The other side of a line of black cabs, were three limousines, and she walked straight to the first one, a black Mercedes limo with blacked-out windows, just like the rest. She got in, and motioned me to join her. When I did so, and sat with her on soft leather seats, above shag-pile carpets, she rapped on the obscured partition in front, and we moved off, I knew (nor cared) not where. I had several hours to kill before my interview, anyway – what the hell?

Making no move, still to remove the sunglasses, or to speak, my hostess, took off her jacket, and motioned that I should do similarly, then poured me a whisky into a cut-glass tumbler as we moved smoothly through the traffic. But I was more interested in completing what we had started on the train.

I took her in my arms, and kissed her hungrily, finding her responding in kind, her tongue searching mine, then probing deeply. But when I tried to remove her glasses, she resisted, pushing my hand away, and did the same when I went to unbutton her blouse, instead unfastening the waistband of her skirt, and wriggling out of its tight constriction, pulling it down impatiently, revealing her long legs clad in black, lace-topped nylons, garter-belt, and white silk lace panties. As I reached to stroke her honeyed thighs, hook my fingers under the panties, she was unzipping my fly, and reaching under my underpants to release my surging cock, now urgently demanding attention. When I saw her amazing nails wrapped around my hungry length, I was within an ace of spurting, for the second time that day, and had to use every ounce of self-control I could. She bent down and licked the pre-cum from my glans, and took me deep in her throat. I threw my head back and cried out in the privacy of the limo.

I pulled the lace panties down, revealing a clean shaven mound, with moist lips, into which I plunged three fingers, finding the depths of her vagina instantly open and welcoming. When I came up and flicked her clit, she groaned and closed her eyes in ecstasy, then she could wait no longer for my cock to be inside her, and pulled me almost roughly on to her. We merged, and I took her, my balls banging hard against her arse as I thundered in and out, then there was to be no delay, and I came in one huge thick creamy surge. 

She handed me a towel, and wiped herself with another, which I noticed was monogrammed, although I couldn't read the initials. Then she rapped again on the partition, and the limo came to a halt. She had thrown a rug over her legs. She opened the door, reaching past me, and motioned to me to get out.

'Goodbye,' she said. It was the first and only time she spoke, and I was stood on the pavement outside Buckingham Palace. At least it was somewhere I recognised, I thought.

I ate a pub-lunch, and killed a bit of time reflecting on the morning's entertainment, then shrugged, and tried to put it all to the back of my mind, and concentrate on the interview ahead. After all, if I was going to be a major advertising executive................

I turned up at the appointed hour. A skinny secretary bade me sit in a posh reception area, where I read a holiday brochure.

Then I was summoned to the inner sanctum, where I was told that Ms Fuller would no see me. I walked into an opulent office, with modern furnishings and decoration, and its occupant came from behind the desk to greet me. She was a very attractive blonde in a blue business suit and silk blouse, her long hair flowing around her shoulders, and blue eyes sparkling as she passed the time of day. But something like recognition dawned as she sat behind the walnut desk, and she drummed her fingers on the pad in front of her. The nails! My God! There were no other nails on God's earth like that – couldn't be. The little ring in the pinky. Those nails, which had so recently encircled my shaft!

Should I get up and leave right now? I couldn't even think. But Ms Fuller was equal to the occasion, and seemed to be enjoying it all – like a private joke.

How I got through the interview, I don't know, but, dear reader, I got the job! And Ms Fuller and I? We have a full and efficient businesss relationship, in case you wanted to know.

THE END



Nailed



My pen name should be a tip-off, but don't expect completely plausible circumstances in my stories. If you can let go of your inhibitions and nagging sense of 'could that really happen', then you might just like my stories. They're all about heat, pure and simple.

Please do vote/comment when you finish. That's what makes all the typing worthwhile.

****

Helen was a little surprised when the doorbell rang at precisely nine a.m., exactly when the contractor had told her that the workers would arrive to build her new deck. She was even more surprised when she opened the door and saw two young men who couldn't be more than twenty years old.

"Helen Flint?" One of the sandy-haired young men asked.

"Yes," she answered, doing her best not to stare at the muscular workmen.

"Just making sure we're at the right place. I'm Mike, and this is Ron. We'll get around back and get started. We've put up about three of these the last couple of weeks, so we've got it down. Should be done by late afternoon."

"That's perfect," Helen responded, still fighting against her wandering eyes and thinking, Speaking of perfect...

The two, nearly identical young men turned and walked back to their truck. Helen hesitated before she closed the door, her eyes locked on their butts. She shivered and let out a hungry little moan after closing the door. Having anticipated overweight men showing plumber's crack all day, she was more than pleasantly surprised by reality.

With the kids gone to her ex-husband's house for the week, Helen planned to enjoy her first day of vacation. Shortly after sitting down to watch her soaps, she heard the tools starting in the back yard. A satisfied smile spread across her face, because she knew that by this evening, she would have a deck that one-upped the one that her snotty neighbors refused to shut up about.

A little over an hour later, Helen headed to the kitchen for a drink. She passed a window on the way to the cabinet, and froze in her tracks.

Helen's nipples stiffened and she blew out a long, slow, whistling breath. Both of the blond men were hard at work, their shirts hanging from the side mirror of their truck. She had to resist the urge to lick her lips as she drank them in. Both had six-packs, and sparse body hair — just a little triangle between their rippling pecs and a trail pointing from their navels to their tight jeans.

She couldn't resist taking a long look at their jeans, either — or rather the large bulges in them. When one of the men turned her way, she quickly stepped away from the window so that they wouldn't see her staring at them like a horny teenager. That was exactly how she felt, though. She hadn't even been on a date in months, let alone had sex.

Her glass of water in hand, Helen couldn't resist one more quick peek as she passed the window. Once again, she shivered as a chilly tingle shot through her from between her legs. Daydreams about the shirtless men kept her from really seeing anything on the television for the next half hour or so, and she eventually turned it off.

Helen picked up the phone to order something to eat, but saw the low battery indicator flashing. With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, she took the handset back to the charger and went to the bedroom to fetch the other phone. As she walked past the bathroom, she passed through a curtain of warm air.

Forgot to close the window, she realized, having opened all the windows on the back of the house the night before to let in the cool evening air. She walked into the bathroom to close it, but stopped and cocked her ear toward the window when she heard the workers in the back yard talking. They were talking quietly, but standing near enough to the open window that she could hear every word.

"How old do you think she is?"

"Maybe thirty. Shocked the hell out of me when she opened the door. Thought this was an old-folks neighborhood."

Helen couldn't help but smile at that, as any woman of thirty-five would.

"Swing set. That means kids, and that means..."

Both young men finished the sentence simultaneously, "MILF." They shared a laugh.

"She's got great tits. And that fucking ass in those jeans?"

"Bam! I would hit that like a prize-fighter."

"Yeah, but who goes first?"

"Flip a coin. Who gives a fuck? I'd take sloppy seconds for a piece of that ass."

Helen stood listening, her breathing heavy and her fingers pressed hard against the denim between her legs. Her fantasies took on a whole new dimension.

Could she?

Would they?

The thought of being with both of them had her flowing like a river. As quickly as the thought formed in her head, she popped open two buttons on her blouse, took off her bra, and dropped it on the bathroom floor. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that her stiff nipples were poking at the cloth.

I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought, but she couldn't resist the intense arousal. She ran a brush through her brown curls, checked her makeup, and headed for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she opened the sliding glass door and held up a tray when the two men turned toward her. "It's awfully hot out here. I thought you might like some ice cold lemonade."

"Cool. Thanks," Mike said, and then walked over to take the tray.

Though they tried to hide it, Helen was watching for the young men to take note of her hard nipples and bared cleavage. They'd noticed, and shared a quick smile as Mike carried the tray over to the patio table.

"Just let me know if you run out," Helen offered with a smile and a coquettish, finger-wiggling wave. She could see them whispering to each other even before the door slid completely closed.

Helen felt wonderfully alive. She knew that they were only thinking of her as a sex object, but she didn't care. New excuses to tempt them flashed through her head, and she soon settled on one. She stopped in the bathroom on the way to her bedroom, but pouted when she couldn't overhear them saying anything about her. They were too far from the window.

In the bedroom, she filled a laundry basket with her sexiest panties, skimpy nightgowns, and even a lacy bustier that she'd only worn once for her ex-husband. She considered adding the garters and stockings, but thought that might be a bit too much. These she ran through a quick wash, just long enough to get them wet and spin them out. Everything went back in the basket, and she headed for the back door once more.

"Do you think you could help me down? It's quite a drop with the porch gone."

"Sure thing," Ron answered. He picked up one of the small patio tables, and Helen nearly swooned when he flexed his muscles — obviously overdoing it for her benefit. He carried it over, placed it beneath the door, and then offered her a hand to steady her as she descended.

"Thank you," Helen said once she reached the ground.

"No problem," he said with a wide grin, his gaze straight down her cleavage.

Helen placed the basket on the ground, and took her time hanging up the clothing. She bent instead of squatting to pull things out of the basket, offering a perfect view of her ass for her audience. Every time she hung something on the line, she turned in profile so that the young men could see her breasts lifting.

Neither Ron nor Mike was doing a very good job of hiding their looks or their desire by the time she picked up the empty basket and strolled back to the door. Mike offered his hand to help her up this time.

In a flash of naughty inspiration, she feigned a stumble upon stepping on the table. She quite nearly overdid it, and might have in fact fallen, had Mike not caught her as she spun. It was all she could do not to moan with her hands against his sweat dampened chest, and his on her back and bottom.

"Careful, there," he said as he reluctantly moved his hands.

"I'm so clumsy sometimes," she said, and punctuated it with a silvery laugh. "Well, let's try this again."

Mike held her hand a little tighter this time, and placed his hand behind her butt as she ascended without touching her. She gave the pair another smile as she closed the door and walked away with her bottom swaying. She just saw them walking away from the window as she turned the corner.

Back in the bathroom once more, she climbed up on the toilet and perked her ear to the window, just below the sill.

"Sexy bitch," she heard Ron finish in a hushed voice.

"That ass is as tight as it looks, too."

"Bet the panties she's wearing are as wet as the ones on the line."

They are, Helen thought.

"She sure acts like she wants it."

"No way, dude. Unless she comes right out and says, wanna fuck, we can't risk it. Boss would fire us in a heartbeat. We better keep our eyes in our head."

"Weren't thinking that when you pulled that look at my muscles shit when you were picking up the table. Where'd you get that move?"

"Ah, fuck you," Ron said, and then laughed, his voice receding as he moved away from the window.

Helen sat down on the toilet and caressed her aching sex through her jeans. It wasn't enough, and she soon popped them open. She could feel the wetness on her panties as she stroked her finger over them, and her hand slipped underneath a moment later.

A whimper escaped her as she pushed a finger past her damp curls and into her saturated pussy. She froze, remembering the open window. If she could hear them, then they could probably hear her. The thought was tempting, but she couldn't go through with it.

She was in desperate need of relief, though. She stood and walked to the bedroom, kicking off her shoes as soon as she crossed the threshold. She peeled off her jeans and flopped down on the bed, jerking down her panties as well.

Two fingers plunged in and out of her depths as she rubbed her clit in fast circles. She licked her lips as she imagined Mike's cock in her mouth while Ron's replaced her fingers buried inside her. The thought of being with two men at the same time, something she'd never even seriously considered, brought her to a fever pitch in a hurry. She kept her teeth clenched tight, letting none of the squeals and cries threatening to escape her free, and exploded into orgasm only a minute or so later.

