The Queen of Cunts

Chapter I

The students of Otterburg College referred to the Library Sub-Basement A as “The Pit,” and, occasionally, so did the faculty. Far beneath the pristine ramparts of ivory towers, it was a dimly lit, scarcely visited repository of unorganized documents, tattered manuscripts and forgotten acquisitions. The old campus joke, back when Raiders of the Lost Ark wasn’t an AMC film, was the annual “Search for the Ark of the Covenant” party when drunken nerds would use all of their collegiate wit to sneak a keg into the library and throw a party. Indeed, the Pit was so remote that Dr. Sandra Clark, PhD. had taught at Otterburg for over two years before she first pressed that fateful buton on the elevator console.

The thirty three year old assistant professor of antiquities had descended to the basement of academia in search of the remains of a treatise on Vedic astrology. Although the document was, as she had been warned, damaged beyond all legibility, Dr. Clark decided to indulge her curiosity. Poking around through rotting crates and moldy boxes, she began to realize why most of the items in the pit had been exiled to such a humid dungeon. Just before leaving the Pit forever, she noticed a oddly contorted tarp covered in dust and shadow. Curious, she unveiled a single block of granite that was guaranteed to put her on the tenure track.

Since then she had spent all of her precious free time for the last four months quietly preparing for her big publication. She had also kept most of her colleagues out of the loop, explaining only that she was working on project for a friend. One Saturday night, the good professor was once again deep underground, burning the midnight oil:

“The granite has been placed to the Tibetan plateau, and yet I can’t help but wonder if the findings are in error, as there is nothing Tibetan about the artistic motif,” As was her habit, Sandra recorded her musings into a small digital microphone as she poured over her notes. Dr. Clark switched off the recorder and rubbed her eyes. “I need more coffee,”

Standing up and stretching her neck, Sandra stepped back from the small alcove of order she had cleared as an ad hoc working space. Retrieving a thermos of lukewarm coffee from the floor, Dr. Clark considered her prize. The idol was life-sized statue, a four armed deity meditating with an erect phallus. His head was thrown back towards the heavens in an expression of orgasmic bliss. The craftsmanship of the statue was exquisite, carved and polished with such care that the muscles of the cross-legged God appeared to stretch under his stone skin. Somehow, her gaze kept finding its way back to the idol’s penis. The prominent member, meticulously detailed from foreskin to scrotum, demanded attention. The artist had even thought to etch in the veins.

Sandra set her thermos down and crouched to examine the carvings more closely. She had been repeatedly frustrated by the apparent lack of any writing or stylistic motifs to identify the culture who created this figure. The idol was hyper-realistic, without any artistic embellishment, as though the figure had not been carved, but petrified. Dr. Clark reached out to touch it, wrapping her hand around the granite genital. Her thumb ran up the polished shaft then circled its glans. The professor felt an strong urge to stick it in her mouth.

“Whoa!” Sandra retreated and shook the cobwebs out of her head. The dark silence of the Pit was getting to her. Gathering up some of her notes, Sandra contemplated the idol further. Some scholars have suggested that a pre-historical fertility cult existed in the Himalayan region, whose traces reemerged in disparate belief systems thousands of years after its disappearance.

With growing enthusiasm, Sandra wondered if she might have finally found proof of such a cult. This was a career-making discovery, and it was sitting under everyone’s nose the whole time. Still, Dr. Clark knew, that’s how science often worked. One often had to make her own luck, keeping an open eye and mind, for the next big discovery.  Which is perhaps why the assistant professor found the idol increasingly consuming her thoughts. Of course, Otterburg was renowned for its eccentric faculty, so stopping to write down a note in the middle of lecture hardly even registered on the students’ strangeness meter. 

Deciding to start from the top down, Sandra took a closer look at the statue. The God’s head was raised to the skies, his facial expression one of carefully crafted orgasmic ecstasy, the halo of sunbeams emanating from his brow only accentuating his moment of enlightenment. The anonymous artist was unparalleled for his time. It was as if the statue had once been a man, his moment of release frozen for all eternity. Sandra grabbed another book on ancient sculpture and tried again to find a revealing detail that might expose his influences.

