Captive College Girl
by Lydia Holmes


INTRODUCTION 

Everybody has buried within him a person he does not know. Most of us are 
lucky, and our encounters with that person are few and brief. Others are not 
so fortunate. Those people are forced to confront that stranger that is 
themselves, and deal with it. Sometimes, that hidden person can totally take 
over a person. Other times, it can be defeated. 

Perhaps the most famous example of this fact of human nature can be found in 
the splendid "Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde," by Robert Louis Stevenson. In that 
classic story, a good-natured scientist drinks a potion he hopes will 
distinguish the good in him from the evil. Instead, the evil takes over 
completely. 

Not all things are a matter of good and evil, though. People are complicated 
beings, subtle and shadowed. Such was the case with Sharon Simmons. A 
beautiful girl, she never let her beauty sway her from her interest in 
learning. She had ambition and she was positive nothing would ever stand in 
the way of her goals. 

Still, just as there is evil in everybody, there is also a creature who 
lusts for the carnal, the sexual. It existed in Sharon, but she never 
acknowledged it, never sought to confront it. She pretended it was never 
there, and that turned out to be her downfall. 

It is necessary in life to reach compromises with one's self. Sharon didn't. 
And when, against her will, the lustful part of her rose to the surface, she 
found herself unable to beat it back. 

The Bible asks us to know ourselves, and that is a more profound 
recommendation that it appears at first glance. Each of us should examine 
ourselves, understand what makes us tick, and be ready to deal with those 
submerged parts of ourselves that we don't see every day. 

Read Sharon's story. It might just help you understand the importance of 
acknowledging the hidden you. And when you've finished reading, take a good 
long look at yourself. You could wind up avoiding a lot of pain and 
suffering. 


CHAPTER ONE 

Dear Diary: 

I thought the bus ride would never end, but I finally got here, and am I 
relieved! It's as beautiful as everybody said it would be, as picturesque as 
the catalogues made it out to be. It looks so much like a museum painting 
it's hard to believe that learning actually goes on here. But it does, as 
you already know. State University is one of the most respected and honored 
institutions of higher education in the entire country, and here I am ready 
to become a part of it. 

The campus itself looks like an old East Coast village, with tall towers and 
steeples, and buildings made of ancient red brick. It's still early 
September, so the lawns are green and manicured, but in the winter I expect 
they will be blanketed with layers of snow, and icicles will hang from the 
building roofs. 

The campus is walking distance from the small nearby town, which boasts a 
gas station or two, a couple restaurants, movie theatres, the usual 
complement of hardware stores and fashion shops, and a book store. And of 
course there's the library, which I'm told is larger and better-equipped 
than the campus library, so I'll be spending a great deal of my time there. 

There are only two types of people who live here, apparently. There are 
students and faculty and administration employees-those who are affiliated 
with the University, and there are those who run the stores, which cater to 
those who are affiliated with the University. Like a vicious circle that 
feeds on itself, one supports the other. Of course if the University were to 
close or move, the town would surely perish. 

The combined town and campus are surrounded for miles and miles by wheat 
fields. The tall blades of wheat dance in the whispering breeze against a 
blue sky, as though somebody painted an idealistic backdrop. No, there is no 
smog, not much traffic, and a lot of peace and quiet. From this initial 
impression, I do believe I'm going to like it here very much. Even though 
the weather is supposed to get terribly cold in the winter, the whole 
environment seems to lend itself to academic pursuits. It's not like those 
party campuses in Colorado or Southern California, where there is too much 
opportunity for distraction. Here, it seems, even those students who are not 
academically inclined would do well for without studying the boredom would 
certainly become overwhelming. 

None of this is to say that I intend to be in the least antisocial. I've 
always done quite well at meeting the finer element among my classmates, and 
I expect that will be no different now that I am out of high school and in 
college. While dating has never been one of my priorities, I do expect there 
will be one or two decent, intelligent men here with whom I can share a 
pleasant evening. 

And then there's the sorority. Sigma Epsilon Chi, which to me seems the 
stupidest name a sorority can be attached to. The Greek letters, of course, 
spell SEX, and has no business on a college campus. 

Still, I do understand that the society dates back literally to the Greeks, 
where SEX meant nothing more than the symbols of three letters. The word 
"sex" in Greek is obviously something completely different. 

And my mother was a member of this sorority, as was her mother before her. 
At first I was leery of joining any such social group, but Mother did change 
my mind rather effectively. After all, this is a place to stay, a place to 
call home. There are other girls there, girls with as ravenous an appetite 
for knowledge as my own, with whom I can study and share various insights. 

One other benefit of being a SEX sister (that looks ridiculous, doesn't it) 
is that I will belong. I remember being the brainy child in elementary 
school. I wasn't dumpy or unattractive, but because my interests lay more in 
math and English than in jacks and dirty words, I was ostracized. Today I'm 
very attractive, and I do find many boys come on to me, but it's hard to 
make them understand I'm simply not interested in them. That type of 
attitude would isolate me as much as in grammar school, and the sorority 
will serve as a shield against that. 

Still, I'm not a sister yet, just as I have not received my class 
assignments yet. My classes will come tomorrow, and the day after that the 
Greek rush begins. I, of course, will go only to SEX, where my mother and 
grandmother's memberships will serve as a foot in the door. I shall pledge, 
and thereafter becoming a full-fledged sister is up to me. 

I'm sure I can cut it. 

Well, Diary, that's all for now. I'm alone here at this big college, and I'm 
not ashamed to admit I'm just a little frightened. And awed. But I'm also 
eager and anxious. I feel as though my whole life awaits me here. 

God bless. 

* * * * * 

Sharon Simmons was plagued with bad dreams her second night at State. Not 
nightmares, exactly, but unpleasant images that danced like dervishes in her 
head. 

She awakened the next morning feeling tired and spent, but she knew the 
cause of her restlessness. It was a combination of things. First, she was 
not settled; her quarters were temporary, small and shabby. A motel room 
outside the campus boundaries was no place for somebody with her intellect, 
and it sat ill with her. Then there were her classes. Out of five sections, 
only two were what she had been hoping for. She was a frosh no matter what 
her IQ, and had to take the leavings of the sophomores, juniors and seniors. 
Mostly the upcoming semester appeared as though it would be a waste of time, 
classes she either cared nothing about or could breeze easily through. 

She awakened feeling more tired than she had been when she went to sleep, 
but was determined not to let her bad start set the tone of her first year 
in college. It was, after all, something she had been so looking forward to. 
And even if she would learn little in her first year, she would by God study 
her tail off and carry a 4.0 average. Maybe the classes were worthless, but 
the grades she got, she knew, would count in her overall grade point 
average. 

She ate a sticky breakfast of pancakes in the motel's mediocre coffee shop, 
then walked into the brisk morning air, her bag slung casually over her 
shoulder. She arrived at the campus book store fifteen minutes before it 
opened, and stood around in front reading the mimeographed notices posted 
the week before by the Greek organizations, beckoning new students to be 
sure to stop by their house during rush week. Some offered attractive 
benefits, such as a fully-stocked house library and study groups, others 
pushed trivial nonsense like a movie room and free beer in kegs. 

There was no advertisement for SEX, though, which didn't surprise Sharon. It 
was an exclusive restricted sorority, and those girls who would rush it 
already knew about it. Oh, of course there were those who would drop by 
strictly because the house had the Greek letters plastered over the garage 
door, but they would be summarily dismissed. One or two might happen, by 
coincidence, to meet the sorority's qualifications, but mostly those girls 
would have to find another house to join. New pledges in SEX were limited by 
number, by qualification, and by background. Sharon's mother had told her 
all of this. 

She heard the sound of metal on metal, and turned to see the front double 
doors of the bookstore being unlocked, and she went in. 

She already knew her teachers, from the assignments she had received, and 
she browsed through the bookstore, searching for the cards tacked beneath 
the stacks of textbooks, picking the volumes she would need for her classes. 

Mostly the books did not impress her; several she had already read, and a 
few seemed decidedly beneath her. Only one or two intrigued her, and these 
she made certain to select new copies, rather than the less expensive used 
versions. 

She paid for the books, scowling at the exorbitant prices, and hefted them 
back to her temporary quarters at the hotel, dumped them unceremoniously on 
her bed, and went back outside. It was near ten o'clock now, and the autumn 
air was taking on a blanket of warmth, deceiving since she knew the cold 
weather was only a few weeks away. 

She looked around, seeing the tall steeples of the campus' old brick 
buildings spread across a few acres, and was suddenly overwhelmed by 
confusion. Students, old and new, rushed back and forth, and the school 
teemed with life although classes would not start for another few days. She 
needed to find out where the SEX house was located, but was gripped by a 
sudden fear. She could not bring herself to talk with any of these 
unfamiliar faces that passed by. It made her feel that old sensation of 
being different and alone. 

Finally she went to the coffee shop and spotted the waitress who had served 
her breakfast. "Excuse me," she said as the woman raced by her balancing 
several plates on her two arms. 

"Yeah?" the waitress said, not stopping to talk but expecting Sharon to keep 
up with her. 

Sharon followed her to a table where a couple of middle-aged men were 
drinking coffee, awaiting their eggs and hashed browns. "I'm supposed to 
rush a sorority house today, but I'm not familiar with the campus. Do you 
know where the houses are?" 

"Sure," the waitress said, uninterested. "Which house?" 

"Sigma Epsilon Chi," Sharon said. 

The waitress snapped her head around, still holding one plate but neglecting 
to put it on the table. The man in the suit and tie who was waiting for his 
breakfast watched her irritably, but she paid no attention. 

"Why in the world would you be interested in that house?" the waitress 
asked. Now that Sharon had her attention, she could look at her. The 
waitress was not old, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five, and she was 
slender and attractive, with large, round breasts that jutted out from her 
body, each an entity of its own swelling and straining against her 
tight-fitting uniform. 

"My mother was a sister," Sharon said, "and her mother. I'm bound by 
tradition to pledge." 

"Shit," the waitress said, and the foul word hung in the air like a thick, 
smelly fog. "Why don't you find yourself another house. Or better yet, stay 
clear of the Greeks. They're all assholes anyway. And SEX house is about the 
worst of the bad lot." 

Sharon was shocked to hear these sentiments expressed, but not dismayed. 
After all, who was a waitress to tell her what to do and what not to do. 
Haughtiness in her voice, Sharon said, "I didn't ask your opinion of the 
house. Just directions to it. Now, either you know how to get there or you 
don't." 

"Oh, I know all right. I used to be a sister there." 

Sharon had been unprepared for that revelation. "You?" she stammered. The 
waitress was so crude, so ordinary and lower class. She smacked on a wad of 
gum crammed in her mouth, and she had coffee and grease stains on her gaudy 
costume. Everything she had ever been told about SEX indicated a good class 
of girl. 

"Surprised, huh?" the waitress said. The man awaiting his breakfast cleared 
his throat irritably, but the waitress just turned on him and snapped, "Hold 
your damn pants, will ya?" Then she turned back to Sharon. "Listen, hon. 
That sorority hasn't changed in seventy years, and it's not bound to. You 
look like a nice girl, so I'm offering you my advice, and Christ knows I've 
got the experience to give it. There's all kinds of clubs and Greeks and 
organizations at State. You don't want to join up with SEX." 

"Why?" Sharon wanted to know. 

But the waitress turned at the question and dropped the plate she was 
holding on the table. The customer grunted sarcastic appreciation for the 
service, then muttered something to his companion about the tip they would 
leave. 

The waitress ignored the remark and walked toward the kitchen, and Sharon 
hastened after her, finally grabbing her shoulder and stopping her. "What's 
the matter with SEX house, besides their ridiculous name?" 

"The name's just three Greek letters," the waitress said, an uncomfortable 
quiver in her voice. "As for what's wrong ... I can't say. Just take my word 
for it." 

"Tell me, why can't you say?" Sharon asked, demanding an answer with the 
sternness in her voice. 

"Look, dammit, I took an oath. So will you if you pledge. Just take my word 
for it. Just ... oh hell. Listen hon, if you want to kick in with SEX, be my 
guest. It's none of my business. They're on the east end of campus, a big 
two-story house on E. Street. You can't miss it. But don't say I didn't warn 
you." 