Helen lay on the bed, quivering and panting for breath, wondering if she could take the last step.

****

"There you are," Helen said as she handed back the clipboard after signing the work order.

"You shouldn't have any problems, but everything is guaranteed. Just give us a call if anything isn't right, and we'll send someone out that day to fix it."

It had taken nearly two hours of agonizing over it, but Helen had finally summoned up the courage to make her move. The remaining time until the two men finished their work had been torturous. "So, would you get in trouble if you didn't head back right away?"

The two sandy-haired young men glanced at each other, and Mike asked, "Why?"

Helen reached out and stroked her fingers down both of their chests. "Because I've been soaking wet all day thinking about you."

Mike tossed aside the clipboard with a wide, lusty smile.

Helen turned and crooked her finger, instructing the two men to follow. As she sauntered toward the bedroom, she looked back over her shoulder to see them both tossing aside their shirts, their eyes locked on her ass. She let out a little moan and popped open the remaining buttons on her blouse, allowing it to hang open. The button on her jeans followed, and she tugged down the zipper as well.

As she stepped into the bedroom, one of Mike's hands reached around her to squeeze her breast. Ron took his squeeze from her ass, and Helen turned to face them when she reached the bed.

Helen gasped as Ron bent down to suck her left nipple between his lips. Mike tugged down her jeans at the same time. The tight denim resisted, but allowed him to reveal more than enough for his fingers to rub over the wet spot on her panties. Even though she'd changed them after masturbating, they were already wet again.

"Oh my," Helen breathed as she squeezed two hard cocks. She reached for the button on Ron's, and he let her nipple slip from his mouth to pull down his jeans. Helen moaned and licked her lips as his cock popped free. A second later, Mike's pants fell to the floor as well. Mike was a little longer, but Ron was much thicker.

She knew that she was going to love them both.

Helen sat down to wriggle out of her jeans, and had two gorgeous cocks in her face as soon as she kicked the denim away. She wrapped her hands around them and stroked them both while writhing from a hand from each man squeezing her breasts and teasing her nipples.

"Fuck yeah," Ron groaned as she took him in her mouth. Helen kept her hand rasping over Mike's shaft, though the coordination was difficult. After a few strokes, she switched.

"Yeah, suck that cock. Let me see your eyes," Mike said as he tugged on her hair.

Helen looked up at him and moaned around his stiff organ. Once he was well wetted, she started to switch back to Ron again.

"Oh!" Helen cried out as Mike's strong hands pushed her back on the bed. As Mike tore down her underwear, Ron fed her his cock.

Mike lifted one of her legs up high into the air as Ron pumped his thick shaft into her mouth and pinched her nipple hard. Her muffled cry as Mike pushed into her pussy warbled from Ron's pumping shaft. Ron hit the back of her tongue just as Mike's balls settled against her, causing her to gag.

Thick tendrils of saliva coated Ron's shaft when she wrapped her hand around the base to keep him at bay, and out of her throat. Mike's balls slapped against her as he took her hard and fast.

"Oh yeah, that pussy's tight," Mike said, and then let out an explosive growl as he slammed his cock into her hard, the tip pushing up against her cervix.

Helen yelped around Ron's cock, but quickly closed her lips around him again.

"She sucks like a fucking vacuum cleaner," Ron said, and then brushed her hair away so he could see her face.

"You like that?" Mike growled as his cock assaulted her with hot friction.

Ron pulled free just long enough to let her answer, "Oh god — yes! Fuck me!"

Helen was rapidly building toward a climax when Ron said, "Give me a shot of that pussy," and stepped away from the bed.

A loud whimper escaped Helen as Mike pulled free, leaving her with an aching void in her depths while the two men traded places. Helen groaned as Ron's thick cock stretched her a second later.

Mike slapped his pussy-slick cock against her lips a couple of times, and Helen didn't think twice about her juices covering him when she sucked him in. He seemed perfectly content to let her give him head while stroking him with her hand, more interested in watching her face than fucking it.

Helen couldn't concentrate on sucking as her passion mounted. She whimpered and cried out as Ron's cock pounded home, occasionally flicking her tongue over Mike's throbbing organ. She let out a disappointed sounding oh as Ron jerked free of her clinging sheathe.

Ron stood back from the bed, panting for breath. Mike immediately moved from the foot of the bed to the side, picking up Helen by her bottom and pulling her closer to the edge. He pushed her knees back, and then thrust inside her with a wet crackle.

"Oh god, yes," Helen cried out as her breasts bounced from his assault. Their flesh clashed with loud slaps, and he had to keep pulling her back as the force of his thrusts pushed her across the sheets.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" The words burst from Helen's lips in a rush, every word a little higher pitched than the last. Her next words were loud, drawn out, and quavering. "Fuck me hard!"

Mike grunted with every thrust as he did exactly that, pounding her pussy hard. The warm tingle of her approaching climax swelled, and Helen teetered on the edge. She screamed, desperate to come, and then the last of her breath exploded from her in a shrill cry as she exploded in orgasm.

Helen's cries of release warbled in time with Mike's thrusts as her head lashed back and forth on the bed. Her entire body was alive with ecstasy, jolts of orgasmic energy shooting through her relentlessly. A sucked in breath turned to a squeak when Mike jerked free of her tightly clenched sheathe.

An almost frightened sounding cry burst from her as Ron penetrated her once more. She felt an odd numbness as he took her hard, her body still quaking from the initial shock of her climax. Sensation slowly returned as her orgasm fitfully waned. Her eyes popped wide open as the numbness completely faded, and she realized she was near a peak again.

Having never experienced a multiple orgasm before — at least not one where the first hadn't even ended before the second claimed her — Helen lost all sense of self. She came, and came, the energy tearing through her, causing her body to thrash on the bed and inarticulate sounds to croak from her dry throat.

Whenever one of the men would come to close to climax, he would pull free, and the other would take over. Helen had no idea how long the relentless assault continued. Her vision dimmed, and her breathing grew labored. She nearly lost consciousness, and may actually have blacked out for a few seconds, because one moment Ron was pounding her pussy, and the next her legs were hanging limp over the edge of the bed.

"You okay?" She heard over the sound of her own loud breathing, though the words sounded distant, almost as if they were coming from inside a barrel.

"I... I..." She hyperventilated for a few seconds, trying to draw oxygen into her starved lungs. "Oh... Oh god."

Helen slowly became aware that she was drenched in sweat despite the air-conditioning. She regained her senses with her breath after a couple of minutes, just in time to see Mike walk into the room with a bottle of water, his still stiff cock bouncing with every step.

Ron helped her sit up, and Helen held out a trembling hand for the water. She coughed with the first sip, and spilled a few drops of the chilly liquid onto her breasts, which elicited a sharp cry of shock. After a few swallows and some deep breaths, she managed to drink.

"You okay now?" Mike asked.

Helen nodded her head and let out a sound similar to a bark, following it with a weak chuckle. After another drink, she glanced at one man, and then the other. "Neither... Neither of you came?"

"You just kept going and going," Ron said. "I've never seen a woman get off like that, so we just kept switching before we blew a load."

Helen handed the water back to Mike, and then fell heavily to the bed. "I've never come like that. God, I don't even remember half of it."

"So, you... You good to go again?" Mike asked, his cock twitching in anticipation.

A sharp tingle shot all through Helen's sex, protesting that idea. She wasn't about to turn them away, though.

"You could always suck us off," Ron suggested, seeing her wince.

Helen shook her head. "Give me a minute. I want to feel you come inside me."

"Seriously?" Mike asked, obviously excited about the prospect.

"Mmm hmm."

"No chick has ever let me do that before," Mike said.

"Me either," Ron agreed.

"Mmm — I get to be your first. I like that." Helen lay back and parted her legs, wincing a little as she parted the sticky curls surrounding her sex. "Am I split? Bleeding?"

Ron and Mike both looked, and Mike answered, "No. It's really red though."

"There's some lube in that drawer over there," Helen said with a weak gesture toward the night stand.

Ron retrieved the bottle and she waved toward her still parted legs when he started to hand it to her. He nodded in understanding, and moved between her legs.

Helen parted her nether lips as Ron opened the bottle. He gave it a squeeze, and Helen squealed as the cool liquid hit her hot, abused flesh. She swallowed, and rubbed the lube into her folds. She then parted her lips again and said, "More. A lot."




Nailed



She worked the lube into her after each drizzle Ron released, drawing smiles from the two men as they watched her fingers penetrate her. "Okay," she said when she felt slippery enough, and then rolled over onto her tummy.

Helen rose up to her hands and knees, and then looked back over her shoulder while she wiggled her ass. "Give it to me. Fill me full of cum."

Ron and Mike both looked at each other, and Mike said, "Flip a coin, I guess."

Ron shrugged and retrieved a quarter from his pants on the floor. "Call it."

"Heads."

Ron lifted his hand and said, "Ha. Sloppy seconds for you."

"Don't make me wait," Helen said in a sultry tone of voice, again wiggling her ass.

Ron moved in behind her and grabbed her hip with his left hand while he guided his cock inside her with the right. Helen felt a burning sting when he first penetrated her, but that quickly faded as he started thrusting.

"Do it. Fuck me. Come for me," Helen encouraged him as Ron gripped her hips tight and drove his cock home. Her breasts swung erratically from the force of his thrusts, and she had to fight to keep her hands from sliding forward.

Ron's grunts of exertion mixed with loud growls as his cum bubbled up for release. "God yes! Come for me!" Helen cried out as her own pleasure mounted.

With a deep, explosive cry, Ron jammed his cock inside her a final time. Helen could feel him throbbing, spurting his hot cream deep inside her. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Mmm hmm," she breathed as she squeezed her intimate muscles, milking his cock as he panted for breath.

"Fuck," Ron exclaimed as he withdrew, trailing a strand of their mingled juices from his cock. He fell over onto the bed with a groan.

"Move over," Mike said, already moving to mount her.

Ron weakly scooted out of the way, and Mike slid in behind her. A faint, flatulent sound accompanied his cock sliding into her already cream-filled pussy.

Helen's hair whipped as she looked back over her shoulder at him. "Take me. Fuck me. Come for me."

"Oh yeah," Mike growled, and drove his cock home again.

After only a few thrusts, Helen felt her climax swelling within her. To help it along, she dropped down to one elbow and used her other hand to rub her clit. "G-god yes, F-fuck m-me," she cried out, stuttering from the power of his thrusts. "I'm g-gonna c-come aga... Again!"

A long, deep cry rumbled from Mike as he neared his peak. Helen's fingers curled into claws, scrunching up the bed sheets while the fingers of her other hand blurred over her clit. She yelped with every thrust, just the faintest tinges of delightful pain mixed with the ecstasy swelling inside her.

Mike jammed his cock home with a grunt, and Helen exploded into orgasm. She fell face-down into the sheets, screaming into the mattress as she came, Mike's cock pulsing, filling her clenched canal with yet another load of cum.

"Shit, dude. It's almost six thirty."

Mike pulled free with a groan, a thick stream of cream flowing from Helen's gaped canal as soon as the head of his cock popped free. "Ah fuck. We've got to get back, or the boss is going to fucking kill us."

"There are washcloths in the bathroom," Helen said in a languid moan as she rolled over onto her back. Ron hurried out of the room to fetch one.

Helen lounged in the afterglow of her orgasms, leaking cum all over the bed and not the least bit concerned about it. Little stings of pain shot up her spine from her overworked pussy, but she felt it was more than worth a little discomfort.