“It’s getting late,” Sandra knew she needed to get going, the library was going to close soon. The enigmatic idol kept drawing her in. Another hour passed and still no progress.

Dr. Clark finally packed up her notes and slipped on her coat when she decided to take one last look at the phallus again. Sandra shook her head slowly; she had helped dug bare breasted Aphrodite from the sands of Turkey, excavated a twelve-foot phallic Herm in Greece, could lecture for hours on the ins and outs of Roman pornography. Why then, despite her professional training, was she so ruffled by the realism of this stone penis? The prominence of the member, right along the center axis of the idol, seemed to indicate that it was the key to unlocking the mysteries of this statue.

“Maybe there’s a glyph or something, the artist must have signed such a magnificent work of art,” the seasoned professor got down on her knees and scrutinized the God’s penis, her face only inches from the carefully carved veins. She licked it quickly from base to tip. “Oh my god- mmggrph!”

Sandra’s horror was cut off as she slid the entire eight-inch granite phallus down her throat until she was kissing the base of its shaft. Soon she was sucking and twisting her tongue to give a three thousand year old idol a blowjob the likes of which she hadn’t performed since grad school. As her head bobbed, Dr. Clark removed her jacket and started slowly, deliberately unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse.

Finally, Sandra was able to pull her mouth away and stood up, backing away in horror from the saliva glistening on the idol’s member. Clutching her head she looked at the statue, noticing the God’s orgasmic visage as if she had just sucked him off. Her steps were uneasy, her vision blurry as the professor gathered her paperwork. Clutching her briefcase to the cleavage showing through her partially unbuttoned shirt, Sandra started to run, but the force of the idol stopped her in her tracks.

It wanted more.

She wanted more.

Dr. Clark suddenly realized the depth of her perversion, the reason she found the idol so fascinating, the late nights alone in the Pit. She had become increasingly fixated with this side project as it took up more and more of her thoughts, distracting her during class, at home. She was sexually obsessed with the idol. Turning around to face her dark secret, Sandra dropped her notes to the cement floor. The God’s prominent manhood called her back.

“Nobody will ever know,” she said aloud, “If I indulge a fantasy just this once,”

Sandra walked up to the idol, stepping out of her shoes and letting her hair down. She wanted to flirt with it, make this hunk of granite yearn for her body, burn with passion deep in its cold veins.

“You want this don’t you?” Sandra told it huskily, running her hands over her body like a twenty-year old stripper. “Well, tonight’s your lucky night,”

The assistant professor still felt silly talking to a statue, but her imagination was helping stoke her passions. She visualized herself back in college, before the sagging breasts and ballooning thighs and butt. She started acting the part of those sexy coeds that never went to her class, ripping her blouse off her shoulders and tossing it away. Sandra’s heart jumped as she approached the statue again, removing her bra and thrusting her breasts against the cold stone.

“I want you!” Sandra screamed, her dark passion echoing a thousand times through the corridors of the Pit. She kissed the God’s neck as she unbuckled her belt and wiggled free of her slacks. Bound only by her socks and underwear, Sandra fully surrendered to her twisted fantasy.

With a coy smile, the thirty-something scholar stepped back from her stone lover and hooked her thumbs through the waistband of her panties. She turned around and slowly removed the sweaty cotton from her body, making sure to tease the God with her goods.

“Here I am,” Sandra told the deity as she dropped her panties into one of his four hands and thrust her hips forward. “Your dream come true,”

Of course, it was her dreams coming to fruition as Sandra carefully started mounting the statue, wrapping her arms and legs around its torso, pressing her breasts against his chest. Slowly, she lined her body up and lowered her pelvis, shivering as the cold granite tip pressed against her lower lips. Sandra took a deep breath and let gravity slide the statue’s most prominent feature into her body.