Before Sharon could say anything, the waitress had pushed through the double 
doors leading into the noisy kitchen. 

Sharon waited for a few minutes, but the waitress did not return. She 
shrugged, figuring the girl must have been some sort of an outcast. She 
certainly did not fit the image of SEX that had been instilled in her. She 
had not fit, and they had dropped her. Now she was bitter and resentful. 
That must be it. 

She walked back outside and now the warm autumn day was in full, glorious 
bloom. The sun warmed her face, and the foreboding feeling she had felt 
inside the coffee shop vanished. She walked briskly and happily across the 
campus, surveying the school in its entirety for the first time. It was a 
rambling place, and it reeked of academia. Sharon began to feel close to the 
place, at home there. 

Then she was out of the campus, across its other boundary, and among a dozen 
quaint and tree lined streets. She wandered over them, examining the street 
signs and finally identifying E Street. She turned its corner, and 
immediately before her she saw the house. 

It was, as the waitress had said, a very large, almost Victorian two-story 
affair, with a fresh coat of paint, clean, pretty curtains in the windows, 
and an air of freshness and cleanliness about it. Only the letters SEX 
painted meticulously on the garage door seemed out of place. But like the 
waitress had said, it stood for Sigma Epsilon Chi, not sex. They were just 
three Greek letters. 

A few girls-and guys, she noticed-wandered intermittently in and out the 
front door of the house, well-dressed types chatting amiably. The boys all 
had well groomed hair, and no moustaches or beards. The girls, like herself, 
wore dresses and tasteful tops. It seemed to her almost a picture out of the 
1950s, when students conformed to certain standards. These days, of course, 
standards were non-existent in the enforceable sense. Yet here at SEX house, 
the members seemed to voluntarily conform. 

Sharon took a deep breath and walked up the path to the front door, and 
stepped inside. 

The place smelled like home, and she liked it instantly. There was a small 
of home cooking wafting out of the kitchen, and it was warm and lived in. A 
pretty, older girl approached her, carrying a large ledger in her hands. She 
smiled, displaying her perfect teeth. She had sun-flecked auburn hair, and 
smooth, creamy skin. She wore a tight fitting, revealing dress that managed 
still to be tasteful and discreet-while her bosom swelled within the 
constraints of the fabric, only a hint of her ample cleavage peeked over the 
top of the dress, and the hemline fell to just barely above the knee. She 
wore a red ribbon in her sculpted hair. 

"Hi," she said in a rich sing-song voice. "I'm Connie Malone, president of 
Sigma Epsilon Chi. Are you rushing?" 

"Well, sort of," Sharon said. "I'm only interested in your sorority. You 
see, both my mother and grandmother were sisters here." 

Connie brightened, and beckoned a boy over. He was a tall, stocky man, with 
short-cropped blond hair and muscles that rippled through the letterman 
sweater he wore with such ease. "Paul," she said, beaming, "this girl wants 
to pledge with us. She has relatives who have been sisters here." 

"My mother was vice president," Sharon said. She didn't say it proudly; just 
as some sort of recommendation. 

"That's terrific," Paul said, smiling. She was pleased at his cordiality, at 
the way he held out his hand and offered it to her. She accepted it, and 
liked the cool, dry firmness of his grasp. He was pleasant and nice and 
formal, the way she had envisioned the best of college men would be. And he 
wore a letter, too. She supposed it was for football, since he was a tall, 
stocky, muscular man. One day, she thought, she would strike up a romance 
with just such a man. A long, chaste courtship, then he would propose, and 
they would have a lavish engagement party. Then marriage, and she would work 
at her job part-time while they raised a family, and his healthy income from 
his prestigious job would keep them in good shape for the rest of their 
lives. Not rich, but better than comfortable. 

Paul's eyes sparked, and Sharon wondered what he was thinking. Probably 
something to do with how good a pledge she would make, a true asset to the 
sisterhood. Already she liked her surroundings, the people she had met and 
the people she could see but had not yet met. 

But Paul's mind was far from the sorority, from the quality of Sharon's 
potential pledge, from the health of the Greek organization. He was 
quarterback for the college's highly-ranked football team, as Sharon had 
guessed, but he had other thoughts. Somebody in a position of tension, 
nerves, authority and prestige such as himself, he needed a release. Some 
people found their release in food, others in sport, still others in 
entertainment. Paul found his in women. 

That was why his eyes sparked. He noted with a twinge of arousal the way her 
breasts were suspended upright, each one a mountain of firm flesh, 
independent of the other, pointing with their distended, exposed nipples 
almost in different directions, but still symmetrical. He maintained his 
poise, his demeanor, but his mind raced as he thought of her in bed. He 
imagined his throbbing cock encased with her hot, wet cuntal walls, pressing 
hard and tight against him as he impaled her with his thick meatiness. 

In his mind he kneaded her breasts, pinching the nipples with his strong 
thumb and forefinger, making them hard as pebbles, and covered with a rough 
goose flesh surface. He kept from licking his lips with only the strongest 
of will as he pictured himself lowering his head to her nipples as she 
groaned in ecstasy; his moist, quivering lips would encircle her nipples and 
suck on them as though to draw mother's milk where there was none. As he 
sucked, he fantasized, his hand would smooth over the surface of her belly, 
with skin taut and flat and smooth as velvet, until his hand felt the 
delicate, soft curl of the upper-most fringe of her triangular pubic mound. 
She would cry out then, a guttural groaning as her eyes screwed shut and her 
creamy thighs pressed together. 

His finger would still find the slit of her vagina, though, and it would be 
moist with the sticky sweetness of her cuntal lubricants, and easing his 
digit into the crack would be child's play. He felt his heart beat quicken 
as he saw his finger digging into her crack, with each pass toward the 
crevice between her legs it dipped deeper into the honey pot of her cunt, 
until her ass was gyrating against the mattress and her skin was covered 
with a fine layer of sweat. Then her hand would reach for his stiff cock. 

He brought himself out of his reverie; the fantasy had lasted less than a 
half-minute, and Sharon had no idea that he had seduced and fucked her in 
the time it had taken to shake hands. 

"I'm Paul Slaughter," he told her, "president of Kappa Kappa Alpha. Sigma 
Epsilon Chi is our sister sorority. If you become a sister, you'll be one of 
our little sisters." Inside, he beamed and gloated at the possibility. God, 
she was young and beautiful! 

"That's a real benefit of membership" Connie said, holding the pledge book 
out to her. "Kappa Kappa Alpha is the best fraternity on campus, and the 
brothers really watch out for us." 

And then some, Paul thought. 

"What's your name?" Connie asked. 

"Sharon," she said. "Sharon Simmons." 

Connie seemed to search her mind. "No," she said, "I can't seem to remember 
a Simmons in SEX." 

"My mother's maiden name was Scott," she said. "Valerie Scott." 

Connie's face lit up, as though a light bulb had gone on inside. "Of 
course," she said. "She was a vice president!" 

Sharon nodded, happy to have her mother remembered. She jotted her name in 
the pledge book. "I was hoping you'd have a room here for me," she said. 

"We've got two vacant rooms. It's two hundred a month, and you can move in 
tomorrow, assuming you plan on sticking with us. We're not interested in you 
if you're not serious about us." 

"Oh, don't worry," Sharon said. "I am. My mother has spent the last six 
months telling me how important membership is, and I intend to be one of 
your best sisters." 

Connie smiled approvingly. "That's good." 

"Why don't you go meet some of the other members?" Paul said. "There's a 
pledge or two here, too." 

"Good idea," Connie said. Sharon, happy with her initial contact with her 
mother's old sorority, shook their hands and mixed in with the crowd in the 
room for Greek rush. 

"She's a fox," Paul muttered, mostly to himself. 

"I can tell you think so," Connie replied, looking blatantly at the bulge 
that formed in his crotch. "Just be patient. Once she pledges officially and 
moves in, you'll have your crack at her." 

Paul looked at Connie and licked his lips, not trying to cover it up this 
time. "In the meantime, do you have any ideas about how to remedy the 
frustration I feel?" 

Connie smiled, pleased he had asked. "I think something can be arranged," 
she said. She took his hand and led him upstairs to her room, the 
president's room, the largest in the house. 

Paul stood still and allowed her to slowly unbutton his shirt. Each button 
that came loose was greeted with an open-mouthed kiss over the skin above 
the button, her hot serpentile tongue darting out and moistening a spot over 
the flesh where her lips were planted. 

She finally undid his last button, and, on her knees, buried her tongue in 
his naval, and rotated it, pushing it in deep as she fumbled with the button 
of his pants. She managed to get it open, then pulled the fly down and 
reached hungrily inside, beneath the elastic band of his briefs. She found 
his monstrous cock in there, hot and stiff and pulsating as blood gushed 
along the inner shaft. 

He caught his breath as her long, cool fingers wrapped around his turgid 
stiffness and squeezed. He pushed his pants and underwear down to his ankles 
with one great thrust, and his erection danced freely at a forty-five degree 
angle to his body, pointing at her neck. 

She felt his spongy cock head pressing against the soft flesh of her throat, 
urging her to surround it with her fleshy, wet lips, but as long as she was 
going to have him, she was going to have him all the way. She pulled away 
from him and sat Indian-style on the floor, and untied the ribbon from her 
thick hair. 

"What's that for?" Paul asked, a tremble in his voice. 

"You come too fast," she whispered, and tied it fairly tight around the base 
of his quivering cock. Then she leaned back on her hands, planted behind 
her, and lifted herself up so she looked as though she were about to walk 
crab style in a child's race. 

Paul sunk to his knees and tossed the hem of her conservative dress up atop 
her belly, then savagely ripped her dainty underwear from her waist. There 
was no hair on her smooth, lily-white pussy, and through her parted legs he 
could see the glistening, wet, pink flesh of her inner cunt, a doorway 
waiting to be entered. 

On his knees he walked his blue-veined thickness between the crawling flesh 
of her pussy lips, and she choked back a scream as she felt his thick penis 
crown penetrate her vagina. Her bare pubes felt the meat of his throbbing 
shaft tug and pull at it, creating friction as it rubbed her on its way 
inside of her. 

"Oh God, deeper," she whispered urgently, "deeper, damn you!" 

He continued to walk on his knees as his long shaft disappeared, swallowed 
by the tight, contracting muscles of her vaginal cavern. He knew, at last, 
that he could go no deeper into her, feeling his crown butt against 
something solid, the roof of her deep, hollow cunt. At that instant she 
gurgled, then sighed deeply. "Now fuck me," she commanded. 

Paul withdrew from her cunt so that only the top half of his rocky cock head 
was held in the vise of her pussy lips which sizzled from the heat of her 
erotic desire. Then he thrust hard into her, feeling his crown jam against 
her cervix. 

"Aaargh," she gasped, and as he withdrew, she moaned, "Yes, just like that, 
baby, fuck me just like that." 

The muscles in her legs strained and the veins stood out as she supported 
herself upright, but her mind was deep inside her pussy. Paul's mind, on the 
other hand, was downstairs on the new pledge. He imagined it was Sharon's 
sweet cunt grasping his shaft and urging his milky white juices to a head. 

The ribbon Connie had tied at the base of his cock held his sloshing semen 
back, but he felt it grow, felt the tension mount as he thrust into her 
again and again, the meat of his cock sliding along the now-sopping walls of 
Connie's tight little hole. 

Finally even the ribbon could not hold back his love juice, and it erupted 
from the pinhole in the head of his penis and washed the inside of her pussy 
with its near-boiling warmth. 

The heat of his cum and the intensity of his ejaculation stimulated her hard 
little clitoris, and she collapsed as she climaxed. Even though his cock 
slipped out of her, squirting its last bit of semen over her belly, which 
was covered by her skirt, she continued to come, gyrating against the floor 
as she felt his sticky cock liquid filling her. 

She lay on the floor gasping as Paul adjusted his pants and went back 
downstairs, done with her, ready for the new group. Particularly the new 
pledge, Sharon Simmons. He felt strangely unsatisfied. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Dear Diary: 

Today I became a Sigma Epsilon Chi pledge. 

Already I feel at home here. The young ladies who are sisters of this 
upper-crust sorority are of the best class. They seem intent on their 
education, and studious. Even though I am a pledge, I feel more accepted 
among the SEX sisters than I ever did among my peers back home. 