Once Ron and Mike had finished dressing, she gestured for them to come to her. She pulled each into a passionate kiss, and then said, "My kids are gone all week."

The two young men looked at each other and chuckled. "We'll be over right after work tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting," Helen purred, and then waved as they hurried toward the back door.

She pulled over a pillow, cuddled it against her, and then chuckled as she thought, Who better to know how to nail you than a carpenter?



Nailed



The huge gathering room at Sigma Epsilon Xi fraternity house was packed with scores of college guys and girls lounging on plush furniture, standing in conversational groupings, and dancing to a pounding techno beat. A dozen students, most of them under the legal drinking age, stood in line to refill their plastic cups from the kegs on ice. On that Saturday night, spirits were high. Earlier that afternoon, Frankson University defeated its archrival, Blanding Junior College, 9-6 in a hard-hitting defensive struggle that featured no touchdowns. Kinda boring, but a win is a win. Longstanding school tradition: even if the football team sucks all season, if FU beats BJC, the coach is assured a contract extension. Now, coach Peters' job was secure. 

The relentless techno beat was so loud, Erica's ears were ringing. She stood in line at the kegs and when she arrived, filled her cup for the fourth time. Right behind her, Jodie did the same. The two sorority sisters always attended campus social functions together. Safety in numbers. Since the fall semester began six weeks before, three sexual assaults had been reported in town: one in a campus dorm and two off-campus in predominately student apartment complexes. Every co-ed at FU was taking precautions to avoid falling victim. 

The girls stepped to a far corner of the gathering room so they could talk without shouting. Standing side-by-side, their height difference was striking; at five-feet-eleven, Erica towered seven inches taller than Jodie. 

"Any of these guys make yer panties wet?" Erica asked. 

Jodie grinned. "All of 'em!" 

"Well, not that one over there. He's a creep." She pointed across the room at the creep who, earlier, made a clumsy pass.

Across the room, Tony split his attention between playing billiards with Marcus, a Sigma brother, and watching Erica. Earlier, Tony introduced himself and spent a few minutes chatting her up. He believed he was making good progress but when he asked if she wanted to go upstairs and hook up, she rebuffed his drunken proposition. Slurring his words, he said, "You don't know what yer missing." "Ohhh, you are sooo wrong." With a toss of her head, Erica turned and walked away. Tony felt humiliated. Several girls standing nearby overheard Erica's rejection and the way she delivered it: with a sardonic sneer. She's nothin' but a snotty sorority bitch, he told himself. Prob'ly thinks I'm not good enough. 

Tony sank the 8 ball, winning the game. He looked around the room, mentally undressing one girl after another and trying to guess which, if any, might be willing to jump into bed. He staggered over and struck up a conversation with a petite brunette who suddenly recalled she hadn't studied for her molecular biology midterm. She excused herself and wandered toward the far side of the room. He approached a cute strawberry blonde who spoke with him for a minute. But when her hunky boyfriend came over, Tony, sullen, walked away. Hitting on another girl ended in abject failure and she didn't mince words. "Get away from me you loser!" Scowling, she twirled on her toes and left in a huff. 

Dejected, Tony plopped down on the sofa. He chugged his beer, his seventh, then tossed the empty cup toward the fireplace. It didn't make it that far; it fell on the hardwood floor. His bleary eyes drifted back to Erica, fast dancing among the crowd. There was something about her that made his mind spin and his groin ache. 

Was it her long blonde hair? Her sky blue eyes? The perfect mounds beneath her snug sweater? The way she filled out those designer jeans? All of those pleased Tony's male sensibilities but there was something else about Erica he couldn't bring into focus, something undefined yet compelling. And he vowed, I'm gonna nail that chick if it's the last thing I ever do. 

Erica's freshman year had been difficult; she barely made the GPA cutoff to advance to her sophomore year. Too much partying and not enough studying. During her sophomore year she buckled down and got better grades and finished second semester with a solid 3.4. Now a junior, she was on the dean's list and cruising toward a degree in elementary education. She still made time for partying, just not as much. Life lesson: moderation in all things. 

Erica attended the frat party with no intention of hooking up. She just wanted to cut loose and have fun. And was she ever! For the longest time she danced and schmoozed with nice guys, none of whom made a pass. But, if she had taken one of them aside, placed her glossy lips at his ear and whispered, "Let's go upstairs," he might have leaped at the staircase and pulled a hamstring on the first riser. Such was Erica's allure: simmering sensuality and girl-next-door innocence wrapped up in one tantalizing package. 

By nature, Jodie was more reserved than Erica. But not on this night; fast dancing among the crowd, her long brunette ponytail whipped around in time with the pounding techno beat. 

Tony passed out drunk on the sofa. Before long, two girls became curious about the pronounced bulge in the front of his jeans. "Hey! Let's see what he's got," one of them suggested. The other girl snickered. "Okay!" Impulse control took a holiday. (Thanks alcohol!) They walked over and sat down on either side of him. Four fumbling hands unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his 501 blues. Pulling his jeans and plaid boxers down was difficult; at six-feet-one and 220 pounds, Tony weighed nearly twice as much as the two petite girls combined. Struggling, they shuffled down the denim and underwear until, at last, six fat flaccid inches flopped out and rolled to the side. 

"Holy crap!" the girls blurted, almost in unison. Their outburst got the attention of other girls, including Jodie. She wandered toward the sofa, weaving amongst the rapidly growing crowd of female gawkers. When she caught sight of Tony's monster meat, her eyes widened and both hands shot upward to cover her mouth. Tony's penis was the biggest she had ever seen. Bar none. Granted, she hadn't seen very many, only three in fact. Two belonged to former boyfriends and the third to a flasher. 

One Saturday afternoon near the end of her sophomore year, Jodie, texting and not paying attention to the environment, was strolling along the paved multi-use path beside the river. She heard someone cough, spurring her to look up from the screen. Just twenty feet ahead, a flasher was seated on a park bench beside the path. She ground to a halt. In the same instant, Jodie was repulsed and intrigued. She had a preconceived notion of flashers: despicable dirty old men wearing raincoats and reeking of rotgut. But not this guy: 20ish and good-looking -and no raincoat. Staring at her wearing an intense expression, he was sitting there with one leg of his gym shorts pulled up far enough to expose his erection which he was slowly stroking. He must be proud of it, Jodie thought. Why else would he be showing me? But he didn't have much to be proud of; his penis was smaller than her former boyfriends'. Lots smaller. 

Jodie had to pass in order to return to campus, but wasn't going to proceed while he sat there. She stood her ground, alternately flicking her brown eyes toward the flasher and looking away. She wasn't aware of it but her behavior was precisely what he wanted: a girl to stick around and keep looking. Jodie wasn't frightened because that section of greenbelt was in the heart of downtown and other people were nearby, jogging and riding bicycles.

With loud groan, exaggerated, Jodie thought, the flasher ejaculated; two spurts shot high into the air and a third oozed and dribbled down over his fist. His mission accomplished, the flasher tucked away his messy penis, flicked semen off his fingers, then jumped on his bicycle and made his getaway. Jodie resumed walking and texted Erica: omg!!! i just got flashed! (-:

Jodie regained her composure. She looked toward the dance floor and shouted, "Erica! Get over here!" Erica hurried over. When she caught sight of Tony's anaconda, her eyebrows jumped and her jaw went slack. "Shit!" Erica too, was agog. Huge, giant, gargantuan, elephantine, humongous, jumbo . . . Her mental thesaurus pulled up every synonym until it exhausted all entries. And it was soft! What must it look like erect? 

Marcus whipped out his phone and began shooting video. Tony's gonna love this, he thought. Tony liked watching himself with girls on video. Two weeks earlier he persuaded a girl to have sex on camera with Marcus behind the lens. The two of them carried on like porn superstars. She was a huge exhibitionist and really got off fucking on camera -got off repeatedly. Marcus loaded the video on Tony's laptop. He watched it over and over, especially the part where the girl, atop, riding his cock, had multiple orgasms. 

More and more girl gawkers gathered around Tony. Marcus captured their astonished reactions upon first glimpse. Priceless. One girl stepped close then reached down and gripped Tony's porky shaft. She held it pointed straight up then looked at Marcus and asked, "You gettin' this?" "Yeah. You grab ahold too," he told another girl. She stepped over and took ahold. Their hands couldn't close around its girth. Other girls came and went, copping a feel of what had become the central attraction at the party. The techno music stopped and no one was at the laptop to double-click another file. 

Although Tony was a creep, Erica couldn't resist joining in. She was given to impulsive behavior when intoxicated -like now. She wormed her way close and knelt on the floor at Tony's feet. Marcus repositioned himself to the side, a better video vantage point. She gripped Tony's shaft at the base and squeezed. Although he was unconscious, his hydraulics were functioning and his bulbous glans responded with swelling. Still gripping, Erica placed her appealing face directly beside his upright shaft and her sky blue eyes looked right into the lens. Smiling, she cooed, "Ooooooh! It's nice an' big an' tasty!" To demonstrate the last point, with the tip of her tongue she lightly licked his glans, just once, then backed away. 

"Omigod!" Jodie shrieked. Erica stood up and faced her friend. "C'mon, let's get refills. I gotta wash the taste outta my mouth." The two of them walked away toward the kegs. Someone double-clicked more music and the party moved on. Guys and girls schmoozed and danced the night away. And all the while, Tony remained on the sofa, unconscious, with his pants down. A typical Saturday night scene at Sigma Epsilon Xi.

* * * *

Late morning, Tony awoke on the sofa. October sunlight beaming through curtains at the windows made him squint. As the cobwebs cleared he realized his pants were down. His ass didn't hurt so he figured nothing gross happened. He struggled to his feet, pulled up his jeans and, leaving the fly unbuttoned, walked unsteadily toward the showers.

Later, a knock came at his door. He opened it and found Marcus, grinning. "Check this out dude." Marcus turned his phone so Tony could see the video on the screen. "So what?" Tony said. "Some guy gettin' a hand job." "That's you man! Last night the chicks were all over your dick." 

A wide smile spread across Tony's face. His good friend had captured some awesome footage: dozens of girls taking liberties with his penis: gripping, stroking, pinching. And the audio was pleasing too. Many of them commented on his astounding size. Then, at 4:37, Erica's face appeared onscreen. "Whoa! There's that chick!" Tony blurted. Marcus had a look. "That's Erica Lawrence," he said. "She's in my psych discussion." Erica Lawrence. Tony liked her name. It rolled off the tongue. 

"Ooooooh! It's nice an' big an' tasty!" And Erica licked his glans, one time. "Holy fuck!" Tony blurted, louder this time. He rewound the video and tapped PLAY. "Ooooooh! It's nice an' big an' tasty!" Despite being terribly hung over, Tony's penis began fluffing and pressed against the thin cotton fabric of his boxers. He kept watching in hope that Erica did more, but no. Other girls came and went, fondling his penis, but after Erica vanished from the screen, she never returned. 

"Put this on my laptop," Tony said. "I'm on it." From his room, Marcus retrieved the phone's USB cord and loaded the video on Tony's computer. He watched it time and again. With framegrab software he captured a still image: the instant Erica's tongue touched his glans. He loaded the photo and video on his phone so he could view them whenever he pleased. Such was his obsession with Erica. 

A casual observer of the video might have seen nothing more than intoxicated college kids messing around at a frat party. But Tony, a senior pre-law major, saw something else. And his devious mind was scheming to exploit the situation to get what he wanted. 