It hurt at first, as Sandra felt her pussy stretch to accommodate the God sized member, but the discomfort quickly faded. The professor started rhythmically working her body against the stiff stone. It felt so good inside of her, and Sandra briefly considered having the idol moved into her office. As the fire in her loins melted reason, the frantic woman started fucking the statue faster, rubbing herself against the God’s stone body and screaming as control slipped forever away.

“Dr. Clark!” A voice screamed from the hallway. Still basking in the warmth of her orgasm, Sandra twisted her head towards the brunette coed, a student of hers on a work-study program at the library, and smiled. “Uh, Dr. Clark, I, um, the library is closing,”

“Really, Kim?” Sandra sent her soul flying across the pit, seizing the young woman in a crushing embrace. With a teasing touch she explored her mind, softening her resistance, testing her restraint. Finally, with a single thrust of her psyche, Sandra penetrated Kim’s tight slit of a soul. “I guess time flies when you’re having fun,”

Dr. Clark dismounted, grinning at the wet farting noise her pussy made as it slid off the enormous granite cock. Kim stood in a stupor, staring incredulously at her naked professor and the obscene idol. The older woman looked her over, a not unattractive chubby black haired girl. Kim’s breasts were large and round and her thighs and ass well proportioned to her body type. She even had a cute little bulge of teenage fat which peeked out between the top of her jeans and the bottom of her shirt.

“Could you do me a favor, Kim?” Sandra smirked as she pulled her pants up her sweaty legs. “Clean up the idol for me,”

“Of course,” Kim walked past her professor and got down on all fours in front of the statue. Sliding the granite dick between her lips, she started slurping Dr. Clark’s juices off its shaft. As Sandra rebuttoned her blouse, sans underwear, she watched Kim’s full buttocks fill out her jeans as she bobbed her head between the God’s thighs. She decided next time, she’d make the sophomore do it naked.

“That’s good, Kim,” Dr. Clark commanded as she picked up her files and got ready to leave. “We need to go,”

“Okay,” the chubby coed brushed her hair out of her face and followed the professor out of the Pit. Together they walked wordlessly out of the Otterburg library and into the quad. Dr. Clark walked Kim through the campus, towards the dormitories, as she continued to explore the curves and folds of the young woman’s brain.

“Tell me,” Sandra said as her nipples stiffened in the cool night air. “Do you have a boyfriend, Kim?”

“No,” the teen answered mournfully, the first time any emotion bled through her trance.

“But there’s somebody you have in mind,” Sandra smiled. “What’s his name?”

“Darren Wallace,” Kim replied flatly, “He’s a Junior in my Spanish class,”

“And he has a girlfriend,”

“Yes, I’ve seen her, she’s a lot prettier than I am,”

“I want you to stop by my office tomorrow, Kim,” Dr. Clark instructed as they came to Kim’s dorm. “Don’t forget,”

“I won’t,” Kim’s mind suddenly cleared and she remembered everything. How she had found her professor working diligently in the Pit and the lovely conversation about Egyptian archaeology they had on the walk back. She turned and waved goodnight. “I’ll see you in class, Professor Clark,”

“Good night, Kim,” Sandra grinned and began humming all the way to the faculty parking lot.

*    *    *

Meanwhile, in a small local bar across town, a young man washed down popcorn with beer while staring vacantly at Sportscenter. The weary jukebox in the corner continued to grind out old favorites as the sparse crowd jostled for position around the only pool table. The Dillon Street Café was an unpopular stop for college kids, and the regular clientèle worked hard to make sure it stayed that way.

“Another Budweiser, Jimmy?”

“Sure thing, Michelle,” Jim Nelson was a recent graduate of Otterburg and an even more recent inductee to the Dillon Street elite. Michelle, the only cocktail waitress tonight, returned with a fresh pint. After discovering a particularly tangy kernel, Jim took a deep quaff of beer. “Say, how old is this popcorn, anyway,”

“Well, I started working here in back in…” Michelle laughed, scratching her head for comic effect.

“Forget I asked,” Jim pushed the basket away. “Slow night tonight,”

“You’re telling me,” Michelle looked around for the bartender, before sitting down at Jim’s table and propping her feet up on a chair. “I haven’t made forty lousy bucks yet,”

“I know the feeling, I haven’t sold an article since the beginning of the month,”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the waitress said with mock distress, “Are you in danger of having to get a real job?”