Being a pledge, of course, does not make me a full-fledged sister. That is 
still several weeks away. I am on a sort of probation, which is not unique 
to this house; all sororities and fraternities work that, way. There are 
several other pledges, also from families which have had members in SEX. 
Some, I suspect, will wash out, while others will pass the pledge phase, as 
well as the week-long "hazing" to become regular sisters, with all the 
recognition and responsibility attendant to that honor. 

I have already moved my few belongings from that awful motel to my room at 
the house. Right now I have the room to myself, a marvelous feeling of 
privacy and security after a lifetime of sharing a room with a younger 
sister. Still, there is another bed in the room (there are two beds in every 
room except the president's), and should another sister desire to live in 
the house, I could become somebody's roommate. But I wouldn't mind, since I 
know any sister of SEX and I would get along fine. 

After moving in and distributing my belongings to their proper places in the 
room, I enjoyed my first meal at the house. Everybody takes turns cooking 
here, and I was told my first turn comes up in three days. I think I'll make 
my lasagna, which was always a hit at home. 

Then after dinner, it was time to be initiated as a pledge to the sorority. 
I naturally expected some bizarre rite, and I was not disappointed. I have 
heard many stories about Greek initiations, with all of their strange, 
symbolic overtones. Still, I was not prepared for the SEX rite. 

We pledges-eight of us, in all, all well-built, lovely girls (if I am to be 
honest with myself, I cannot deny my good looks)-were lined up and 
blindfolded. Then we were each assigned one of the regular sisters, and told 
if we moved or cried out, that would be the end of our sisterhood then and 
there. 

I felt my heart accelerate as I wondered what was about to happen to us. I 
could hear the nervous breathing of my fellow pledges, but trapped in the 
darkness of my blindfold, I felt distinctly alone. 

"All right," I heard Connie call out-Connie was conducting the initiation, 
as was her privilege as SEX president. "Hold your arms up." 

I heard a rustling of material as I hoisted my hands above my head. I didn't 
know what to expect, but what happened was the sister assigned to me lifted 
my sweater over my head, removing it. I could tell by the sounds of rustling 
clothing that the tops of the other seven pledges were being taken off, too. 

We hadn't been told to put our arms down, and I so very badly wanted to pass 
the initiation that I kept them up. It turned out to be a wise choice, since 
I heard Connie yell to one of the other pledges, "Did I tell you to put your 
arms down?" 

In a minute, I felt the clasp of my brassiere being unhooked, and I felt my 
firm breasts bounce free; I felt my nipples harden against the air, and I 
felt like squirming from the unease I felt. Still, I have heard of worse 
initiations. At one college, I understand, they made their pledges swallow a 
piece of raw liver while blindfolded. One pledge allegedly choked to death. 
There was no harm in nakedness, I told myself. 

"Now," Connie said. "Put your arms down." 

I dropped my arms to my side and stood as straight and erect as I could, 
trying to look as dignified as possible despite my state of half-dress. 

That state soon came to an end, though, as I felt my dress being unzipped; 
it rustled to my ankles, and Connie ordered us to lift our right feet. I 
lifted mine, then put it down and lifted my left, as told. My dress had been 
whisked away. The same process was repeated for my panties and nylons, so 
that in a matter of moments I stood with the others wearing absolutely 
nothing but my blindfold. A strange, musky odor filled the room, wafting 
into my nostrils, and I knew it was the scent of natural lubricants 
stimulated within the vaginas of the other girls. And judging by the queer, 
quivering feeling deep inside my own, I was adding my aroma to the 
congregate scent. 

"Stand straight," Connie bellowed, "and spread your legs." 

I obeyed, spreading my legs and keeping my knees straight, as though 
straddling some object. I felt something like a whisper of air brush my soft 
thighs, but I guessed it was either my imagination or a draft. After all, I 
had no clothing on. 

Still, my cunt was reacting in a very strange manner. I am a virgin, of 
course, saving myself for that right man who offers his life to me in 
marriage, and I have experienced very little of the forbidden sexual 
pleasures so many girls opt to participate in before they should. The 
tender, pink lips of my pussy began to jiggle and the dark, moist tunnel 
inside of me filled with a prickly warmth that shuddered along my spine. I 
felt suddenly anxious and frustrated. And confused. 

"Remember," Connie said. "Any movement, any loud noises, and your 
affiliation with SEX is over." 

I waited, and suddenly felt something against my vulva. It was flat and 
squirmy and wet-a tongue! I felt a cry rise in my throat and I choked it 
back as the tongue flattened against the underside of my pussy and wriggled 
about, creating friction that in turn generated flames deep within me. 

I remained perfectly rigid, telling myself over and over again that the 
whole idea behind a Greek initiation rite was that the experience was to be 
unanticipated, that it was a test to see how I would react to a situation 
for which I was unprepared. 

I did not cry out loud, but I did whimper and mew as the tongue drenched my 
mound of pubic hair. When my mattress of cuntal fur was thoroughly soaked, 
the tongue pushed upward, prying apart my sizzling cleft and working up 
inside my never-before-entered cunt. 

I gasped, but fought to remain still. My knees were turning to jelly as I 
fought for control over the strange, erotic sensations that sang through me. 
The tongue wormed up my slit, tasting the gush of pussy juice that spilled 
from some secret place inside. 

To my right I heard a girl's sharp, agonized cry, and I bit my lip. My ears 
detected the sound of somebody walking to her. From what I heard I guessed 
they tore the blindfold from her head and shoved her clothes into her arms. 
"You're through," I heard Connie say. "Finished. Get dressed, get your 
things and get out." 

"But ... " the girl began to plead. 

"No buts. The initiation exists for pure and simple reasons, and you have 
failed. That's all there is to it. It's not too late to rush another 
sorority." 

The girl started to say something, but my ears filled instead with a loud 
ringing as the tongue beneath my parted, creamy thighs discovered my 
clitoris and captured it in its tight, rigid curl. 

I've never been interested in sex; I've never even masturbated. Indeed, I 
have always pushed unwanted feelings of arousal far away whenever they have 
occurred, but this time I had no choice but to experience it. 

The tongue held my rigid, throbbing clitoris in its unrelenting fold, and 
pulled back into the mouth to which it was attached, dragging my 
inexperienced little clitty from its niche with it. The lips that surrounded 
the tongue closed over my clitoris, and I felt teeth nibbling at it, making 
it grow and shoot electric shocks to the ends of every nerve in my body. 

Suddenly the tongue released my clitoris and stuffed itself deeply into the 
mysterious cavern of my pussy, and I felt my first orgasm. In the back of my 
mind I knew I was to stand stock still, but the rest of my mind refused to 
acknowledge it. My knees were shaking, the hands at my side shook in a 
frenzy, desperate to grasp the head that was planted between my legs, my 
head tilted back and I used every fiber of willpower within me to keep from 
screaming in erotic ecstasy. 

My fluids gushed out, and I felt the tongue inside me work frantically to 
lap them up. 

Then, slowly, the warmth subsided, and I returned to my senses, dazed. I was 
shocked and ashamed, then remembered I was here for an initiation. I allowed 
myself to be dressed and led blindfolded back to my room. There, my 
blindfold removed, and one of the sisters named Melinda was with me, looking 
prim and proper. She hugged me in a sisterly fashion, and smiled purely. 
"Congratulations," she said. "You made it. You're a SEX pledge." 

The shame left me, and I smiled back. I was filled with a strange sense of 
pride. 

I closed my door and lay on the bed, letting the warmth I had felt return to 
my memory. Everything was going to be just fine. 

* * * * * 

Sharon slept soundly that night, comforted by the knowledge that she slept 
within the closed confines of her own room in her house, surrounded by 
slumbering sisters who would protect her, and who could count on her for 
protection as well. 

She was secure and happy, and her dreams were a long string of happy 
endings. For once she was not ostracized, outcast, exempt from the goings-on 
of those who had fun and enjoyed life. Now she could immerse herself in her 
studies without fearing that her intense academic pursuits were in reality 
nothing more than an escape from real life trauma. 

She arose feeling rested, and recounted those dreams she was fortunate 
enough to remember. Somehow she had forgotten the dreams with an accent on 
the erotic-one, for instance, dealt with a giant tongue that snaked toward 
her, flicking and twisting and curling, groping in darkness toward her loins 
which ached from desire and wanton arousal. She had even climaxed in her 
sleep without being aware of it, dripping a smattering of her sticky sweet 
love juice onto the sheets, which dried before she awakened. She never knew 
she had experienced the second orgasm of her life. 

She had accomplished it with a pillow. As she dreamed of some nebulous 
sexual organ invading her parted cuntal lips, she had pulled the pillow down 
between her legs and then squeezed her knees together, drawing the pillow 
hard against the underside of her awakened cunt. Each time she dreamed the 
organ had thrust into her, she had pulled the pillow hard into herself, 
moistening the corner and jamming it against her clitoris, until finally her 
button-like little clitty could stand no more, and erupted in a volcanic 
orgasm that had her moaning and gyrating her slender, curvy hips against the 
firm mattress. Then, still asleep, she had returned the pillow beneath her 
head and drifted back into a dreamless state. Like the sheets, her pillow 
had dried by the time the sun crept in through her window. 

After showering and taking care of her body, she had stood in front of the 
full-length mirror in her bedroom in awe. She noticed a glow about her she 
had never seen before, a sort of halo that surrounded and engulfed her. She 
suspected it came from a brand new sense of well-being and acceptance. She 
finally belonged. She was happy. 

She bounced down the stairs to the breakfast table, where some of the girls 
had already congregated. Others still used the bathroom, still others were 
either just arising or still asleep. 

She sat and was instantly served her breakfast, a steaming plate of 
scrambled eggs, home-fried potatoes and sliced tomatoes. There was orange 
juice, milk, water and coffee. In the center of the table was a plate 
heaping with strips of meaty bacon'! 

The chatter was meaningless, friendly and cozy. Somebody mentioned a study 
group would be forming for an advanced biology class, and Sharon's ears 
perked, then she deflated when she realized she was not in that class. She 
thought she might sit in anyway, until a study group formed she could be 
part of, just so she could be active, be part of what was going on. 

The early eaters drifted away and some late arrivers took their places, and 
conversation continued without a beat. Sharon was impressed with the lofty, 
cultured tone of the talk, at the correct use of most grammar and the rich 
vocabularies displayed by the SEX sisters. 

Still, she was irked by something inside her she could not get rid of. Each 
girl at the table attracted her attention for a moment as she wondered if 
that girl was the one who had lain beneath her the night before, bathing her 
splayed and open pussy with her eager tongue. 

She felt relieved to a degree when she finished her breakfast and returned 
to her room alone. Again she told herself last night was only a fraternal 
ritual, designed to enhance a bond between the members of the sorority, to 
encourage a sisterly feeling and a shared secret. She would not think about 
it again, she told herself. It was wrong, she insisted in her mind, to 
equate a Greek initiation rite with long-buried sexual yearnings. 

Besides, she may be a stone fox, she told herself, the frequent object of 
much male attention, but her own desires did not lean toward the sexual. Her 
mind was in a much loftier place, in the clouds of academic achievement. Sex 
preoccupied so much time of so many people. She would never fall into that 
trap. She would remain chaste, and reach more permanent, lasting goals. 

She combed her long hair until it shined seemingly from a light source of 
its own, then smoothed her conservative, colorless clothes out, and gathered 
her textbooks and notebooks and pens. She checked once more to make sure she 
had everything, that she looked her part, then wandered again downstairs. 

Connie was at the breakfast table now, beginning her meal. "Class today?" 
she said. 

"My first one," she said. "Imagine, my first college class. I'm very 
excited, even though it's not a particularly exciting class." 

Connie sighed. "None of them are particularly exciting, actually, for people 
of our caliber. By the way, I wanted to mention that we're very proud of 
you. You performed nobly at last night's initiation." 

Sharon blushed and was ashamed of her blush. She blurted a thank you, then 
said, "I'd better go; I don't want to be late even for a worthless class. 
They all count in the GPA, you know." 

Connie smiled her agreement and watched Sharon's sculptured, round ass 
wiggle as she darted out of the house. It was obviously a beautiful set of 
buttocks, even through the bland and dull skirt she wore. 