* * * *

A steady stream of students walked out through the double doors of Weatherby Hall. In groups of two, three, and more, they descended the seven limestone steps and fanned out across the plaza enroute to other points on campus. Off to one side, Tony stood beneath a tall sugar maple, its spreading branches ablaze with the golden glory of autumn. Erica passed through the doors wearing a loaded daypack on her back. After descending the steps, she flipped up the hood on her blue anorak. Tony started moving. He set a course across the plaza to intercept hers then stepped in front of her and stopped. She stopped. It took a few seconds before she realized it was the creep. 

"Whatta you want?" Her tone was barely civil. 

"I wanna show you something." He held out his phone so she could see the dick-licking still image. She hadn't been so intoxicated that she forgot about licking his penis at the party. 

"And you're showing me this because . . .?" 

"Because you need to see what sexual assault looks like."

"What're you talking about?"

"I was passed out. Couldn't consent. That makes it assault."

She arched an eyebrow. "You can't be serious." 

"I am." 

"Lemme see that again." 

Tony held out the phone again. Erica thoroughly scrutinized the photo. "That doesn't prove anything. That could be anybody." 

"You are sooo wrong." He had waited three days for this chance to fling her words back in her face. After closing the photo he opened the video, fast forwarded to 4:37, and held it out. Erica watched her face appear onscreen. "Ooooooh! It's nice an' big an' tasty!" And after she licked his penis, she vanished from view. Immediately thereafter, the camera panned and showed Tony's face. 

Erica shook her head. "That still doesn't prove anything."

"Well, I think it does." He stopped the video and pocketed his phone before adding, "I'm willing to offer you a deal."

"A deal? What kinda deal?" 

"I won't report you to the police if you let me fuck you." 

Erica scowled. Her jaw dropped. The audacity! "HELL NO! GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!" Her outburst turned heads among students crisscrossing the plaza. Livid, Erica spun around and stormed away. God! What an asshole! She was striding so briskly, almost stomping, that one foot slipped on some damp leaves and she nearly took a tumble. 

Tony sneered. All right. If that's how she's gonna be, I can play hardball. 

By the time Erica arrived at her sorority house, Lambda Delta Chi, she had calmed down. Tony's attempted coercion was nothing she cared to share with her girlfriends; it was a non-event. After supper she studied for three hours before calling it a night. She used the bathroom one last time then stripped naked and crawled into bed. Velvety smooth satin kissing her bare skin always felt divine. Lying beneath the blankets, alone in the darkness, Tony's words came hurling back. "Well, I think it does." 

He won't go to the police. Honestly! A guy wouldn't make a complaint like that. Laughable! Besides, they wouldn't believe him. But . . . what if he does go to the police and they do believe him? Will I get in trouble? The longer she pondered the subject, the more anxious she became. I wish Nathan was here. I really need him right now. Erica rolled onto her side and curled up in a fetal position. Hugging her pillow tightly against her bosom, she consoled herself with warm memories of her true love. 

Erica and Nathan were high school sweethearts. Once their relationship became physical, their bond grew stronger with each heartbeat. After graduation, they spent a blissful summer making every moment count, for at summer's end they would be going their separate ways: Nathan, into the Army and Erica, to college. 

On their final night together in bed, they clung to one another, sweaty and satisfied in the afterglow. During quiet pillow talk, they made a promise: come what may, no matter what the future might hold, they belonged to each other for the remainder of their days. The following morning, Nathan departed for boot camp, and a week later, Erica began her freshman year at Frankson. 

During Erica's winter break between semesters, Nathan surprised her; he took leave and, in dress uniform, showed up at her house on Christmas Eve. Erica was overwhelmed. Her soldier boy was home! Tears fell like rain, both hers and her moms. Even her father's eyes became misty. For the next two weeks, Erica and Nathan spent the days visiting with family and friends and the nights lying in one anothers' arms, making sweet, sweet love. When his leave was over he reported for duty at his first permanent post, Fort Hood, Texas. 

Toward the end of Erica's freshman year, Nathan's unit deployed to Afghanistan. Erica felt her world crumble. She worried constantly for his safety. For the duration of his deployment, their only contact was electronic: text, phone, facebook. 

Fourteen months passed. Nathan served his tour of duty and rotated stateside. During a 30 day leave, the reunited couple put their relationship back on track but they struggled. Nathan was suffering with post-traumatic stress disorder and much of the time he withdrew, just wanted to be alone. Inner turmoil was eating him alive. Erica did her best to help him cope; in bed she lavished him with feminine charm but they were just going through the motions of having sex, they weren't making love. Erica loved Nathan with all her heart, but his experience in combat with the Taliban left him unable to love in return. 

And so it came to pass they agreed to part without prejudice, a relationship hiatus to give Nathan the time, and space, he needed to sort through his difficulties. When his leave was over, he reported to Fort Hood and Erica returned to Frankson for her junior year. 

Would the star-crossed lovers ever get back together? Ever make a life together? Would the promise be fulfilled? Only time would tell . . . only time. 

* * * *

Sergeant Melanie Jordan of the Frankson University PD sat down at her desk and pulled the overnight police reports from her inbox. While sipping her morning coffee, black, she flipped through the stack of papers. There was the usual assortment of campus crime: a stolen bicycle, vandalism, disorderly conduct. "Why can't these college kids behave themselves?" she wondered aloud. She kept flipping until she came to a report that piqued her curiosity: a sexual assault case with a male complainant. And according to the responding officer's report, a video existed of the alleged crime. 

During her 17 years on the force, 11 on the street and 6 as a detective, she had investigated many reports of sexual assault, only a handful of which had been perpetrated against men. And all of those cases had been male-on-male incidents. In her experience, never had a man brought a complaint against a woman. This case didn't pass the smell test. Her gut instinct told her the complainant, a Mr. Tony Powell, wasn't on the up-and-up. But she was duty-bound to investigate so she telephoned Mr. Powell and arranged to have him come down to the station for an interview. 




Nailed



The following afternoon, Tony met with Sgt. Jordan. He sat down in the straight-backed wooden chair beside her desk. She raked her fingers through her short sandy hair and said, "First, I need to establish something. Is Miss Lawrence your girlfriend?"

"No." 

"So, what happened at the party?" 

"Well, I passed out on the sofa. All know is what's on the video. And what my friends told me later." 

Alcohol! she thought. The root of most campus crime. "You have the video with you?" "Yes." He handed her a USB flash drive. She plugged it into her computer, opened the folder and double-clicked the file. The video began with Tony flopped back on the sofa with his pants down and his penis exposed. At age 39, Sgt. Jordan was no ingénue, but she'd never beheld such an impressive a penis. Tony couldn't see the monitor but he took pleasure in the way this veteran detective's eyebrows jumped when the video began.

Then, at 4:37 Erica's face appeared. "Ooooooh! It's nice an' big an' tasty!" After she licked his glans, Sgt. Jordan scribbled a brief entry in a notebook. The video continued, showing girl after girl fondling but none of their faces appeared in the same view with Tony's penis. Erica stood out in that regard. The video ran for 11 ½ minutes and Sgt. Jordan watched it all. During much of the video, Tony's face was visible and his head always remained in the same position: rolled to his right with his mouth agape and eyes closed. It never changed. Even an imbecile could tell he was unconscious. 

"So, which one of these young women is Miss Lawrence?" 

"The blonde who licked my penis." 

"That's what I thought. Okay, so, I'll contact Miss Lawrence and get her side of the story. And then I'll get back to you."

"Sounds good." 

"Oh, I need a copy of the video." Sgt. Jordan opened another window then dragged and dropped the file. 

Sexual assault is a vastly underreported crime. By some estimates, only 1 in 4 victims ever come forward. That Mr. Powell contacted FUPD was commendable in Sgt. Jordan's professional opinion. But personally, she was curious why. While an undergraduate she dated a college boy and later married him, so she understood the sexual psyche of that demographic. Complaining to the police that a girl licked his penis, regardless of the circumstance, didn't fit the profile of a typical frat rat. Erica's behavior, genital contact without consent, met the legal definition of sexual assault. But still, she still wondered why he came forward. 

While the video was copying, she thought about asking: So, Mr. Powell, why are you making this allegation? But she held her tongue. That was a question a defense attorney might ask when, and if, the case ever went to trial. And Tony was musing too. He fancied that Sgt. Jordan would make a copy for her private collection.

* * * * 

Late Friday afternoon, Erica's phone rang. It seldom rang. Most people texted, even her mom. She answered. "Hello?"

"May I speak with Erica Lawrence please?" It was an unfamiliar female voice. 

"Speaking." 

"Hello, Miss Lawrence, I'm Sergeant Jordan with the Frankson University police department. How are you this afternoon?"

"I'm fine." Erica assumed the call was a fundraising come-on, but that changed dramatically when the detective said, "You've been named in a sexual assault complaint. I need to arrange a time when you can come down to the station and speak with me." 

In the blink of an eye, Erica's face felt hot and a heavy weight hit the pit of her stomach. She was stunned that Tony followed through on his threat. Five days had passed since he blocked her path on the plaza and offered to make a 'deal.' The anxiety resultant from that run-in had vanished but now it surged back with renewed vengeance. 

"Miss Lawrence? Are you still there?" 

"Yes, I'm here." 

"When would be a good time for you?" 

She played dumb. "Um . . . who . . . I mean . . ."

"We'll go over the details when we talk in person. When would be a good time?"

Erica thought for a moment. "Next Tuesday afternoon?" 

"That'll be fine. Do you know where we're located?"

"No."

"We're in the basement of the old library." "Oh, okay. I know where that is." 

"Just come on down and ask for Sergeant Jordan." 

"I will." 

"Have a good evening." 

"I will." 

Erica didn't have a good evening. Ordinarily, she didn't study on Friday nights. That was her time to socialize. But this Friday night was spent studying the laws pertaining to sexual assault. She booted her laptop and Googled 'sexual assault' then clicked the first search result, listing the various degrees of offense and the range of penalties for each. Erica was shocked to learn that what she did, a seemingly harmless penis lick without consent, was classified as a D felony with a possible sentence of up to three years in prison and a $5,000 fine. She stared blankly at the screen. Her brain went numb. I can't go to prison . . . no. . . no . . .

Erica started feeling ill. She stretched out on her bed. The waves of nausea finally subsided and she thought, I shoulda taken his deal when I had the chance. Now it's too late. This burden was too much to bear alone. Downstairs she went and found Jodie and Mandy seated on the sofa in the gathering room. "Whatsa matter Erica?" Jodie was very perceptive. She knew Erica was feeling great distress. Erica plopped down in a plush chair facing her friends. "You guys, you're not gonna believe this . . . " 

Jodie and Mandy were aware that Erica licked Tony's penis at the party. Now she brought them up-to-speed on the rest of the saga: the encounter on the plaza, the telephone call from Sgt. Jordan, and what she discovered online. "Oh my God," Jodie said. "What're you gonna do?" 

Erica shook her head. "I dunno. I'm scared to death."

"Lie. Make up a good story and stick to it." Mandy's suggestion was immediately adopted. Right then, the girls put their heads together and concocted a story to refute Tony's assertion that Erica licked his penis without consent. It sounded plausible. "Think it'll work?" Erica asked. "It better," Jodie answered. "It's all we've got." 

* * * *

Sgt. Jordan motioned Erica toward her desk. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Erica sat down in the uncomfortable straight-backed wooden chair beside the desk. While the detective finished up a bit of typing on her computer, Erica looked around at the windowless room: gray walls, dark metal file cabinets and four ancient wooden desks arranged side-by-side, all under glaring florescent lights, some of which weren't functioning. The place had the look, smell, and feel of a police station: drab, musty, fear. 