“Real funny,” Jim shrugged. The blue-collar folk here enjoyed jabbing each other, and their adopted college kid’s profession was a favorite target. “I’ll remember this when I win my first Pulitzer,”

“So, what are the chances you’re taking me home tonight, Jimmy?” The attractive older woman leaned over the table and gave Jim a wink. This was hardly as shocking a question as one might expect. Michelle had always made it clear that she wanted the young freelance writer and eventually her come-ons had just become part of their regular banter.

"Sorry, but I'm a man with principles," Jim shook his head and lit a cigarette.

“You must be the only one,” Michelle snorted before the bartender walked back out and she leaped to her feet. “Just as well, I’d break you in half, string bean,”

Jim laughed as Michelle resumed her work. He liked this place and the salty cocktail waitresses were as much a part of the bar as the worn linoleum floor and warped pool cues. A burst of cold air on his back announced the arrival of fresh patrons, and Jim turned around to see who had come in.

The woman who stood by the door, however, was certainly not a Dillon Street regular. A petite young woman with dark caramel skin and long black hair, Jim guessed her to be of East Indian decent. Probably a Otterburg student, she hardly looked old enough to be in a bar, much less this one.

“Can I help you, honey?” Michelle walked right up to her, delivering her question in the icy tone used to remind college kids that not every place in this town catered to them.

“I need to talk to Jim Nelson, it is most urgent,” the stranger said with just a hint of a British accent. Michelle turned to Jim and raised her eyebrows accusingly. He just shrugged.

“He’s right there, honey,” Michelle pointed to the table by the jukebox where Jim sat, more than a little intrigued.

“Thank you,” the Indian girl nodded her head ever so slightly, a gesture that was subtle, but not restrained. She locked eyes with Jim from across the bar and smiled with teeth that were perfectly white and square. The confused writer studied her face as she crossed the floor to his table. Her cheeks were set high, sculpting a face that bore as regal demeanor as her careful, deliberate strides.

“Do I know you?” Jim asked, but received no immediate response. The Indian girl removed her coat and hung it on the hanger before lowering herself into the chair across from him. Every movement of her body was so precise and intentional, it seemed inconceivable to Jim this woman had ever stumbled or blundered.

“You will,” when she answered him, her eyes locked into his. “We are here to make love to each other,”

“Excuse me?” Jim almost laughed, but swallowed his incredulousness. “I don’t know what Michelle’s been telling you, but those rumors are completely unfounded,”

“There’s not much time, we must get to work soon,” if this was an elaborate practical joke, the Indian woman was a tremendous actress. Her deep, emerald eyes betrayed not even a hint of mirth.

“Listen, I hate to break this to you,” Jim shook his head, “but I’m celibate,”

“That is precisely why it must be you,” the strange girl kept her gaze on the man across from her. Jim couldn’t remember seeing her blink yet.

“Listen, you’re a very attractive young woman,” Jim said, and that much was certainly true. [Describe]. “But, I have my principles,”

“There is a season for all things,” she answered with all the conscious articulation with which she seemed to imbue everything. “The austerities of winter are sure to give way to the abundance of spring,”

“I’ll tell you what,” Jim laughed at the absurdity of his situation. His pride had gotten himself into some ridiculous situations before, but this topped them all. He had to admit, however, he already liked this intelligent, regal young woman. “Why don’t I buy you a drink and we can get to know each other, like, for instance, your name,”

“I can accept those terms,” the Indian woman smiled again and held out a long, delicate hand. “My name is Sarasvati,”

“I’m Jim, but I guess you already knew that,”

“Can I get you two anything,” Michelle approached the table and threw Jim a viciously disapproving glare.

“I’ll have another beer, and something for the young lady,”

“A glass of merlot, if you please,”

"We got boxed wine in the cooler, white or red?"

"Red, then, please," the Indian woman said without disapproval.