"She's going to be one of our best," Connie said to Monica, a sandy-haired 
blonde with sharply conical breasts who sat beside her. 

Monica licked her lips absently, tasting the bittersweet tastes of Sharon's 
cunt once again. "I know," she mused. "I know." 

Sharon walked confidently across the street from fraternity row and onto the 
campus proper. A map she had obtained told her how to get to her class, and 
she found it with ease, walking into what she considered the hallowed halls 
of the ancient, brick history building. 

Her footsteps meshed with those of several hundred other students rushing to 
their first class of the fall, and echoed resoundly in the great hall. She 
counted off the room numbers, found the one on her class card, and went 
inside. 

She was taken aback. Nobody was in the room except for one black girl 
wearing jeans and an obscenely tight tee-shirt. Her feet were clad in 
sneakers, and dangled over the back of the chair in front of her. 

She had no textbooks and only a tattered notebook that had been scribbled 
upon mercilessly. She filed her nails with an emery board and looked up at 
Sharon with virtually no interest when she entered the room. 

"Am I in the right place?" Sharon said. 

"His'try one-oh-one," the girl said, bored. 

Sharon looked at her card. "That's right." 

"Then you're in the right place. Grab a seat, if you can find one." 

Sharon looked at her watch. Class was slated to begin in two minutes. 
Hesitantly she picked out a seat not too far and not too close to the black 
girl. She looked at her sole classmate carefully now. She had smooth, 
chocolate skin and a beautiful Nubian face hidden mostly by cascading waves 
of straight, shiny-black hair. She was short and compact, with her legs 
masked by jeans and breasts huge and jiggly, displayed blatantly through the 
thin fabric of her tee-shirt, which offered up the name of some rock 'n roll 
band Sharon had never heard of. 

The two minutes ticked off, and the door opened. Sharon looked up to see the 
new entry to the class was obviously the professor, who seemed as dumbstruck 
at the absence of students as she had been. 

He plopped his books down at the lecturn and stood, looking confused and 
unsure of himself. "Hi, all," he finally said. Sharon studied him, pleased 
that he was tall, well-built, handsome and academic looking, particularly 
because of his thick glasses and tweed jacket. 

She was also impressed with his pile of books. 

He eyed the black girl, and said, "I know you, Debbie, since you're 
repeating this course for the second time." 

Debbie muttered something under her breath that sounded like, "Damn honky 
bastard." 

Then the teacher shifted his gaze to Sharon, who sat primly upright at her 
desk. Had she been able to see below the lecturn, she would have seen a 
bulge form in the crotch of his pants, a reaction to the sight of her 
goddess-like face and perfect breasts. "You, I don't know, since my roster 
indicates there were to be forty-four students in this class." 

"Sharon Simmons," she said, and her soft voice melted his heart like so much 
butter. Without being conspicuous, he tried to see how short her skirt was, 
but the top of her desk was in the way. 

"I'm Professor Dirk Roland," he said, "And this is supposed to be History 
one-oh-one. But perhaps most of our students haven't yet arrived. I ... 
suppose we'll adjourn until Thursday's session, and see if we have more of a 
class then. Er ... dismissed." 

Smiling, Sharon rose and nodded at him, and walked out of the class, 
ignorant of the teacher's gaze, following her, locked on her swiveling hips, 
and the apple-shaped curve of her buttock cheeks. 

Once she had left the room, Debbie said, "She's a cute one, ain't she? Goin 
to fuck her?" 

Dirk strolled out from behind the lecturn and displayed his pulsating mound 
trapped behind his trouser zipper. "I don't know what you're doing back 
here." 

"I flunked again. Doncha remember?' 

"But as long as you are, you can help me again." 

"You call that help?' Debbie said. "Sticking your white meat in me so you 
won't be frustrated seein all that fancy white stuff struttin around?" 

"Come over here," he commanded. She rose cockily and approached him. "Go 
close the door," he said, and as she did, he shut the Venetian blinds. 

"I ain't goin to fuck you for nothing this semester, man," she said. 

"I'll pass you this semester. A, B, at least." 

Her eyes widened. "You serious, or you just jivin my ass?" 

"I'm serious," he said, and he reached out and undid her pants, "and I 
intend to do something different to your ass." 

Her eyes closed at his words and he yanked her jeans down over her slender, 
tapered, chocolate colored legs. "Oh, man, you turn me on when you talk 
dirty. Tell me, white baby, what you goin to do?" 

He pulled her head close to his and planted the flat of his tongue in her 
ear, blowing hot liquid breath inside that made her black pussy steam with 
flowing lubricant. "I'm going to shove my hard cock right up your black 
asshole," he said, "until it hurts, you bitch, until it brings tears to your 
eyes." 

She moaned, a high-pitched, surrendering sound, then whispered through a 
smile accented by her lightly closed eyes, "Oh yeah, baby, do it." 

He whirled her around and pushed her down over a desk, her feet still 
planted on the floor. With his right hand he undid his own pants, and his 
erect stiffness sprang free; with his left hand he spread her rubbery rectum 
open into a small but gaping hole, about half the width of his pulsating, 
red-colored cock crown. 

"Shove it in me, teach," she groaned, and he guided his cock with his hand 
and wedged it against the puck-ringed anus, then thrust with one great 
massive shove. 

His impaling thickness stabbed into her so hard she instinctively tried to 
wrench away, but he gripped the fleshy cheeks and held her close to him, the 
buttocks firm now against his pelvis as his cock disappeared inside her, the 
walls of her asshole gripping his meatiness like a vise. 

She choked back a scream, then moaned in compensation as her knuckles turned 
literally white gripping the chair in front of her. "Aaahhggh, damn, man," 
she said, feeling the promised tears well up in her eyes. "Fuck me, fuck me 
so hard I can't fuck nobody no more," she begged. 

He obliged her, withdrawing so his cock plopped out of her ass entry, then, 
now moist from the first thrust, shoved it in afresh. Each thrust was a new 
entry, ripping at her innards while each push jammed her sopping pussy 
against the desk top, rubbing against her clitoris until she shuddered in an 
exquisite climax. When she was done she reached behind him and grabbed his 
dangling, bloated testicles and whispered, "Wash my bowels with your white 
cum, baby," and the sound of her urging voice brought on the geyser of 
semen, flooding her and seeping out around the crack between his rigid, 
thick penis and her tight little rectum. 

He pulled out, and pulled his pants back up. "Class dismissed," he said. 

She collapsed in a spent heap on the floor. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Sharon had no more classes until the next day, so she returned to the 
sorority house after lunching at the student cafeteria. She knew a more 
hearty, wholesome lunch could be had at the house, but she felt that, as a 
full-time student of State, she should become acquainted with all of the 
university's facilities and services as quickly as possible. 

She was impressed with her history teacher, even though he had not taught 
anything so far. He was not egomaniacal, or a stickler for rules. Back home 
in high school, one of those petty teachers would have held she and Debbie 
in class for the full hour despite the fact that nobody else had arrived. 
Nothing would be learned, and valuable time would be wasted. 

She meandered back to the house while taking in the sights of the campus, 
hugging her books to her chest and letting the light, warm breeze play with 
the hem of her skirt. 

Only when she was in sight of the house did her reverie dissipate, replaced 
in her active mind by confusion. 

A group of clean cut boys-she thought she recognized them from the 
fraternity, KKA, were hoisting ladders up to the level of the SEX house's 
second-story windows. In the front of the house alone, she counted four 
ladders, and nine brothers were setting them up. 

She wandered over to Paul Slaughter, whom she recognized from the rush 
party, a few nights earlier. He seemed to be directing the efforts. 

"Washing windows?" she asked in a light, breezy voice. 

Paul looked at her with an irritated expression, but when he recognized her 
as the one he had a severe case of the hots for, his face softened and he 
smiled, "You're a pledge," he said. "The ladders are for you and your fellow 
pledges." 

She looked up one of the ladders, a long, straight climb to the upper level 
of the house. 

"I don't understand," she said. 

"You will." 

"Is it secret? Another initiation?" 

"Nah," Paul scowled. "You've already been initiated. But if you know 
anything at all about sororities and fraternities, you know you have to go 
through a hazing before you can become a sister. They can't throw you out 
for hazing, but it gives you an opportunity to quit. It also gives you a 
chance to see what you'll be doing to next year's pledges once you're a 
full-fledged sister." 

"Then tell me," she said. "What is it?" 

Paul shook his head as he stepped on the ladder's bottom rung to check its 
sturdiness. "It's not my place to tell," he said, gazing up at the window to 
which the ladder reached. "Besides, you'll find out soon enough." 

She looked at him, admiring him. He was a frat brother, and he would not 
yield. He was tall and dark and strong, and his words were well chosen, his 
voice sure and steady. An ideal man, she thought, from a fraternity of ideal 
men. 

She jerked her head away, conscious suddenly that he might notice her 
watching him, and she did not want that. She had no rights or ties to him, 
and if he or any of his other perfectly acceptable brothers wanted to strike 
up a relationship with her, that would be up to them. She was the female, 
the weaker of the sexes, and she would sit and await their attentions, as a 
woman should do. 

She did not fear their gentlemanly approaches, since these were cultured, 
well-bred men, not the ghastly, seamy boys who had eyed her lustfully in 
high school. Yet those dreadful experiences back home at least encouraged 
her that she was good-looking enough to attract this better class of male. 

She smiled at Paul and said, "I guess I'll see you later," and turned to go 
inside. Paul watched her, imagining that same walk without the hindrance of 
clothing, the way her firm buttocks would rotate and gyrate with each sexy, 
slinky step she took. Yes, indeed, he said. No question but that you'll see 
me later. 

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths-a trick he had learned as a 
varsity swimmer wearing those revealing Speedos-in order to make his 
erection fade back to a normal-sized penis that would not ache when he 
walked, rubbing erogenously against the stiff material of his new jeans. 

He grinned and winked when one of the other brothers, working on a ladder as 
he was, smiled at him broadly. 

Sharon saw none of this interplay as she walked proudly and happily into the 
SEX house. She waltzed up the stairs to her room and dumped her books on her 
bed, then waltzed back down, hoping to find some of the girls at home. 

She heard voices from the den, and she weaved her way through the hallway 
and into the comfortable, homey room where four of the sisters and two of 
the pledges were engaged in amiable conversation. 

They greeted her, and she sat beside Connie and listened to the chatter, 
waiting for an appropriate time to jump in and add her own comments. 

The talk was about first classes, and Sharon told about professor Roland, 
and some of the sisters rolled their eyes; one whistled. "What a fox," said 
Melanie, pursing her lips. "God, sometimes in his class I just want to ..." 

She stopped when Kim, a dark-haired sister with piercing black eyes, jabbed 
her in the ribs with her elbow. Melanie looked penitent for a minute, but 
shut up. 

"By the way," Sharon said. "What's with the ladders outside. I asked Paul, 
but he wouldn't tell me." 

"It's a hazing scheduled for tonight," Connie said. "KKA is involved, but 
it's still a sorority activity." 

Sharon's curiosity was about to explode. She had images, formulated from 
books and movies and stories she had read, seen and heard, images of the 
frat brothers climbing in her window, blindfolding her and kidnapping her, 
leading her down the dangerous, wobbly ladder, secreting her in a car and 
careening away to some unknown destination. There, perhaps, they would be 
released and told to find their way back, walking through the quaint, rural 
community in only their nightgowns. 

"What is it?" she asked eagerly. 

Connie smiled, a teasing sort of smile. "Well," she said, "sometime tonight 
the KKA brothers will come into your room." 

Aha! she thought. She was right. It was going to be a kidnapping. 

"What will they do?" she asked, as if she didn't know. 

"Actually," Connie said, "only one brother will come into your room. He'll 
come in when you least expect it, when you're asleep, and he'll climb into 
bed with you and make the best, most passionate love to you you've ever 
had." 

Sharon's heart skipped a beat, and caught in her throat. Y ... you're 
kidding, aren't you?" 

Connie shook her head sweetly. "Why would I kid you about that?" 

"But ... " she said wanting to complain but not thinking of how she could 
possibly do that. What was there to say? She was completely unprepared for 
this turn of events. The initiation rite-she had been so sure it had been 
exactly that, an initiation rite. But this ... 