Finally, Sgt. Jordan looked away from the keyboard and said, "How are you today Miss Lawrence?"

"I'm fine." Not. She was trembling inside. 

"First, I need to establish something. Is Mr. Powell your boyfriend?" 

"No."

"Here's the complaint. I'll let you read it." Erica took the paper, the police report, and began reading. The complaint was reiteration of what Tony told her on the plaza: he was unconscious and couldn't consent and Erica overstepped the bounds of the law by licking his penis. Once Erica finished reading, Sgt. Jordan said, "Okay, tell me what happened at the party." She leaned back in her squeaky chair, a nonthreatening posture. 

Erica took a deep breath and began. "Well, Tony asked me if I wanted to hook up." (Truth.)

"You mean have sex?" 

"Yes." Thereafter, her story was fabricated. "I told him okay but not 'til later."

"Why wait 'til later?" 

Erica glanced at the male detective working at the next desk then spoke quietly, for Sgt. Jordan's ears only. "Well, you know how it is. I didn't wanna have sex then go back to the party all stinky." 

Sgt. Jordan smiled and chuckled. "I hear ya!" 

"Anyway, when I licked Tony's penis I figured it was okay 'cause we were gonna have sex later." 

"So you thought his consent was still good even though he was unconscious?"

"Yes." 

The detective nodded. "Have you seen the video?" 

"No." (Half-truth. She'd seen only the short segment with her in it.) Sgt. Jordan turned the monitor toward Erica and double-clicked the file. The detective let the video play all the way through. While Erica watched it, Sgt Jordan filed papers in the file cabinets. Even in the digital age, police work involves mountains of paperwork. 

When the video was over, Sgt. Jordan sat down in her squeaky chair and asked Erica a pointed question. "Were all those other young women in the video going to have sex with Mr. Powell too?" 

"No." 

"Then why were they fondling his penis?" 

"Um . . . I dunno. They were just messing around?" 

"And they did so without his consent?" 

"I guess." 

"And only you had consent?" 

"Yes." 

Sgt. Jordan chewed on that for a moment. "Were you jealous of the other women?" 

"Why would I be jealous?"

"Well, they were encroaching on your territory." 

Erica scoffed. "I hook up with lotsa guys-" (Lie. No, she didn't. Not ever.) "-he was just one more. No biggie." Sgt. Jordan choked back a chuckle. Mr. Powell certainly was biggie. Way biggie. 

Erica was asked more questions, repetitive, she thought, but she stuck to her story. At the interview's conclusion she was asked to fill out, and sign, a sworn affidavit, stating her recollections of the events that Saturday night at the frat party. Erica left the police station feeling upbeat. Her story was good and she delivered it flawlessly. And it couldn't be disproven; a clear-cut case of he-said, she-said. A few days later Jodie and Mandy were summoned individually to speak with Sgt. Jordan. (Erica had listed them as corroborating witnesses.) But Erica wasn't worried; her sorority sisters were in collusion with the same fabricated story. All the bases were covered. No biggie. 

* * * *

Sgt. Jordan conducted a thorough investigation. Not only did she interview Erica's witnesses, she went to Sigma Epsilon Xi to speak with its members. Among those who attended the party, all of them realized Tony was exposed and girls were taking liberties with his penis. But to the last man, none of them believed anything was amiss. Typical men, she thought. None of them could offer any corroborating testimony about whether or not Tony and Erica planned to hook up later. That was also typical of men: they don't talk much on personal topics. 

Back at the station, Sgt. Jordan weighed the evidence. That Mr. Powell made the accusation was unusual. She questioned his motive but it was his legal right to file a complaint. In the other camp, when she spoke with Jodie and Mandy, there was something fishy about their testimony; both delivered the same spiel virtually verbatim as if they'd rehearsed it over and over. And their tone of voice and body language suggested they were nervous. In all fairness, that was understandable; police make some people nervous. But in her judgment, Erica's witnesses were lying. And then, there was the video: dozens of young women fondling Mr. Powell's penis without consent. And Miss Lawrence claiming to be the only one with consent? No. That wasn't realistic. She was just going along with the mob mentality. 

To draft a probable cause affidavit would set in motion a chain of events that might severely impact Miss Lawrence's life. If the prosecutor agreed that sufficient evidence existed to file charges, court proceedings would ensue and she would be dragged into the public spotlight. And a felony conviction, either by trial or plea bargain, would remain on her record for life and jeopardize opportunities for employment, housing, and credit. And since the alleged crime took place on campus, she could face disciplinary action from the university, perhaps expulsion. Sgt. Jordan deliberated long and hard. She felt bad for Erica, truly she did, but her hands were tied. She couldn't let emotion interfere with her sworn duty. On her computer she pulled up the proper form, clicked the cursor in the first box and, with a heavy heart, began typing.

* * * *

When Erica walked out through the double doors of Weatherby Hall, she spied him at the same instant he spied her. Tony stood beneath the tall sugar maple, its spreading branches now bare in the cold November wind. Erica flipped up the hood on her blue anorak to hide her face. She flew down the seven limestone steps then scurried away across the plaza in the opposite direction, trying to distance herself from the creep. Tony had to jog to catch up. He stepped in front of her and stopped. She sidestepped and kept moving. He stepped in front again. This time she stopped. 

"What now?" She was supremely pissed.

Tony held out a piece of paper. "Read this." 

"What is it?" 

"Just read it." 

Erica snatched the paper from his hand and silently read the heading: Affidavit of probable cause. The form had boxes filled out with her personal information: name, address, birthday, phone number, height, weight, hair color, eye color, race, sex . . . How did the police get all this information? she wondered. Then she answered her own question: from the university's database. Below the boxes, three paragraphs described the particulars of the case. And below that, Sgt. Jordan's sworn statement that in her judgment, the crime of sexual assault had been committed. At the bottom was her signature. Erica was rendered speechless. The detective didn't buy her story. When the prosecutor's office received the affidavit . . . . Her brain went numb thinking about what came next. 

Erica looked up from the paper and met Tony eye-to-eye. Her shocked expression told him she was right where he wanted her: backed against the wall. "You have one last chance to let me fuck you." 

"It's too late for that." Her voice was meek. She was on the verge of tears. 

"No, it's not." He explained: under state law, a sexual assault victim can decide whether or not to pursue charges, even after a police report has been filed and a probable cause affidavit drafted. "So, let me-" he moderated his verbiage "-have sex with you and I won't press charges." 

"You swear to God?" 

"I swear to God." 

She set her mouth in a hard straight line. "All right. I'll do it. When?" 

"Friday night. Nine o'clock." 

"That's no good. I'm on my period." 

"You're stalling." 

Erica scowled and raised her voice. "You want me to prove it?!" 

"Uhhh . . . no. A week from Friday, then." 

Her expression, and tone, softened. "I'll be there." 

There was no need for parting pleasantries. Erica turned abruptly and walked away. Unexpectedly, she felt inner calm and managed to chuckle at the absurdity of her predicament: either get fucked by Tony or fucked by the justice system. All because, in a moment of intoxicated indiscretion, she had fucked herself. 

Had Erica taken Tony's deal when he first offered it, she wouldn't have become the target of a criminal investigation. Now, she was thankful for a second chance even though it was repugnant, the prospect of the creep's erection pillaging her vagina. But it was light-years preferable to the alternative. She shuddered at the notion of wearing an orange jail jumpsuit. Orange wasn't her color.

And she was thankful for the nine days to mentally prepare. On day two she made peace with the inevitable. It's only sex she told herself. Maybe he'll cum quickly and it'll be over with. Tony would enjoying fucking Erica. That was certain. But she was determined to minimize his pleasure by making herself unappealing. Three days beforehand, she stopped bathing. And on the appointed Friday night, she applied no makeup, didn't fix her hair and removed all jewelry. Reflected in the dresser mirror, an unwashed face looked back. Long blonde hair hung dirty, stringy, oily. She looked like a ragamuffin. She sniffed her armpit. Ripe! Curious, she reached inside her panties and probed her middle finger deep inside. When she sniffed that finger . . . phew! Perfect. And she dressed like a frump: plain gray sweatsuit. 

Jodie, Mandy and a dozen additional sorority sisters joined Erica for the walk to Sigma house. There was nothing any of them could do while Erica was in Tony's room but they felt the need to be under the same roof to offer moral support. At Sigma, Erica opened the front door. It was never locked. The huge gathering room was packed just like the night of the party. But now, everyone in the crowd was male. Tony saw the girls enter the foyer and went to meet them.

"Glad you could make it." 

"I'm not," Erica shot back. 

He laughed. "Yer gonna fight this 'til the very end, aren't you?" 

"You got it." 

Erica's posse stayed in the foyer. Tony led Erica into an open area in the center of the expansive gathering room. "Right here," he said.

"Whatta you mean?"

"We're gonna do it right here." 

She scowled. "Ohhh, no! I'm not gonna do it right here." 

"Yes, you are." 

She raised her voice. "No, I'm not!" 

Tony spoke even louder. "Oh look! Here come the judge!" He held the only trump card and wouldn't hesitate to play it. Resistance was futile. 

When Erica agreed to have sex with Tony, she assumed, and rightly so, it would be in private. Never in her wildest nightmare did it cross her mind that she was destined become the star in a live public sex show. She scanned the sea of male faces, bright with anticipation. By the looks of the huge crowd, a hundred or more, word had spread around campus that Sigma house was the place to be this Friday night. They stood four and five deep, shoulder-to-shoulder in a wide circle. Erica felt like she was center stage in a sports arena. Most of them were strangers but some she knew by name: Marcus from psych discussion and a half-dozen casual acquaintances from other classes. 

Erica wasn't a prude by any means. She possessed a lean toned body she'd worked hard to achieve and enjoyed showing it in skimpy summer sportswear and her teeny weeny black string bikini. But she was very selective about who she allowed to see her naked. And never, not once, did she have sex in view of others. Lovemaking with Nathan had always taken place in absolute privacy. That scores of guys would be ogling her bare body was bad enough. But while having sex at the same time? This was too much. It was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. But she had no choice but to stay and go through with it.

Glaring at Tony, Erica kicked off her shoes. She untied the drawstring on her sweatpants, pulled them down and stepped out of them. Trying to mentally block out the crowd, she drew a deep breath then hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her white cotton panties and peeled them off. She felt the heat of leering eyes upon her exposed lower zone. 

Erica stood facing Tony, her arms hanging limp at her sides. She'd be damned if she was going to strip any further. He could fuck her like this. But Tony wasn't satisfied; he gestured toward her sweatshirt. "Everything, off." Erica took ahold of the shirt's lower hem and peeled it inside-out, up-and-off, then reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp on her plain white brassiere. When she pulled the D cups away from her chest, her breasts relaxed to their natural state of repose. A hush fell over the room. She didn't feel embarrassed. She was too enraged to feel anything else. 

Tony liked what he saw. The only girls he was able to get were substandard in his opinion: a little chubby, small boobs, plain looks, too many moles. (He hated moles) But now, before him stood a statuesque blonde goddess who, despite her disheveled hair and body odor, personified femininity of the highest magnitude. Her flawless skin was tanned rich butterscotch save for the bikini shadow: small alabaster triangles framing her sizable rosy nipples and neatly coifed, naturally blonde pubis. Good, she's got pussy hair, Tony thought. He didn't care for the bald look. He liked girls with hair down there, not a forest, just enough to tickle his tongue. His ravenous eyes devoured her bounteous breasts, traced the curves of her trim waist and womanly hips and traveled all the way down her long lean legs. 