*    *    *

On Sunday, Kim walked into the Classics department offices, trying to fathom why Dr. Clark wanted to see her today. She was doing very well in her classes, and the professor had always been very nice to her. Maybe, she wondered, there was some project Dr. Clark wanted her to work on. It was late afternoon, and the office lobby was empty except for an attractive blond nervously waiting by the water cooler. Kim instantly recognized her as Darren’s girlfriend, Molly, and sat down across the room from her.

“Hello, Kim,” Dr. Clark stuck her head out her office door a few moments after the sophomore arrived. “Come on in,”

“Okay,” the chubby coed stood up and, throwing a curious glance at the other girl, walked into her office. Her eyes shot open when she saw the object of her crush sitting patiently in Dr. Clark’s office.

“Have a seat,” the professor indicated the empty seat in front of her desk, right next to Darren. “I did find the correct boy, right?”

“Um, yea,” Kim whispered, staring at the floor. What was going on here?

“Good,” Sandra smiled and focused her attention on the young man. “Darren, this is Kim, she’s your new girlfriend,”

“Okay,” Darren nodded, captivated by Kim’s eyes.

“And you’re going to be a good boyfriend to her,” Sandra continued. “And take care of her every need, her every desire,”

“Of course,” the boy nodded and Kim stared at him open mouthed. He returned her surprise with a look of utter adulation as he reached out and started rubbing Kim’s very ample thigh.

“What is happening?” Kim asked her professor.

“He’s all yours, Kim,” Sandra’s voice boomed with authority. “From now on, Darren will obey your every command, service you in any way you desire. His body, mind and soul belong to you,”

“Really?” Kim was puzzled, but her excitement was overcoming her sense of violated logic. Darren’s hand slid upward and massaged her belly in slow circles. “But… what about his girlfriend?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already thought of that,” Dr. Clark yelled for Molly and the girly blond walked in looking thoroughly perplexed. The professor pointed at a folding chair set up in the corner of her office. “Sit, Molly,”

“What’s going on?” the coed asked as she obeyed Dr. Clark’s command.

“There’s going to be a change in your relationship with Darren,” Sandra began. “From now on, he’s going to be having lots of sex with Kim over here,”

Darren finally slipped his wandering hand past the waistband of Kim’s panties. The chubby freshman drew a sharp breath as she felt his fingers navigating their curious way through her pubic hair.

“Okay,” Molly watched as her boyfriend cupped Kim’s breast with his other hand and began licking and kissing her ear and neck. “I don’t understand, how am I supposed to feel about that?”

“You’re okay with this, in fact, you’re aroused by the idea of Darren with another girl,”

“I am?”

“Of course,” Sandra turned to wink at Kim, but found her young pupil was far too occupied with her new toy’s growing interest in the lower portion of her anatomy. Molly, too, watched the pair of frantically necking college students with fascination. When Darren stood up and pulled Kim’s shirt over her head, a voyeuristic thrill started to heat up her body. She began rubbing her nipples through the front of her shirt.

“Thank you, thank you, Professor Clark!” Kim’s fat tits jiggled with joy as she pulled the cups of her bra down and shoved her tits in Darren’s face. A shallow moan came from the corner of the room.

“You’re very welcome,” Sandra stood up from her desk and admired her handicraft. Kim and Darren pawed and groped at each other vigorously, while Molly sat in the corner breathing heavily as she slipped a hand down her designer jeans and bit her lower lip.

“Is everything alright in here?” Dr. Clark looked up to see her office assistant, Barbara, open the door with a confused look on her face. Her befuddlement turned to shock as Kim, unconcerned with anything but her long delayed urges, bent over Dr. Clark’s desk and dropped her pants. Darren was not long in pulling down her pink panties and squeezing her wide bottom.

“Everything is fine, Barb,” Sandra dispelled her concerns with a deft flick of her wrist. “Why don’t we take a walk, and I’ll explain everything,”

“Okay,” Barb shrugged.

Dr. Clark smiled and walked out with the Senior, leaving the trio to their own devices. She had much more work to do.