"I won't ... I won't!" she blurted. "I'm not that kind of girl, I'm saving 
myself for ... NO! I simply will not!" 

"If you want to be a sister you will," Connie said, then with a sinister 
smile, she added, "Your mother and grandmother did." 

"That's not possible," she whined, "No, it's just not possible!" And with 
that, she sprang from the room, running upstairs to her own room, sobs 
trying to wrench their way out of her throat, but not able to because her 
throat was constricted from fear and confusion. 

* * * * * 

Dear Diary: 

What a shock! All this time I thought Sigma Epsilon Chi was a happenstance 
of a name, but it turns out that the letters are symbolic of their English 
translation as well! 

They want me to give up my virginity to a boy I probably haven't even met, 
who is to sneak into my room while I slumber. I thought at first it was a 
horrible concept, a degrading exercise and I would certainly refuse to 
participate. And when Connie indicated my mother and her mother, both SEX 
sisters, had performed this act, I felt a sickening nausea rise in my 
throat. 

The first thing I had to do, after I calmed down, was contact my mother and 
verify this. I told her, trying to contain myself, what was expected of me. 
When I finished, I heard an eerie silence on the other end of the phone. 

"Mother?" I said. 

"Yes, dear," she said. "That's right. You do what they say, and you'll be a 
SEX sister and make me very proud." 

"But Mother ..." I said, shocked. 

"I want you to join this group for the same reason my mother had me join. 
You're a prude, dear, and you have a rose-colored vision of the world. This 
will do you good." 

"But Mother." 

"Listen to me, darling," she said. "My mother joined SEX strictly by 
accident. She was a carefree, happy-go-lucky kind of person, and she fit 
right in. The sorority's academic pursuits helped her raise her grades 
immensely, and she enjoyed the-the hazings because she had always liked sex. 
When she saw what kind of person I was turning out to be-a prude, just like 
you dear-she had me join without telling me any of the secrets. She 
couldn't, you see, she'd been sworn to secrecy. Just as I had. That 
organization cured my fear of sex, made me awaken to the fact that it is 
natural and good. It made me a more complete person." 

"But Mother, ..." 

"Now, you don't have to go through with the hazings. You can go back to the 
motel, or move into a dorm, or whatever you want. But unless you become a 
SEX sister, I don't want you to come home." 

"MOTHER!" 

"Besides," she said. "You'll meet some wonderful men. I met your father 
there. I believe, in fact, that I met him at the same hazing you're supposed 
to have tonight." 

"But Mother!" 

"Goodbye, dear." 

The phone went dead, and I listened to the dial tone. I sat on my bed and 
thought hard. And slowly, one thought overwhelmed the rest. It was about the 
initiation, about how good that orgasm had felt, how unique and wonderful. 

I wanted so badly to be able to go home again. And to be accepted. And to 
marry well. But I still wanted to marry as a virgin. 

But Daddy hadn't married a virgin, as I had suspected. I was so confused. 

But now I have to make up my mind. I have to decide what to do. 

Well, Diary, I suppose I'll let you know one way or the other tomorrow. 

* * * * * 

Sharon had a hard time getting to sleep. She tossed and turned, twisting 
herself in the sheets and struggling in a sweat to untangle herself. She 
listened to her heart smash against her ribcage, and heard it echo in the 
cavern of her mind. 

She tried to force herself to lay still, but could not. She was surprised to 
find that, even though she was sweating profusely, the moisture was at a 
premium between her creamy thighs. She was shocked to think that some of her 
agitation could be arousal, that she actually anticipated the arrival of the 
frat brother with relish. 

When she actually became drowsy, about two in the morning, her hand snaked 
down between her legs involuntarily, and her finger slipped under her 
nightgown and caressed the prickly hairs of her cuntal exterior. She felt 
the flesh between her pussy lips begin to sizzle and quiver, and she moaned 
softly to herself. Good God, was she dreaming? 

Her tense thighs relaxed as she pressed her finger lengthwise into the slit 
of her cunt, and felt the sensation of a foreign object invading the 
forbidden portal of her pussy. Her finger felt moist and warm, and her hand 
began to shake. She had never before masturbated, and she was awed at the 
way her vagina felt: warm, hot, squishy and electrified. Her mind scattered 
in a thousand directions, and she tried to concentrate on one thought, on 
one idea, but she could not. All she could do was wriggle that rigid little 
finger up and down against something hard inside of her pussy, toward the 
top from where her moistures flowed. 

The feeling of intensity, of liquid-induced ecstasy flowed through her and 
magnified with each passing stroke, and suddenly she burst into a wonderful, 
physical orgasm. She arched her back and dug her finger deep into the tunnel 
of her dark, moist cunt and vibrated harder as she gyrated her hips into the 
mattress, felt her arms shake, her knees turn to water, her head vanish in a 
cloud of delight. She heard herself moaning, but she was sure it was 
somebody else, or perhaps a dream. 

When the feeling was gone, she eased slowly back to the mattress, relaxed 
and satisfied. Curious, she settled her finger under her nose and sniffed, 
and was aroused and excited at the smell of her own pussy. She parted her 
moist full lips and lay the finger on her tongue, and delighted in the 
sweet-and-sour taste of her own juice. 

She sucked her finger clean, and lay it by her side. A voice inside her 
yelled at her that this was wrong, it violated all she had ever believed in. 

"I know," she muttered but she was too tired to argue, or even think about 
it. She slept. 

In her sleep, she thought she heard a scraping sound, but it did not awaken 
her. She wriggled and turned on her back, and sighed contentedly. 

Actually, there had been a sound, the sound of the top of a long ladder 
scraping against the glass of her window as it bore the weight of a human 
body. The body belonged to Paul Slaughter, president of Kappa Kappa Alpha, 
who, as president, had been able to choose which window to which he would 
ascend. He found out earlier which one housed Sharon Simmons, the girl who 
made his cock throb with excitement, and selected that ladder. 

As prearranged, the window had been left unlocked, and he pressed his palms 
against the glass and pushed, forcing the window open. He did it silently, 
watching the vision of beauty sleep in her tangled, thrown-back sheets. 
Already his penis was erect, straining against his pants, aching to be 
surrounded by her fleshy wetness which would soon swallow his forceful 
squirts of sloshing cum. 

She wore a full length nightgown, but somehow in her sleep it had been 
yanked up to just below her pussy, and her creamy thighs beckoned him in the 
pale moonlight. Her breasts pillowed out from her chest, and through the 
satin fabric of her gown he could see the perfect, round nipples resting 
just above the halfway mark of her magnificent "tits. He felt his breathing 
accelerate, and he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes in order to slow 
his breathing down. 

When he was as calm as he thought he ought to be, he hoisted one leg into 
the window, then the other, and looked back down outside. Three brothers of 
KKA stared back up at him, and he held his two hands out with all fingers 
extended: 10. Ten minutes it meant. They nodded, and began moving the 
ladders from the other windows, to which brothers had already ascended, and 
gathered them at Sharon's. Paul was KKA president, and the honor of this 
particular activity was his. 

He pulled the window shut and advanced to the bed, looming over her like a 
dark figure from Victorian romance, about to sweep her out of bed and down 
the ladder, off to a wild adventure. 

Instead, though, he peeled his letterman sweater from himself and folded it 
neatly, and draped it over the chair beside the bed. His shirt came next, 
and then he sat on the chair and took his shoes off, his socks, and his 
pants. He wriggled out of his tight underwear and stood naked above her, his 
muscles rippling across his chest in the moonlight, his cock stiff and erect 
as blood coursed through it, pulsating in the spongy crown and making the 
long thickness dance and wiggle. 

He accomplished his undressing in complete silence, as he knew his brothers 
were doing in the rooms nearby. His meaty thickness was burning with 
anticipation, and he wrapped his long, strong fingers around his aching 
shaft to calm it. Feeling something surrounding it only made it more 
excited, though, and he released his cock in fear that simply touching it 
while gazing at Sharon would be enough to make a geyser of viscous male cum 
leap from his pinhole and splatter across her delicate sleeping figure. 

He bent down and delicately lifted the hem of her gown up over her belly, 
exposing her trim, triangular fur patch to him. He gasped at its 
exquisiteness, and let one finger touch the downy curls he saw there. They 
were moist, and he smelled his finger and delighted in the familiar scents 
of female excitement. It made his already rigid cock stand up even 
straighter, throbbing and pulsating and aching to gouge between the hidden 
pussy lips so close to him now. 

She shifted slightly in her sleep from the touch of him, but settled back 
into her deep slumber. He then continued lifting the bottom of her gown up, 
up over her amazing, alabaster-like breasts which took his breath away. 
Never had he seen so perfectly sculptured a set of tits. They were large 
without looking huge, and round without being too bilious. He yearned to 
close his hands over them, letting the nipples peek through his finger. But 
in a moment. First, he had to get her ready. 

Gently, he slid the flat of his hands beneath each of her firm, incredibly 
soft cheeks, and shifted her so she lay flat on her back. She almost 
awakened, but he was gentled He had done this before, and knew how to do it. 

Besides, he could not fail. The whole idea was for the KKA pledges 
downstairs to watch and listen so they could perform these duties in the 
years to come, when Paul and his peers were gone on to the real world. 

As he carried her by the buttocks her knees bent, and her legs instinctively 
spread, and his nostrils were assaulted by the scent that arose from her 
pussy. He looked between her splayed, soft thighs into the en try way that 
now made itself clear to him. No hairs crisscrossed over the slit between 
her legs, and the pink, glistening membrane flesh within her was smooth and 
moist and unwrinkled. She was without a doubt the most perfect woman he had 
ever encountered. 

She rested the bottoms of her feet on the bed and crossed her arms over her 
breasts, but her legs remained bent and spread for him, inviting his ready 
manhood inside. 

He took her hands lightly by the wrists and settled them at her side, then 
kneeled on the bed, his erection poised and ready. One quick thrust and he 
would be inside her finally. It seemed to him he had been waiting an 
eternity. 

He gave it a moment, relishing the position he was in. Then he took a deep 
breath and yelled, "PLEDGE!" 

Sharon jerked convulsively out of her sleep and started to sit up. She felt 
a hand on her chest pushing her back down and as the haze cleared from her 
eyes she looked up and saw it was Paul Slaughter, gloriously naked, a 
massive penis erect and ready to impale her. It was the first cock she had 
ever seen, and it made her numb with fear and anticipation. 

She opened her mouth to say something, deciding at the last instant she 
could not go through with this, but it was too late. Paul held his impaling 
thickness in his meaty paw-like hand, and guided it between her ready-spread 
legs. She felt the rocky crown of his erection jam against her vulva, 
pushing the pink flesh of her inner pussy lips aside, and it continued down 
into her, pushing away her virgin cuntal walls, and then, in a lightning 
bolt of pain that staggered her senses, he burst her delicate little hymen. 

She opened her mouth to scream from the excruciating pain, but Paul clamped 
his hand over her mouth. "Just lay back, Sharon, and enjoy me," he said. 
"You're getting the cream of the crop." 

The scream was still there, but it was trapped behind his hand. She splayed 
her legs further to allow him more room, and then she realized she was no 
longer pure, that this man's organ was grinding into her, pushing as deep 
into her hair-fringed fissure as it would go. She felt, finally, his 
cockhead bang against her cervix, and he lay atop her, his firm, strong 
chest crushing her fleshy tits as his pelvis rose, and she felt his thick 
skewering prick withdraw from her. Her cuntal walls snapped closed again, 
like a rubber band that had been stretched and then released, and before she 
could gird herself for the next assault, his hips came crashing down again 
to meet hers. His cock impaled her again, tearing her inner flesh apart once 
more as it buried itself in her sticky, wet cavern. 

She felt something warm trickling down her thigh and knew it was blood from 
her mangled cherry, but she only felt a bit of pain now. Instead, she felt 
glorious pleasure, a delight something akin to the sensations she had 
enjoyed as a tongue roamed her pussy, or her finger had explored its powers 
of pleasure. But this was something more, something intense, something 
exquisite. 

This was the way it was supposed to be. 

Sharon had often wondered what she was supposed to do while engaged in 
intercourse, with her hands for instance. No such thoughts crossed her mind 
now; her hands acted impulsively, on their own, and sought his broad 
shoulders and dug their nails into the firm, hard flesh that she found 
there. Then she rubbed circles in his back, and finally reached down and 
held his taut buttocks with both hands, pushing him even more deeply into 
her tight, quivering little hole. 