Nailed



Standing in the foyer, Erica's girlfriends couldn't see much through the crush of male spectators but they saw enough to understand she was naked. "I don't know what I'd do if that was me," Jodie said. "Me neither," Mandy agreed. "I would just die." 

Marcus entered the arena carrying a new HD video camera, purchased just for this occasion. Passing the hat around the frat house garnered more than enough money.

"No!" Erica shouted. "NO VIDEO!!!" 

"Do I hafta remind you?" Tony purposely affected an irritated tone, but he was reveling in her discomfiture. At the party weeks earlier, Erica rejected his sexual advances in front of several girls. She had humiliated him, resoundingly, and now, the snotty sorority bitch was getting her comeuppance. 

Erica got right in Tony's face and snarled, "If this winds up on the internet, I swear to God . . ." She didn't finish her thought. Didn't need to. Her menacing expression spoke volumes. 

"It won't," he assured. "It's for my private collection." 

"It better be." 

"Before we go any farther, I gotta know if you consent." His tone was mockingly sarcastic. Erica nodded. 

"Say it out loud," he insisted. 

"I consent." 

Tony spoke louder, addressing everyone in the room. "Hear that? She consents. Nothing illegal here!" Yes, she consented . . . with vehement reluctance. 

Marcus aimed the camera at Erica and began shooting video. She looked away; didn't want her face recorded. With both hands Tony reached out and cupped her breasts' globular undersides and tested their weight. "Nice," he half-whispered then bounced them in his palms. She didn't respond. She resolved to remain cold and lifeless, like a vinyl blow-up doll. He smooshed her breasts together. No response. He squeezed them. No response. He pinched her nipples. No response. 

Tony slid one hand down her abdomen and toyed with her outie navel, briefly, then his hand continued south and wedged between her legs. His fingertips slithered up and down the length of her fuzzy cleft, once, twice, thrice, before he curled his middle digit deep inside her vagina. She ain't wet yet. That'll change. 

Oh God. Why does he hafta do this? In Erica's world, fingering was an intensely personal act, even more personal than intercourse. And it all went back to Nathan. He was the first boy to ever touch her there. How exquisite it felt, how heavenly the way his fingers could bring her to orgasm. By comparison, Tony's touch was crude, like being poked with a rubber wand. It was easy to feel cold and lifeless. 

Tony stepped back and unbuttoned his 501 blues. Seven fat semi-erect inches spilled out. Erica didn't look. 

"At the party you wanted to suck my cock. Here's your chance." 

"No thanks," Erica answered tersely. 

"Whatsa matter? Afraid you'll gag?" 

She looked him square in the eye. "Yeah. You make me sick." Waves of laughter rippled around the room. Even Tony was laughing as he finished removing his jeans and boxers. The tense levity quickly faded. He peeled off his T-shirt and now, both of them stood naked. 

Tony took Erica's hand and placed it on his semi. Not waiting to be admonished, she curled her fingers around it and began stroking and while doing so, kept her face turned away from the camera. She wanted her body language to shout: I feel disgusted! As his penis grew progressively stiffer, her curiosity got the best of her; she couldn't resist stealing a glance. It was impressive, she had to admit: eight erect inches and nearly the same thickness as the business end of a baseball bat. Gnarled veins, lots of them, bulged to the diameter of soda straws. And its bulbous glans was the size, and color, of a ripe plum. The sight of it sparked an involuntary twinge in her groin. But she mentally tamped it down. 

"Sure you don't wanna suck my cock?" 

"I'm sure."

"C'mon, suck it."

"No." 

"SUCK IT!" The sheer volume of his voice startled her. Obediently, she dropped to her knees, opened wide and wrapped her lips around his engorged glans. It barely fit in her mouth. She didn't need to fake disgust; it overwhelmed her. Moreover, she felt mounting fear at his aggressive behavior. Erica's girlfriends felt the same fear. Jodie stood on tiptoes to see what was happening with Erica but the crush of spectators blocked the view. 

Erica wasn't averse to performing fellatio; she'd done it countless times with Nathan. But being coerced by the creep was beginning to curdle her stomach. At least he didn't grab the back of her head and demand deep throat. That would have made her barf for sure. Marcus moved in close to capture Erica's shiny wet lips gobbling Tony's slobbery shaft. Any hope that her face wouldn't wind up on video, vanished. 

"Stand up." Erica did as Tony instructed. "Turn around and bend over." She complied and braced both hands on the coffee table. Spectators shuffled around to gain an optimal vantage point. Tony dropped to his knees and plowed his face into her vulva. Oh jeeze, Erica thought. She wished he would just hurry up and stick his dick in and get it over with. But no, he kept lustily lapping her clitoris. She amused herself by picturing his nose buried in her stinky, hadn't-been-washed-for-three-days vagina. 

The rage she felt earlier had subsided. In its wake, she felt acutely aware of all the eyes upon her. She felt warmth spread across her cheeks. And she felt warmth simmering in her groin. Tony's tongue was having an effect. No. She couldn't allow the creep to make her feel aroused. Couldn't. She mentally tamped it down. It proved difficult . . . but she managed to keep it in check. 

Eventually, Tony stopped licking and none too soon. He stood up and, gripping her hips, pressed his swollen glans into her slobbery wetness. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began pushing inside. Oh . . . my . . . God . . . . Erica silently groaned. She had to remind herself to breathe. She inhaled deeply and held it until Tony's erection was buried to the hilt. Only then did she exhale a long sigh. She felt uncomfortably stuffed, right up to her gills. His was the biggest penis she had ever taken which wasn't saying much; Nathan was the only man she'd ever been with. And the only man she ever wanted, now, and forever. She felt a sudden pang of guilt for being unfaithful. But this situation was beyond her control. And besides, they were on a relationship hiatus. Didn't that mean she free to have sex with others if she pleased?

Tony was smiling. Erica was the first girl he'd ever fucked who could fully accommodate his entire eight inches. He made a mental note: From now on, only fuck tall girls. He commenced thrusting at a slow pace, withdrawing nearly to the point of disengagement before plunging fully again. Over and over. And with each slow withdrawal, Erica's unwashed feminine scent clung to his gnarled veins and vaporized in the open air. Tony inhaled deeply as if smelling roses. Erica breathed in time with each slow plunge and withdrawal. The sensation of his bulk stretching her vagina was borderline painful and yet, not unpleasant. 

For the longest time, Tony thrust slowly like he was pacing himself. So much for Erica's hope he might cum quickly. Her breathing escalated and burgeoning warmth in her groin caused alarm. She couldn't allow the creep to make her feel aroused. She mentally tamped it down. At least she tried. It wasn't working. 

Four months had passed since she had sex with Nathan and since then, hadn't lain with anyone else. Her body was primed and, despite the discomfort, having intercourse was exceedingly pleasant. But the man delivering the pleasure . . . well, that was another matter altogether. Could she disavow the driver and enjoy the ride? Her mind was uncertain but her body said yes. 

Erica was fairly vocal during sex. Whenever it felt good, she had to let it out. That was one of the facets of her sexuality that got Nathan's motor runnin'. It gave him feedback that he was being an attentive lover. And, to his ears, her cries were sweeter than an operatic aria. 

Tony withdrew his erection and twiddled her clitoris with the tip of his swollen glans. Heavenly. Erica had to fight the urge to cry out loud. She couldn't allow him the satisfaction of knowing he was giving her pleasure. He reintroduced his erection deeply then, gripping her hips, resumed thrusting, now at various tempos: faster . . . slower . . . faster . . . slower . . . . Fight it. And with each deep plunge it felt like magic fingers were massaging her insides. Exquisite. Fight it. Gritting her teeth, Erica fought the good fight; she erected every mental roadblock she could muster but her libido crashed through the barricades. Loudly, plaintively, she cried, "Ohhhhhhhhh gawd . . ." 

Tony flashed a devilish grin. Yeah! This chick loves my cock. I knew she wanted it. No longer could Erica fight it. Nor did she want to. She surrendered to the sensations and loudly moaned, "Ohhhhhh . . . " or "Mmmmmmm . . . " whenever a spike of pleasure shimmied up her spine. Tony was in hog heaven. He fancied himself God's gift to women and Erica's vociferous moaning bolstered that self-image. 

Marcus was capturing every second on video and not just the penis plunging action. He employed cinematic devices learned in telecommunications class. Occasionally, he panned the crowd to show viewers this was both amateur porn and a live sex show. And he shot footage of Erica from different perspectives. Principally, her face, flushing rosier by the minute and side-on views of her pendulous breasts swaying in sympathy with Tony's thrusting. Those in the audience watched wide-eyed. And more than a few crotch bulges were noted. 

Jodie worked her way through the crowd to a closer vantage point. She didn't care to watch, not really, but she felt the need to be close in case Erica needed help. But what could she do if the situation spiraled out of control? She held her phone, ready to call 911. That's all she could do. 

Tony reached forward and gathered Erica's long blonde hair into bundle. Gripping it tightly, he yanked hard, jerking her head back. And with his other hand he spanked her buttocks, one then the other, back and forth. SLAP . . . SLAP . . . SLAP . . . Nathan had never done anything like that. He was a gentle lover. Erica wasn't given to dominance fantasies but Tony's aggressive behavior struck a primal chord deep within and her arousal skyrocketed into hyperspace

"Ohhhhhh, fuck me . . . fuck me . . . " Erica's voice was gravelly. It sounded like she was in pain. She was in pain but it felt good. Terribly good. "Mmmmmmm . . . " Tony continued thrusting, tugging, and spanking, harder now. Her alabaster buttocks were turning red as a result of the punishment. Her breathing escalated further and she moaned virtually nonstop, a pain-and-pleasure aria that sent Tony's arousal higher; his face was flushed and sweaty. Holding a hand over her mouth, Jodie watched, all the while feeling her friend's pain. 

Tony commenced thrusting even faster. Erica met each thrust with an assertive counter-thrust, slamming her butt against his groin. "Ohhhhhh . . . " Marcus aimed the lens at her face: eyes shut, brow furrowed, mouth agape, skin flushed. Then, a moving camera POV traveled slowly down the length of her sweaty back, over the mounds of her quivering buttocks, and all the way to Tony's glistening erection pumping her vagina. And every sloppy wet thrust was recorded in Dolby stereo. 

"Ohhhhhh, fuck me . . . " Breathing faster now, Erica was almost gulping air. She was approaching the brink and began a mantra: "Omigod . . . omigod . . . omi-" And then she fell silent . . . she didn't breathe . . . her face flushed purplish. For long intense seconds her anus winked in sync with the spasms ripping her flesh then she loudly groaned, "Nuuuuuungggh . . ." She drew a deep ragged breath, then another, and another . . . Tony smiled. God's gift to women had delivered the goods. 

Sweaty, flushed-faced, and laboring for breath, Erica remained bent over while Tony sought his reward. He released her hair and quit spanking. Gripping her hips, he commenced thrusting like the devil. Witnessing her orgasm hastened his and presently, he growled long and low like a grizzly awakening from hibernation. He pulled her butt tightly against his groin and pinned it there. Feeling his pulsating penis, Erica knew it was finally over. In the post-orgasm crash, she was hurled back to reality and felt very, very naked. She was seized with the impulse to flee. She stood bolt upright. Tony's penis popped out. A wad of semen belched and dribbled down her leg. 