"Oh," she stammered, her eyes open but seeing only fireworks that were 
actually going off in her head. "Oh God, I'm going to cum, oh!" 

Paul's mouth was nestled inside her ear, and he blew his steamy breath into 
it and whispered, "Come all over my cock, baby. Come on, do it." 

She wrapped her legs around his, intertwining them, and helped him 
jackhammer his meaty member into her strained, sore pussy. Each thrust 
dragged across her engorged clitoris and raked it with a million new 
sensations until she finally lost control of her grip on reality and fell 
into the lost dimension of sexual climax. ' 

She shook and shook some more, like jelly in a car without shocks, and she 
quivered and trapped Paul's thighs and legs in a viselike grip of her own 
limbs. She arched her back, lifting Paul's considerable weight with her, and 
screamed and groaned and humped her happy ass against the mattress, trying 
to squeeze every last possible sensation out of his magnificent, 
virgin-shattering penis. 

She had no idea Paul was coming too, at the same time, unloading a fountain 
of sperm into her gaping, cock-hungry vagina. She knew only after he pulled 
out and displayed his cock for her, still hard but not as big or thick, 
dripping with the shiny white stuff. 

Hypnotized by the experience, but having had her first man, by the sight of 
semen she knew had coated his cock while still nestled deep inside her cunt, 
she slid on her back so she was looking up at the underside of his penis. 

Slowly, she reached up and held it, feeling its slimy coating over the 
bonelike rigidity of the member. She held it tight, then released it and 
brought her hand to her face and gazed at it in rapture. Then her serpentile 
tongue, pink tipped and waggling from nerves, from activity and from 
excitement, licked her own palm. The cum on her hand tasted warm and salty 
and creamy, and spilled down her throat like a favorite drink. She licked 
her hand clean hungrily, then reached up and grabbed him again. 

"Don't you think that's enough?" Paul asked. 

She shook her head, not wanting to use her mouth to speak, not wanting to 
use it for anything but tasting his penis. She lifted herself by pushing 
down on the bed, then took his thickness inside her mouth and licked it 
clean as well. Paul groaned, delighted at her eagerness, but when she began 
to suck for more cum-coating that simply wasn't there, he pushed her head 
away. He felt his drained cock fill with sharp pain, and he knew he had no 
more fucking in him. 

"Congratulations," he said. "You pass the first haze." 

"Fuck me again," she whimpered. 

"Not tonight," he grinned at her. "But any time you want, you just ask." He 
looked to the window, and winked. 

Sharon followed his gaze, and saw three male faces pressed against the 
fogged glass. "That's part of their initiation," Paul said. Mortified, 
Sharon grasped for the covers and pulled them over herself. 

Paul dressed as he watched her, then went to the window. "You're the best 
I've ever had," he said to her, sincerely, and he disappeared out the 
window. The other faces were gone too, and she heard the sounds of the 
ladders being removed. 

It was a long time before she fell back asleep. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Sharon awakened, and the bright new day brought her feelings she had not 
expected she would feel. 

Her soul was in torment, two factions at war with one another. On the one 
hand, she realized her virginity was gone with a feeling of conquest, 
overcoming a hurdle that had haunted her for many years. She had experienced 
the sensations of physical lust that had been a source of fear for so long, 
and now she could put it behind her and move on to other things. 

For instance, she thought, if she met a boy she truly felt strongly about, 
she could after an appropriate courtship, go to bed with him without fearing 
dire consequences. She would not be one of "those" girls who insisted on 
marriage every time a boy wanted to put his hand under her skirt. She could 
just as easily say no too, and not feel it was because of her fear of a 
penis. 

Still, it's hard to part with a concept, an ideal. She had lived by a code 
she had established for herself, and now in one night it was shattered. It 
had been one of two things she had strongly believed in, and now it was 
gone. The other was her pursuit of knowledge, and indeed she still had that, 
but what of it? That was a guide for her mind, not for her heart. Her heart 
had told her nothing of academia, only of love and its affiliations. Rule: 
somebody who loves you also respects you, and will not try to fuck you (my 
God, am I really thinking with those words?) until there is a legal bind 
between you. 

But that rule had no force behind it, the law had been repealed. Her entire 
code of ethics, her whole standard of behavior had evaporated the instant 
Paul had parted her awakening pussy lips with the thick, hot head of his 
cock. 

What could she believe in now? How was she to behave? Should she act cheap 
and soiled, wear revealing clothes and wiggle her ass the way she'd seen the 
hussies wiggling theirs at home? Should she maintain the illusion of purity, 
even though it would be living a lie? Now that she had spread her long, 
sensuous legs for a man, she wondered, would it matter very much if she did 
it again and again? 

She could, she realized, consider it an accident, something that happened 
that she would not allow to happen again. 

But that contradicted the other emotion she felt-that she had loved it so. 
In fact, she ached and pined to have Paul's thrilling, rigid penis inside 
her again. 

NO! That's not right, nor was it like her. Perhaps she had been fucked for 
the first time, but she was still Sharon Simmons, still the same person with 
the same brain and the same heart. And she knew, deep in her heart, that 
what she had done was wrong, despite what her mother had told her. 

She arose slowly, trembling from the conflict within her. Every movement had 
to be carefully planned, deliberated, studied. Her mind concentrated so hard 
on her predicament that she had to think to shower, to lather her slender, 
firm body with soap and rinse it away. Everything she did took 
concentration, because her entire mind was elsewhere. 

She moved like a ghost, pale and slow, down to breakfast. The other girls 
displayed a variety of emotions, but she could not pay attention to them. 
Her own emotions monopolized her mind. 

The other pledges in particular were a gallery of expression, but none so 
severe as Sharon. Some were happy and gleeful, and she suspected in the far 
recesses of her mind they had been laid for the first time, but had always 
wanted it. Now they had satisfied a desire, fulfilled a wish. 

Others were acting as though nothing at all had happened, and these, she 
guessed, had been impaled on a male erection at least four or five times in 
the past. 

Then there were a couple who seemed down in the dumps, and they were having 
fits of conscience over their actions of the previous night. But none were 
in as deep a fog as was Sharon. Her body felt numb, her vision was not real, 
the sounds she heard were far away. Her conscience was not merely nagging at 
her; it was killing her. 

Halfway through breakfast she felt her meal rising from her stomach, in her 
throat, and she covered her mouth with her hand and dashed upstairs. Behind 
her, she heard a few giggles. "Knock it off," she heard Connie say. "She'll 
be all right." 

She reached the bathroom and fell to her knees and dry-heaved, but nothing 
came up. It was tension and nerves and guilt. She had obviously not betrayed 
her mother, nor the sisters of SEX. But she had, she knew now, betrayed 
herself, and her own morality. It was nothing religious; she didn't believe 
she had sinned or committed an affront to God. But if she didn't have the 
strength of her own strongest convictions, what did she have the strength 
for? 

She went to her room and gathered the books she would need for the day, 
seeing their titles through a fog, and descended the stairs once again, 
bypassing the dining room and heading out the door. 

It was too early for class, so she wandered aimlessly, seeing nothing, not 
feeling that the air had turned colder than it had been, the wind nipping at 
her bare legs. She still wore her staid, plain dress, but she felt like a 
hooker parading down the street, and no matter how many times she spied her 
reflection in a window, she could not dispel this feeling. She was a filthy 
whore, she told herself. 

A bell tolled somewhere in the distance, and she snapped partially out of 
her introversion and looked at her watch. She had been meandering about 
without direction for over two hours, and now she was late for class. 

Which class, she asked herself. 

History, you whore. 

She trotted at a good clip to the History Building, dashed down the emptied 
corridors listening to her footsteps echo in the great hallway. She burst 
into the classroom unceremoniously, and found a seat. Only when she was 
seated did she realize there were perhaps fifteen other students there who 
had not been there the last time. 

Professor Roland stopped in the middle of his lecture to allow the latecomer 
a chance to find a seat, and was about to say something about her tardiness 
when he recognized who it was, that girl Sharon who had been here before, 
when the rest of the class had not bothered to show up. 

As she moved to sit down, he saw the fine, tapered curve of her cheeks, and 
he felt a stirring inside his loins. Then he noticed Debbie's eyes burning 
into him, and when he looked at her, she just smiled and winked. He ignored 
it. 

He continued with his lecture, but now his eyes, which usually roamed the 
classroom and sought eye contact with the class at large, kept drifting back 
to Sharon. Yet for some reason, she did not appear to see him. She sat still 
in her seat, her hands neatly folded in front of her, but she did not seem 
to see anything, instead it appeared, she was looking through him, through 
the walls of the room and off into space. Something was troubling her. 

But now he had 17 students, of a racial and sexual mix, and he could not 
concentrate on the two who were there before-one whom he had fucked 
repeatedly, the other whom he was determined to have before the semester 
ended. 

He relied now more on his lecture notes, since his mind was on the future 
instead of the past. Each time he spied her delicate, flawless face, he felt 
blood gush a little more into the long shaft of his cock, and finally he was 
forced to stand behind the lecturn in order to cover the hugeness that had 
formed in his pants. 

Sharon had no inkling that out of 17 students, Roland was in his mind 
concentrating deeply on her. Nor did she know he thought she was not paying 
attention. In fact, she was paying attention, trying to bury her agonizing 
thoughts in the pleasures of history and learning. 

She stared so rigidly straight ahead because of her reaction toward seeing 
Professor Roland. Before she had thought him a fine specimen of a man, 
learned and probably well bred. Now, since her encounter with Paul 
Slaughter, she saw him with a different eye. He was tall and well built and 
deliciously good looking. Despite herself, she found herself wondering what 
his penis looked liked, if it was stiff and long with a series of maplike 
blue veins ridging its length. She wondered as she stared what it would be 
like to spread her legs far apart for him, showing him the inside of her 
pink, scented cunt, grasping his throbbing cock by the base and steering it 
inside, feeling the crown separate the walls of her cuntal interior as it 
sought refuge in the deepest parts of its warm, clinging wetness. 

She jerked her head when she realized the class was breaking up, chairs were 
being pushed back and students were leaving; some had already left. She had 
been wondering if most girls thought of their teachers in those terms, and 
realized they probably did, only not in such detail as herself. She was 
reminding herself that she was new to this game, and not at all comfortable 
with it yet, when the class dispersed. She started out of her chair, but was 
already the last to be leaving. Her heart caught in her throat when she saw 
Roland coming toward her. 

"It's Sharon, isn't it?" he said. 

"That's right," she stammered. 

"I couldn't help noticing," he said. "Is something wrong?" 

She looked up at him, suddenly feeling as though there had been a stab of 
pity from this man to shake her just a little from her mood. "Yes," she 
said, grateful inside to what she saw as a sincere intrusion. "Yes, I'm 
fine." 

"You don't look fine. I know we've only met once, but you struck me 
noticeably as a studious type. I wasn't wrong, was I?" 

"Oh, no," she said, now compelled to defend her interest in academia. "I 
graduated with 3.9 from high school. I would have had a 4.0 but for one 
damned B," she stammered, because the use of a foul word was new to her, yet 
it had come so easily. "I got the B because I had pneumonia, and I had to 
miss five weeks of school. I managed to study in all my courses well enough 
but one, microbiology." 

"They had microbiology in your high school?" 

"It was a special college-level class for advanced students," she explained. 
"I was still president of the Girl's Athletic Association, president of the 
student body and class valedictorian." 

Roland was astonished, and amazed. She was not only sensationally beautiful 
(and that without makeup or the kind of clothes beautiful girls wear), and 
equally brilliant! He fell in love in that instant. 

Nor did he fall out of lust. His throbbing erection still clouded his vision 
of the girl, and was uppermost in his mind. "Then what is it?" he asked. 
"What's bothering you?" 

"It's nothing, really," she said. "Just one of those ... one of those things 
with a sorority. I'll get over it." 

"I don't think you believe a word of that," he said with a friendly 
concerned smile. "Which is too bad, since it's entirely true. Maybe I can 
help, though." 

Her interest now was truly piqued. "How could you do that?" she asked, 
wide-eyed and hopeful. 

He shrugged, and she delighted in the boyish honesty in his face. She felt 
incredibly better than she had, and awaited his response eagerly. "I thought 
we could ... talk about it," he said. "Maybe over dinner tomorrow." 

It wasn't what she had been expecting, but she was not turned off by it, 
either. She had been expecting more or less a fatherly bit of sage advice, 
and here, from a real college professor, had come the offer of a date! 

And she thrilled herself even more. She had been so excited by his 
attention, his sincerity, his maturity, that she had forgotten the 
distressing events of the evening before. And when he had asked her to 
dinner, she immediately knew she would say yes, and the thought of doing 
with Professor Roland what she had done with Paul never entered her mind. 

"Why, Professor," she stammered. "I ... I'd love to." 

"Fine," Roland said, his heart hammering from arousal as he gazed at the 
small exposure of cleavage that peeked over the top of her outfit. "You say 
you're with which sorority house?" 

"Sigma Epsilon Chi," she told him. 

He nodded, the name signifying nothing to him, beyond the irony of the 
letters. "Isn't that a bit racy of a name?" 

"That's what I thought," she told him. "But it's a very old house, and the 
letters in Greek signify nothing." She was impressed now with the depth of 
the secrecy oath in Sigma Epsilon Chi. 

"That's true," he said. "Anyway, so I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow. 
You'll be ready?" 

She knew she would be, but she hesitated. Finally her mind overpowering her 
better sense, she blurted out, "I'll be ready." 

As she made her way back to the house, her newly born good mood firmed her 
resolve as it deepened her confidence in herself. She would get a job, she 
thought, and find an apartment-even share it with a roommate or two, if she 
had to. She would quit SEX, leave their sordid practices behind. 

Her buoyancy lifted her to ecstatic heights, and she felt no fear or 
trepidation as she waltzed into the house, on her way up to her room. 

"What are you so happy about?" she heard, and stopped, looking over the 
stair banister to see Connie sitting cross-legged with a textbook on her lap 
on the den couch. "When you crawled out of here this morning, you looked 
like death warmed over." 

Sharon leaned far out over the banister, her firm breasts dangling from 
above Hike ripe apples. "I quit," she said. 

Connie looked at her, dumbfounded. "You what?" 

"I quit! I'm finished, done, through. I came here to go to college and get 
an education, not, not get that kind of education. I'm going to find a job, 
even if it means flipping pizzas, and get an apartment, no matter how shabby 
it is, and I am going to get out of here." 

Connie sat bolt upright, about to spew out her objections, but Sharon had 
already fled happily upstairs. Connie flung her books aside, and darted up 
after her. 

She found her door closed, and knocked. 

"I don't live here any more," she heard Sharon's merry voice drift from 
within. 

"Sharon, I want to talk to you. " 

"There's nothing to talk about," she said. 

"May I please come in?" 

She waited while Sharon deliberated. Finally, her voice said, "Oh, all 
right, but it won't do you any good." 

Connie came in and leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her 
orbular breasts, pressing deeply into the fleshy orbs. 

"What makes you think it's so easy to just up and quit? You think you can 
just walk out of here?" 

"And why not?" Sharon said, as she folded a shirt to settle it into the 
suitcase she had laying open on her bed. I 

"We're a very discriminating sorority," Connie told her, her voice full of 
sternness. "Every pledge is screened beforehand-that's why we have no rush 
with the rest of the school. We're notified by your mothers and neighborhood 
friends of your arrival here, and we prepare for you. You can't leave." 

Sharon was shocked at the revelation, but not dismayed. "I'm sorry you went 
to so much trouble. I'm going." 

"You mean to tell me you didn't like it? That you might have even needed it, 
to lift a great weight from your shoulders? I spoke with Paul today. You 
didn't exactly resist." 

That slowed her up, but she still intended to go. "Yes," she admitted, "I 
liked it. That doesn't mean my lifestyle has to revolve around it. There are 
more important things. And if I find somebody to love ..." 

"Then you'll spread your legs for him, right? Jesus, you've got a lot to 
learn. Don't you understand that one cock is just the same as another 
insofar as what it does to you physically? Some are longer, some shorter, 
some thicker, some thinner, and some are better than others with no regard 
to the rest, but when you've had one, it makes no difference any more how 
many you have. If you love somebody, of course it feels different, 
emotionally, but it's the same friction of his hot meat all the same. 
Understand?" 

"Yes," she said, her mood beginning to dissipate. "But I still have to go. 
Please, Connie. I don't care what anybody else does. But I have to do what's 
right for me." 

"You still don't understand," Connie said. "You can't leave. It's not a 
matter of what you want. You can't leave." 

"What are you going to do, hold me prisoner?" 

"Of course not," Connie said. "May I make one suggestion? Call your mother. 
Tell her what you plan on doing." 

"All right," Sharon said. She knew her mother, but she had been surprised 
that she had steered her to the sorority in the first place, and she thought 
she understood that. Her mother had been a member, and had seen a need for 
her daughter to get a taste of the real world she had always stayed removed 
from. Well, now she had had her taste, and Mom would never deny her her 
freedom of choice, and her rights as an individual. 

She dialed, and waited for the ringing to stop and her mother to answer. She 
finally did. She told her mother of her plans to quit. 

There was a silence on the other end, then her mother said softly and 
coldly, "If that's what you want, dear." 

"We can talk about it when I come home. I know the sorority meant a lot to 
you and I want to sit and talk about it with you." 

"When you come home?" her mother said. 

"Yes, for Easter." 

"Oh no, dear. If you shirk your obligation to Sigma Epsilon Chi, you can't 
come home." 

Her heart skipped a beat and she felt her face flush with blood. "What?" she 
said. 

"You won't be welcome here. I'm certain your father would concur in that 
decision." 

Sharon in a trance, let the phone slide to the cradle, cutting her mother 
off. 

"Well?" Connie said. 

"I'm staying," she said, empty. "I have no choice." 

* * * * * 

Dear Diary: 

I was empty, desolate. For the first time in my life, I felt I had no 
alternatives, no future. 

I no longer feel that way. Now once again, I feel torn, at odds with myself, 
unable to understand which way I feel. That may seem shocking, but something 
happened, and I learned a little more about myself. 

After crying silently on the bed for an hour, then sitting in depressed 
silence for another, I got antsy, and had to stroll, pacing the room was too 
confining, making me feel like a caged animal. 

I burst out of my room, and stalked down the hall, but stopped, my 
instinctive curiosity making me pause as I heard something unusual. It was 
the sound of moaning, coming from inside one of the rooms. The door was open 
ajar, but it was dark inside. 

A chorus of womanly moans made up the sound, with an occasional deeper cry, 
almost ghostly with its intense pleasure. I couldn't imagine what it might 
be, and I peered around the corner into the partially open door. 

At first all I could see was shining motion, glimmering, glistening 
moistness swimming in the dark. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw they 
were bodies, female forms, swarming over each other atop the bed. I gasped, 
and tried to pull myself away. 

Only I couldn't. 

As I watched their bodies intertwined, stroking and caressing one another, I 
recognized them as Melanie and Kim. I knew I should have been repelled, but 
instead I was drawn inside. Only when I had the advantage of sharing their 
darkness with no light to dim my view did I notice they were not alone. Nor 
were they lavishing their lustful intentions on one another. Beneath them 
lay one of the boys from KKA, naked and writhing beneath the weight of their 
naked bodies. 

All of my emotions vanished, all of the conflicts battling within me drifted 
away, and I was left with a wanton desire, burning through me. It was the 
same feeling I had felt after Paul had pierced my virgin cunt, and settled 
his cock deep inside. All I wanted was that feeling inside my pussy, like a 
fire had been lit there. 

Melanie saw me, and sat up a little, smiling at me. She was panting, her 
hair was disarrayed and she had been sweating from exertion. She had 
pear-shaped breasts that pointed upward, and the boy's nibble marks covered 
both of them; her nipples were pointed like arrow tips off the end of the 
breasts. The boy opened his eyes and looked at her, and that was the first 
time she noticed his cock, which had up until then hidden in the wrappage of 
Melanie's anxious hand. 

It jumped to life when he saw her, thickening and pulsating. "Join us, won't 
you?" Melanie said. Kim turned and looked at her, and smiled. 

"What?" I asked. 

Kim curled her fingers around the tense hardness of his throbbing shaft, and 
squeezed, eliciting a moan from the man it was attached to. He arched his 
back and the head of his cock turned red. 

"Come on," Kim said. "Take off your clothes." 

I was overpowered by the desire inside of me. I yanked my gray knit top off 
and fumbled my brassiere free, allowing the jiggly flesh of my taut breasts 
to burst free. 

I stepped out of my shoes, and unzipped my dress, never taking my eyes from 
the frozen scene before me. When they saw me slip out of the dress, they 
returned to their work. Melanie covered the boy's mouth with hers, mashing 
and twisting her moist, rich lips against his. His hand rose and covered her 
swinging tits, and she moved her head up to allow him to kiss and nibble her 
neck. His hand drifted between her legs, which she parted for him eagerly, 
allowing him easy access to her quivering cunt. She kept moving up, always 
remaining in a position so his finger could probe inside her wet hole. 

Finally she was high enough that he was nibbling again on her breasts, 
cupping the conical, milky tit he was chewing, biting particularly zealously 
on her pebbly nipple. 

Kim, in the meantime, had interlocked her fingers around the base of his 
meaty thickness and pointed it upward, holding it steady. At first, she slid 
over it, capturing it between the warm blankets of her orbular breasts and 
massaging his length up and down. Finally, when she had worked herself into 
an erotic frenzy, moaning and writhing against the rigidity of his shaft, 
she released it from the grip of her tits and dove down on it, taking it 
between her lips and swallowing it down to her laced fingers. I watched her 
cheeks hollow out and then return to normal as she sucked voraciously, and 
lifted her head to allow another thrust of his turgid stiffness into the 
cavern of her mouth. 

She unlaced her fingers and swallowed his whole meaty shaft, and he gasped 
and moaned, arching his back again. I think he even forgot I was there with 
the things being done to him. 

But I wasn't about to let him forget me. By now I was out of my clothes, and 
I approached the bed, lay upon it, beside the three people interlocked as 
one. But none of the boy's body was available to me. I couldn't just lay 
there, though. 

Besides, things were progressing without me. Melanie had lifted herself 
again, pulling her well-eaten breasts from Paul's desperate, grasping mouth. 
He was placated soon enough, though, as she pressed her quivering pussy 
against his hungry mouth. I saw his tongue push out from between his lips 
and disappear into the moist mound of pussy hair. 

The only part of his body open was his midriff, so I straddled it, wriggling 
my eager pussy against his stiff, hard male flesh. It itched at the touch, 
and I wanted his cock badly, I ached for it, but I knew I would have to be 
patient; I would have to maneuver my way into access to his blue-veined 
stiffness. 

I looked directly at his head, but only saw his chin below me, working his 
jaws on Melanie's gaping, splayed cunt. Her breasts loomed in front of me, 
so I wrapped my hands around her waist and pulled her close, and closed my 
tense mouth over her stiff nipples. 

I instantly forgot about his cock, if only tentatively. Her nipple was like 
a piece of hard candy in my mouth, yielding and pliable yet stiff enough to 
withstand my eager nibbling, my teeth gently closing again and again over 
her breast tips. 

I provoked groans from her; I only could tell they were the direct result of 
my attentions, and hearing the groans made my pussy begin to lubricate, and 
I knew I was smearing his midriff with my love juices. 

Melanie pulled me close, holding my head in her hands and running her 
fingers through my thick hair. But now I wanted more, something different. I 
yanked away, still pulling on her nipple with my fingers, but now I could 
see behind me, where Kim, busily sucking the boy's cock, was sitting with 
her legs spread. 

I could see the pink inner membrane flesh of her dripping cunt, and I swung 
around, smearing more of my lubricant on the man who was my seat, and dove 
as I had seen her do on his cock, only I dove between the spread, creamy 
thighs. 

My tongue darted between the parted, splayed pussy lips, and I tasted for 
the first time the intoxicating juice of another woman's cunt. I licked like 
I was tasting my first popsicle, lapping up mouthful of the fluid and 
swallowing them after allowing them to coat my tongue and stimulate every 
taste bud that lay on my soft, pink mouth muscle. 