Erica bent over to retrieve her shoes and clothing off the floor then made for the foyer clutching everything against her bosom with both hands to conceal her front. Spectators stepped aside to let her pass. Copious moisture, vaginal secretions mingled with semen, coated inner thighs. Smiling, Tony watched her blistered buttocks bouncing with each hurried step until she vanished in the crowd. Only then did Marcus stop recording. "I'll put this on your laptop," he said. 

"No. Let's watch it on the big screen first." 

"Yeah! Great idea!" They 'high fived.' Marcus wiped his hand on his shirt. 

In the foyer, Erica's girlfriends gathered around and murmured comforting words of concern. Jodie stepped close and placed a hand on Erica's shoulder. "You okay?" Erica nodded but she was not okay; she was trembling so violently she had trouble maintaining balance. She didn't waste time putting on underwear; posthaste, she donned her sweatsuit. After slipping on her shoes, she brushed a disheveled shock of hair out of her eyes then glanced into the gathering room. The entire crowd stood facing the huge plasma TV mounted on the wall. The video had just begun; Erica, naked, larger than life in stunning high-definition, stood impassively while Tony squeezed her breasts. The gravity of the encounter weighed heavily upon her and she worried about the fallout. Even if Tony didn't post the video online, every guy on campus might eventually view it. 

On the walk back to Lambda house, no one said a word. Her arms folded across her chest, Erica stepped briskly, surrounded by her girlfriends like a quarterback in a flying wedge play. The sidewalk along Greek Row was dimly lit which suited her dark mood; she didn't want anyone to look at her. Her mind was a roiling cauldron of conflicting emotions. In the end, the raw animal sex had been terribly exciting. She enjoyed it, immensely, and it culminated in the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced. In the aftermath, her body was singing; she still felt tingly all over, from her scalp down to her painted toenails. But at the same time, she was consumed with self-loathing for becoming aroused and worse yet, for letting herself get totally swept away. Now, Tony had the satisfaction of knowing he had given her pleasure. And the longer she dwelled on that unfortunate circumstance, the more disgusted with herself she became. 

* * * *

Tony could have played his trump card over and over. He could have waved the affidavit in Erica's face and demanded sex. And, to avoid prosecution, she would have no choice but to submit. But he didn't. He kept his word. Three days later, on Monday afternoon, Sgt. Jordan telephoned Erica to inform her that Mr. Powell had declined to press charges and the matter was closed. Well, at least he has one shred of decency, Erica thought. Would he keep his word and not post the video online? If he did post it, she could only hope no one in her small hometown would ever see it. 

In lucid reflection, Erica realized Tony taught her a valuable lesson: what seems innocent behavior can, in fact, be a felony. Not only is it easy to become a victim of sexual assault, it's insanely easy to become a perpetrator. It was a hard lesson to learn and it took a toll on her emotions. But it was a lesson that would last a lifetime. And there was one more lesson learned: she was only beginning to understand what lurked in the deep dark recesses of her sexual psyche. 

Erica came to terms with the encounter and forgave herself for becoming aroused. After all, she was only human. Humans have needs. But one dire need went unfulfilled: to lie in the arms of her true love. She missed Nathan so fiercely she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. 

As the days rolled past, a general malaise settled in and wouldn't let go. School was getting her down. No, life was getting her down. She thought about dropping out but reconsidered; if she ever hoped to realize her dream of teaching elementary school, she needed that degree.

Christmas break at home with family brightened her spirits but it also rekindled memories of the holidays two years before when Nathan surprised her on Christmas Eve. Now, the only warm body sharing her bed was Max, her ever-faithful collie. 

When second semester began, the malaise returned and settled in as cold and deep as the snow piling up across the land. By the middle of February, Erica was sick of winter and couldn't wait for spring. That's what I need, she told herself. Springtime. A new beginning. 

One bitter cold blustery day, thick clouds and snowfall darkened the sky. By late afternoon, campus streetlights were coming on. In the pools of pale orange light, snowflakes danced on the wind and swirled around the bundled figures making their way home from class. At 5:45, Erica left Weatherby Hall. Bundled up like an Eskimo, she descended the seven limestone steps and began trudging back toward Lambda house. Her bootsteps fell softly in the new accumulation blanketing the plaza. Another Friday, she thought. What am I gonna do this weekend? Prob'ly the same thing as last weekend . . . nothing. 

Erica retrieved her phone from her purse and checked the messages: one from her mom, two from Jodie, and a half-dozen from other girlfriends. And at the bottom of the list, one from Nathan Connor. She gasped and froze in her tracks. For six months they'd had no communication whatsoever and now, out of the blue, there he was. Wide-eyed, she opened the message and read: 

Hey. Hope you're doing OK. Therapy's going good. I'm doing better. If you're not seeing anyone, I'd like to make a fresh start. I love you. I need you. 

Erica's heart leaped into her throat. She couldn't breathe. Her knees felt weak. Even though she stood in the middle of the snowy plaza amid hundreds of students going about their lives, the entire universe withered to nothingness; all that existed was her, and Nathan, somewhere out there in cyberspace. Again, she read the words: I love you. I need you. 

Erica drew a deep cleansing breath. When her hands finally stopped trembling, she placed her thumbs on the screen and, with tears streaming down her cheeks, began tapping. Springtime came early; the promise was fulfilled. 



Nailed by Obsession



He had become obsessed with me. The party was large and boisterous, and our eyes met across the room and he gave me a brilliant smile. A short time later, he sat down beside me with people swirling all around us and put his hand on my thigh and gave me that brilliant smile again. I tipped my glass to show I needed a refill and glided away from him, not wanting to make a scene. Not long after that, he trapped me in an alcove and kissed me on the lips and put a hand on my crotch. He managed to whisper "I want you; I want you now. I want to feel my cock inside you," before I broke away and put as much distance as I could between him and me. As soon as I could make my way to the door, I left, and walked back upstairs to my own apartment.

His obsession had disturbed me greatly. I'd been propositioned by men before, but never so blatantly or persistently.

I showered, opened the widow onto the terrace to take advantage of the breeze wafting across the top of the city, and lay down on my bed, naked. I was drowsy, a little drunk, and disturbed. I couldn't get the man's handsome face and brilliant smile out of my mind. What could he have seen in me to have formed such an obsession? I wasn't that way; I didn't go around advertising myself.

The breeze from the terrace caressed my body, and I found myself gliding one hand around my torso and pinching at my nipples, while slowly stroking my cock with the other hand. Hardening my cock and relaxing myself in my own way as I drifted off to sleep, as I often did on these breezy nights in the city.

I heard a sigh and moan and my eyes popped open. He was standing there in the moonlight from the open terrace door. He was naked, and he was beautiful. And he was fully aroused; the obsessed man from the party. His eyes were captured by the sight of my hand stroking up and down on my cock.

He came down on the bed below me and wrapped a hand around my engorged cock and covered the end of it with his mouth. He rotated my cock in his mouth while his tongue slid over and around the its helmet and sucked it with his tongue flicking the slit at the end of the helmet. Then he swallowed me down to the root and applied even pressure all up and down my cock. In shock, I let him do this to me. And when I recovered and put my hand down to his head to pull him away from me, he took my hands in his and slid them out to each side of the silken bedspread, while he started to pump my cock slowly with his mouth.

I don't know why, but neither one of us spoke. I had been so close to sleep that I couldn't be fully sure this wasn't just a dream, just an extension of my masturbating myself to sleep after having encountered a man who claimed to want me, to want his cock inside me. A sensation I'd never had and that sent a chill of fear and anticipation through me.

He took my right hand in his and guided it to my cock. I felt powerless and just let him take the lead. He entwined his fingers in mine and then wrapped both hands around my cock, his hand guiding me in stroking myself. His eyes glittered as he watched me masturbating under his guidance. I sighed and arched my back, feeling so much more aroused than if I had been doing this solo. I—or, rather, we—brought my throbbing tool close to ejaculation, and when he let go of my hand, I was too near to climax to fight him for what he obviously wanted from me.

His mouth once more slid down over my cock. My hands went to entwine themselves in his beautiful blond hair, and his hands slid up my sides and buried themselves in my chest hair. He was rubbing and rolling my nipples when I shot off down his throat, in three strong and satisfying spasms.

He sucked me clean and then sent his lips and tongue on a journey up across my belly and my abs and onto my pecs and nipples and then into the hollow of my neck and, at last to my mouth. He enveloped me in his arms, there in the dark, the breeze caressing both of our bodies, and our dicks entwined between our bellies. Mine was soft but quickly reloading and his was hard as a rock and gigantic and pushing insistently up my belly, reaching for the cleft between my pecs.

I was struggling to get free, but he was too strong for me. We rolled in the bed, limbs and cocks entwined and dueling, until I was exhausted. He then turned me on my belly and kissed and tongued his way down from my shoulders to the small of my back. He pulled my butt cheeks apart with strong, wide hands, and his tongue and lips went to my tight virgin asshole. A hand snaked up between my thighs, and I rose my hips a bit while he rolled and gently squeezed and pulled on my balls. My cock was coming alive again, and he pulled that on through between my thighs and alternated kissing and tonguing my hole with kissing and tonguing the helmet on my cock.

His full attention went back to my asshole. His hands were kneading and rolling my butt cheeks, and I found I was grinding my cock into the bedspread, fucking the bedspread. His hands encased my pelvis and he helped me with the grinding. Then he was only helping me with one strong hand, which had had run between my legs and fanned out over my lower belly, using his elbow to help hold my pelvis up from the surface of the bedspread to help me stroke the underside of my cock along the silken cloth.

He started inserting fingers into my moistened and loosened hole. He managed to insert two fingers to where my sphincter muscle picked them up and drew the index finger to my prostate gland. When he'd rubbed across that a couple of times, I came again, for a second time and collapsed onto my belly. His fingers had maintained hold, however, and he continued to finger fuck me for several minutes, the big palm of his other hand firmly planted in the small of my back, symbolically asserting his control, his possession of me.

I don't know why, but I just laid there, letting him have his way with me. He was dominating me in silence. Still neither of us had spoken.

He turned me on my left side, as he stretched his body up behind me. His left arm went under me and wrapped around and he cupped my right breast with his left hand. I raised my right arm over my head and my left hand lowered to languidly play with my recovering cock and my balls.

He rose up enough over me to give me a deep kiss and then he settled down below me, his pelvis nestled under my butt cheeks. His alarmingly long cock had pierced its way through my thighs and the head had come out under my balls. I managed to reach and fingered the helmet of his cock, working up precum and sliding it around on the sensitive knob, until he moaned and I could felt him quivering. He stroked my cock and cuddled my balls for a short while and then brought his fingers to mine on the head of his cock and helped me excite him there.

He sank his face into the hollow of my neck and found the throbbing carotid artery there and sucked and kissed at that, while he raised my right leg in the air and I felt the head of his cock at my asshole. I moved to escape him and lurched a bit as the helmet went in up to its rim. I cried out then, the first time that the silence had been broken. He buried his left hand into my chest, holding me firmly there, and his teeth pressed firmly into the hollow of my neck, as he forced his cock in a good five inches. I jerked and shuddered as the helmet of his cock dragged across my prostate.

I was panting from the feeling of being stuffed and from the initial pain. He held there as the pain slowly subsided and whispered endearments in my ear. "Ah, it will be fine; the pain will go away. You're so fine, such a beautiful body. I've been obsessed with you all evening. A nice tender, tight ass; I love the feeling of my cock up this sweet ass."

When he felt me relaxing a bit, he pushed in another couple of inches and then started pumping me in short strokes, never coming back more than a couple of inches. He lowered my right leg down and back, which made my canal all that much tighter, and he spread his right hand across my belly.

He must have stroked me like this for a good ten minutes, whispering encouragement and voicing how much he loved being in my body all the while.

It was like I'd been hypnotized. I just lay there enveloped in his embrace, letting him do what no man had ever done to me before.

I thought that it was long past when he should have cum and left me, but his stamina was amazing and I wasn't anywhere close to end of this ravishment. He had grown a couple of inches and now was at least seven and a half inches into me.

Before I knew it, he had pulled out of me, and I started to rise, thinking this was over, but he just laughed and slapped me on the butt, and rose from the end of the bed on his feet. He flipped me over on my belly and pulled my hips back to the end of the bed and entered my asshole with that big rod again. He had his hands on my hips and he just brought me back onto his skewer. He went in at least seven inches this time and then pushed to eight or more and deep stroked me. He stopped occasionally and rotated his cock around inside me, giving special attention to the walls of my canal.

After an eternity, he turned me again, this time onto my back and without losing purchase with his cock and he seemed to attain even more depth. He was churning around inside me nine inches or more deep, and I was holding him to me, seeking as much intimacy as I could get. His pelvis was riding up on my buttocks. We were belly to belly, heaving chest to heaving chest. His arms held me fast to the surface of the bed, his hands cupping my head, his mouth kissing me wherever it could reach. I held his chest close to me in my enveloping arms and had my legs tightly wrapped around the small of his back. My cock was being stroked between our bellies by the rocking and churning of his pelvis, and I came for the third time just before he shot his load deep inside me.

He slid both of us up onto the bed and collapsed on top of me, enveloping my body once more with his arms and searching from my mouth with his. When his mouth had dropped to the hollow of my neck, I looked over toward the terrace door and saw that dawn was near.

We slept, and when I awoke the day, was bright and full. I padded through the apartment to both the foyer and service doors and found that they both were still bolted from the inside. I looked out on the terrace, but knew even when I did so that my nineteenth-floor terrace connected with no other.

I lay back down on my bed and started to languidly masturbate while my mind searched for clues on how my obsessive lover got to me—wondering now if I even could be quite sure that wishful thinking had been my lover in a drunken dream. I closed my eyes; arched my back; imagined a strong hand on mine, guiding the stroking of my throbbing cock; and gave a little cry of pleasure as release flowed up through me and fountained onto my belly and thighs.



Nailed In My Office



This is a continuation of "Being Brittany's Bitch" and "Chantz and Brittany's Toy"

Brittany had just gotten done fucking my ass in front of all of my coworkers, and was leading me to my office by the leash to which I had grown so accustomed. "You thought we were rough on you, you better brace yourself bitch boy, because you're about to be gang-banged," she laughed. As we entered my office, I saw a circle of five of my female coworkers all sporting strapons of various length and girth. There were also some male interns present that I had publicly humiliated. Brittany saw the terror in my eyes, and laughed, but said nothing. "Let's get this show on the road," she announced. "I know everyone wants to go first, but don't worry; everyone will get a turn, and will get to go as long as they want."

Brittany handed my leash to Kara. Kara was a friend of my sister, and was, by all accounts, a living Barbie doll. Standing about 5'8" with long blonde hair, a small waist, and large, natural double D breasts, I had ogled her since I was 16. When she graduated college, I hired her, but not without putting her through my usual "final interview process." Apparently, she had not forgotten. "Wait until I tell Jenny about this," she chuckled, as she led me over to the large window that overlooked the city. "Let's see how big of an audience we can get. I know how you loved to be watched, you little slut," she said as she bent me over at the waist so that I was facing the window as well. 

With that, she slapped my ass with her cock a few times, then began fucking me doggy style. It was tough keeping my balance with my hands cuffed behind me and Kara tugging on the leash with one hand, as she slapped my ass with her other hand. As she tugged on the leash, it pulled my head up, and I could see a crowd gathering in the office building across the street. Kara looked up as well, and noticing the crowd, laughed and waved as she continued to slam my ass. She tugged on the leash harder, and began to play to the audience as she slapped my ass cheeks in an alternating pattern. For her grand finale, she lay the leash on my back, grabbed me by my hips and power fucked me for what felt like eternity, but was really only about fifteen seconds. Then she pulled me to a standing position, flipped up my skirt in the front, so the audience could see my cock, then turned and walked away. 

Next up was Kaitlin. She was a real bitch, but I hired her boobs and her brains, not her winning personality. She was shorter, with long brown hair, and big boobs. She was in great shape, but was just naturally bigger than Kara. After dragging me over to my desk, she tore off what remained of my sweater and threw it on the floor. "We can't have those babies confined, now can we?" she asked. "I know how much you love mine." As she sat down on my chair behind my desk, she tugged on the leash so that I was forced to sit on her cock facing away from her. I squealed into the gag as her big pink cock invaded me. Kaitlin laughed, and reached forward to maul my tits as she forced me up and down on her rod. 

"This asshole didn't even want to look at me, just fuck me in the ass and play with my tits," she commented, as she continued to slam me violently up and down. "I guess payback's a bitch, ain't it, sweetheart?" Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Just a minute," Kaitlin said. All the spectators scrambled into my closet, and I knew this was not part of the plan. The door opened, and I heard my boss's voice, just as Kaitlin spun around in the chair. 

"Kaitlin, is that you?" he asked.

"Yes, I was just in here fixing Brad's computer. It's been running so slowly lately," she said as she dug her nails into my nipples. I screamed into the gag. "It's really complicated so if you'll excuse me." 

"Certainly," he said, as he left. I heard the door slam. 

"You are so lucky, bitch boy," she snarled. "I really shouldn't have done that. You owe me for that. Now get off my dick," she said as she shoved me to the floor. 

"You know ladies, it's getting late, and I have a date with a real man," said Heather. The other ladies agreed, it was getting late, and they had better things to do than fuck such a loose whore. "Can we take a rain check?" she asked.

"Absolutely, ladies" said Chantz. "He's your bitch now, while he's at work, so it's up to you. I certainly wouldn't want him to stand in the way of your more important plans. You can just come in here any time and bend him over." The ladies filed out, and Chantz and Brittany blindfolded me, flipped my skirt up, and led me, topless and bound to their waiting car. About ten minutes later, the car stopped, and I heard both women get out, and I thought I heard airplanes landing in the background. Then I remembered that Brittany was going on the road. I heard the two women kiss and then Chantz got back in the car. 

By the direction of her voice, she must have looked back at me, bound and practically naked on the floor. "You're in for it now, sissy," she said. "Brittany was so nice to you, but you are mine for the next few weeks. We are going to have so much fun. Well, at least I am," she laughed as we sped down the highway. She stopped the car, dragged me inside, and removed the blindfold. We were at home.

"We have box seats to the opera, and we are leaving in an hour," she informed me as she unbound me. "Get yourself cleaned up and be in my room naked in twenty minutes." I showered quickly, as the water stung my already sore ass, and presented myself to Chantz, who was already dressed to kill in a man's three piece suit, complete with wig and light facial hair. "I need a lady who will look elegant, yet sexy. I think this will do the trick," she said, as she pulled out a sparkling red v neck halter style full length dress. I pulled on matching red thong panties, but was not given a bra. She helped me into the dress and fastened the clasp behind my neck. The dress left a good part of my back exposed, as well as a lot of cleavage, which didn't surprise me, given the size of my tits. 

I sat down on the bed to attach the strappy red heels to my feet, and Chantz came back with some jewelry. "This pearl necklace should complete the look," she laughed. "Won't be the only one you're getting tonight." With that, she handed me a small purse, and led me down the stairs to the car. 

We arrived at the opera house, and I took Chantz's arm, and she led me to our box seats. I was very well known there as a patron, and was often accompanied by attractive women. This time, the shoe was on the other foot. As the lights dimmed, and the show started she whispered to me, "Honey, why don't you sit on my lap." I did as I was told, and felt her strapon jabbing my ass as I tried to make myself comfortable on her lap. A few minutes later she whispered, "Honey, I want you to stand up, bend over at the waist, and remove your thong." As I did so, I heard her undo her zipper and a rustle and a flop and I knew it was her dick. "Now sit back down," she demanded, as she forced me down on her lap by my shoulders. She took the panties from me and stuffed them in my mouth. I felt her hands on my tits and her cock rubbing against the smooth material of the dress, which was the only thing covering my ass. 

"Stand back up, slowly," she growled. "Now reach back with both hands and roll your dress up over your ass. Make it hot, bitch." As I was concentrating on making as little noise as possible, she reached up, grabbed my shoulders and impaled me on her cock. I screamed into the gag. I was thankful the theater was mostly dark, and that to anyone that could see, it just appeared that I just a woman sitting on my boyfriend's lap. Since she was already balls deep in my ass, Chantz decided to maximize the penetration by simply flexing her hips, thus driving the cock further into my sore bottom as she massaged my shoulders. "You are such a whore, letting me fuck you like this. You just never get tired of getting it in the ass," she whispered. "I could fuck you like this all night." 

It seemed she was serious. She reamed me like this for the next two acts. Finally, the show entered the final act, and I thought I was saved. I should have known better. As the show ended, everyone began to stand up and applaud. "Stand up slowly, slut, and make sure you stay on my cock," she warned. I stood up slowly. "Now lean over the balcony, and cheer your little ass off." I did as I was told, leaning over, her cock still firmly embedded in my ass, and the panties still in my mouth, and began clapping. She leaned back, and for a moment my ass was empty. Then in a split second, she jammed all 10 inches back into me. It was too much. I screamed and dropped the panties onto the section down below. 

Slowly a few people began to look up. Chantz continued to remove and then reinsert her entire cock into my waiting ass. The more I screamed the more of an audience we drew. She reached up, and undid the clasp behind my neck, letting my tits free to the bewilderment of the crowd. "Sorry to disrupt the show," Chantz said. "I'm just teaching Brad here a lesson in respect. You all remember Brad, don't you?" she said as she drove into me. Then she reached forward and lifted up my dress exposing my hard little cock as my huge tits continued to sway over the balcony. "He was always coming here with a new woman, but not his wife. You all knew it. Now you are witnesses to what can happen when you cheat on your wife and disrespect women." 

The men continued to look on in shocked silence, but most of the women broke into applause. The applause egged Chantz on, and she began pulling hair with one hand and slapping my ass with the other, as she continued to hammer away at my ass. My dress was bunched up in the back, and providing no support in the front, which meant my tits were swaying wildly over the balcony. My thighs were getting sore and I was losing balance on the heels. Chantz continued to berate me. "This slut is so worthless; she can't even stand a good fucking. I guess it doesn't matter to me, as long as I get off. Can I have the spotlight please?" she asked. 

Soon, I was bathed in white light, as she withdrew from my ass and spun me around so that we were both sideways, so that the remaining women could see us. She grabbed my by the hair and started fucking my mouth. "If you can't finish me off properly, then I guess this will do," she laughed. With that she pulled out of my mouth and I felt a warm, creamy liquid soak my face, hair, and tits. She had a squirting strapon. I winced as it got in my eyes, and she laughed as jet after jet soaked me. 

"Well, that was the climax to this show. If any of you want to see how it ends, see lady at the ticket window. She has our website and email address. We've got a lot more of this on video. I'm sorry, but there will be no autographs after our show tonight, we must be on our way. Thank you; you've been a lovely audience." I cleaned up my face as best I could, reclasped my dress, and walked hand in hand with Chantz, my eyes lowered and my head down, back to the car. Could my life get any worse?