The tip of my tongue jutted against something hard, and I knew I had found 
her clitoris. She confirmed it for me by starting, jerking, and clamping her 
silky white thighs against my head. I curled my tongue around the hard 
little button and tugged, and she jerked again, and now it was Kim moaning 
and mewling in response to my actions. 

I sucked and tugged, drinking in her liquids, as I felt her tension 
intensify. My head was yanked up and down, back and forth as Kim began to 
approach orgasm, her jerks becoming spasmodically regular. 

Finally, she cried, "Ah, God," and shuddered to an orgasm that creamed over 
my face. I thought about hungrily lapping the fluids, but upon hearing her 
words, I knew his cock had slid free of her mouth. 

I pushed her away as she collapsed in a satisfied spent heap. I lifted one 
leg over his waist, grabbing his slickly wet shaft at the base and guiding 
it between my burning, ancipiation-ridden cuntal walls. 

I relished every instant of his spongy cock head boring through the depths 
of my pussy. Like the end of a drill he pushed through me as I sunk down 
until the matt of hair growing from my pussy bounced against his, and I knew 
he was inside me as deeply as he was going to go. 

I put my hands on Melanie's thighs, looking directly at his mouth still 
eating her cunt, but with diminished enthusiasm as he felt my moist flesh 
grasping his rigid stiffness. 

I pushed against her shoulders, and let his cock slip from my cunt, then 
fell on it again, swallowing it. I humped him like a common girl, humping 
him harder and harder, feeling him swell inside me, and come as he bit too 
hard on Melanie's cunt (although she climaxed from the pain, rather than 
crying out). I kept humping and humping, even when I felt his cock begin to 
go limp, until I extracted from my exhausted little pussy an intense, 
delirious orgasm, writhing against him, crying out and gasping. 

When I was done, I jumped from him, gathered my clothes and ran back to my 
room. There I sat and thought. Then I dressed, brushed my hair, went 
downstairs and found Connie. 

"I'm sorry," I told her. "I was rash. I made a mistake." 

She smiled at me. "I knew you'd come around," she said sweetly. "Forget it." 

I went back to my room and lay down. Now on my mind was Paul and the 
just-done experience, Professor Roland, my old morals, my uncontrolled lust. 
I was confused and upset. 

I was right back to square one with no idea of what direction I was headed. 
I was lost. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Dear Diary: 

One thing I wasn't going to do was cancel my date with Professor Roland. 
There was a lot still confused in my mind, but one thing I was not confused 
about was him. He had been kind, and offered me help when others were just 
shoving me back into the mire, to gasp and drown. 

I felt better about having participated in the foursome in Melanie's room 
the night before. Still upset with myself over the complete discarding of 
all my previous beliefs, but at least now I knew I liked it, that it wasn't 
a filthy thing to do, that participating in such an act can be pleasurable. 
And yet, oddly, I felt none of those desires toward Professor Roland. 
Perhaps there was nothing wrong with sex, but it didn't make it always 100 
percent right, either. And what I felt toward Professor Roland, the magnet 
that attracted me to him, was that he was good and right. And the two still 
did not mix within my mind. 

My emotions were in a highly excited state; it was a happy compromise 
between the self-loathing I knew the old Sharon was capable of, and the 
lustful, eager Sharon, ever-delirious of new sexual encounters, that had 
blossomed into full bloom in such a brief period of time. 

I threw a robe on and darted downstairs and heaped a lot of food onto my 
plate, then stared at it like an idiot. Professor Roland was going to take 
me to dinner! But it would have been rude to not eat what I had taken-at 
least some of it. 

"Are we not dressing for dinner any more?" Connie said, eyeing my terrycloth 
robe, hanging lewdly open above my cleavage, but only accidentally, not by 
design. 

"I fell asleep in the tub," I told her, semi-truthfully. She seemed to 
accept this, and fell back to eating. I munched down a few bites, then put 
my fork down and settled back. This piqued Connie's interest again. 

"Is there something wrong with the food?" 

I'm not sure, but it seemed she was trying to bait me. I wasn't going to let 
her. "Nothing, it's delicious," I told her. "It's just that I've been kind 
of -excitable all day. I don't have much of an appetite." 

"SEX sisters find it very worthwhile to stay in shape, get lots of protein 
and minerals," Connie said, the cynicism thick in her voice. I wondered what 
was bothering her. 

Then it dawned on me. Paul! When I had first entered the house, during rush, 
Paul had been all over Connie, and I thought I had seen them disappear 
together upstairs. Certainly she knew he would be with one of the pledges on 
that first night, during which they climbed to our rooms on ladders. Could 
it have been that he raved about me to her, or told her I was better than 
she? 

Had he told her he wanted to have me again? The thought made the flesh deep 
inside my pussy crawl, and I pressed my thighs together in an effort to kill 
the feeling. I succeeded only in suspending it, and when I stood to go to my 
room, it returned. 

On my way upstairs I wondered if perhaps I might be overdoing it, thinking 
that Paul would want to fuck me again. He was the president of KKA, and the 
best looking of them. Connie herself is a beautiful girl, and closer to 
Paul's own age. 

Rational thoughts like that fled me as soon as I was secure inside my room, 
though, and I shrugged out of my robe and sat down in the desk chair before 
the full length mirror. Watching, fascinated, I spread my legs, splayed them 
obscenely, and looked into my gaping pussy hole the way a man might see it. 

It was pink, beyond the criss-crossing intermingling of black cuntal hairs. 
The pink moved, as though it was alive, and glistened with moisture, as 
though that was the blood that kept it living. 

I felt the deep interior of my vagina quivering and begging me to relieve it 
of the agony of disuse it felt. I put my index finger in my mouth and sucked 
on it for a minute, getting it very moist with a coating of my warm saliva, 
and then I dug it between the sizzling, hair-fringed cleft between my legs. 

I gasped, partly from what I felt as my finger made contact with my burning 
flesh, and partly from watching my own finger disappear into the forbidden 
portal that I saw in this new way for the first time in the mirror. 

Watching stimulated me to vibrate my finger against the lengthwise slit, and 
vibrating intensified the pleasure with which I watched, until I was 
bringing myself to a delicious orgasm, I gushed onto the chair, and heard my 
ass jiggling against the moisture on the wooden seat. 

I calmed down, allowing my breathing to normalize, and then found a tissue 
with which I wiped my pussy reasonably dry. I touched my body, letting my 
fingers linger over the firm breasts, flicking against the tense, rigid 
nipples, easing across my flat smooth belly. 

I finally pulled myself away from myself, and away from that damned mirror! 
It was all a revelation. Before I knew I had been beautiful, but that had 
never meant desirable to me before. Now I was desirable, even to myself. To 
Paul, whose long, thick, expert penis had penetrated my virgin pussy for the 
first time, to the girls in the bedroom down the hall, to the boy they were 
balling. 

Then I remembered Professor Roland again, and hurried into my most lively 
dress. And now, for the first time, I thought of him sexually. Not solely 
sexually, but I considered that he could be good and nice and sincere, and 
still have a stiff, throbbing erection around which I could wrap my fingers. 

The thought that I could have the best of both worlds-have my cake and eat 
it too-thrilled me as I have never been thrilled before. I could have his 
intellect, his honest concern, his good heart and his sincerity, along with 
his cock, stiff and pulsating and ready to part my pussy lips and fill my 
vaginal cavern. 

I combed my hair until it shone, and unbuttoned the top button of my dress, 
so more cleavage was exposed than I have ever dared show in public before. I 
walked quietly down the stairs, my bag over my shoulder, my nylons rustling 
against each other as my thighs rubbed together, sparking little electric 
shocks that made the inside of my pussy sing. 

Connie was back on her couch (I've never seen anybody else there, so I must 
assume she has control over it), and she saw me, dressed up and ready for a 
night on the town. 

"Going somewhere?" she said. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact," I said. "Out." 

Before she could say anything, as I could see she was about to, I stopped 
her and said, "Connie, I want to apologize. I was overreacting. Too much 
seemed to be happening to me, and the easiest solution seemed to be 
quitting. But I suppose it's true what they say, that quitters never win." 

She smiled at me now, the way she had when I had first arrived at SEX. I 
beamed back, and went outside, where Professor Roland's car was parked at 
the curb. 

He was leaning against the car, his arms folded across his chest. He looked 
so different, wearing no tie, a sweater, and tight jeans. He looked so much 
more like a-a man, instead of a teacher. 

Before I met him, I turned and looked once more back at SEX house. In the 
window, I could see Connie's face; she was pulling back the curtain, making 
no effort to hide her observation from me. And even from the distance, I 
could see the expression on her face. Set and cold and determined. Melanie 
joined her in the window, and stared at me with the same cold gaze. A chill 
went up my spine. 

I have since spent much time worrying about being here, about the health of 
these girls within their minds. 

But, as for the rest of the evening ... 

* * * * * 

Sharon entered his car, a sleek sports car, and nestled into the comfort of 
the leather seat. Professor Roland slid in beside her and gunned the engine. 
It purred like a kitten. 

"How does French sound to you?" he asked. 

"It sounds good. I didn't think this town was big enough for a French 
restaurant." 

"It's not, but one of the few restaurants happens to be owned by an 
expatriate Frenchman. The food may not be marvelous, but at least it's 
authentic." 

She laughed. "I want to thank you for cheering me up yesterday, Professor 
Roland." 

"Dirk," he told her. 

"Dirk." She tried it out. 

"Now, isn't that easy?" he said, and she laughed again. 

"Yes," she said. "And I like it." 

He drove smoothly, turning deftly the many small corners of the small 
college town. One turn he took sharply, and Sharon slid in her seat against 
him, and she thrilled to the strong touch of his body. 

After a brief drive they arrived in the main part of town, not much but 
enough for Sharon, who had not seen a store or a hint of night life since 
she had arrived at State. The thought startled her. Prior to coming to 
State, she had had little interest in the night life. 

But there was no denying she was happy to be here. In the darkness this 
place shone like a Mecca, and life fairly teemed on its small, narrow 
sidewalks. Students trounced up and down the length of the Strip, some going 
into restaurants, and some into one of the movie theatres, some into one of 
the few bars. There were singles and couples, and all of them smiled, and it 
made Sharon's troubles seem very far away. 

Dirk turned into a driveway, and Sharon saw the French restaurant and was 
mildly surprised. She had been to few French restaurants, but those she had 
been to were all rather fancy setups. This one looked more like a diner, and 
it actually boasted the gaudy name, Frenchy's. 

"What do they serve here, crepe on a stick?" she asked. 

It was Dirk's turn to laugh. "I know it doesn't look like much. But the food 
is actually the best in town." 

She looked fondly into his eyes, impressed at his assured demeanor and 
comforted by the strength of his presence. "If you say so, Dirk," she said. 

They went inside and sat at a table for two, covered with a checkered, 
stained table cloth. A light shone from an oil lamp, though, lending a 
romantic air to the tacky surroundings. It took on a certain charm. 

"Take a look at the menu," Dirk suggested. But Sharon was looking around, 
suddenly nervous. It was a fair-sized place, and it was alive with people. 
And in the back of the room, at a table occupied by five letterman clad 
students, among them, gazing directly at her, was Paul Slaughter. 

"Hey," Dirk said, touching her chin with his hand. "You look as though 
you've seen a ghost." 

She looked at him and tried to smile, but couldn't. She didn't know why, but 
Paul's presence filled her with a sense of foreboding, a feeling of dread. 

"What is it?" Dirk said, and then followed the line of Sharon's gaze back to 
Paul and his friends. "What is it, is he one of the ones who made you feel 
so bad yesterday?" 

She nodded before she realized what she was doing, and filled with 
desperation. "No!" she said, trying to swallow the gesture. "I just ..." 

He put his hand over hers, and smiled at her. "Don't worry about it, Sharon. 
You're with me now." 

She smiled at him, a bit relieved but still brimming with apprehension. To 
hide her foul mood, she looked intently at the menu. 

The waiter came, wearing a greasy apron, and Dirk ordered tornadoes, and 
looked to Sharon. "Anything on the menu you want," he told her. 

"Oh," she said, startled at his voice. "The salmon," she said, selecting the 
first thing on the menu she saw. 

"A good choice," the waiter said, beaming, and taking the orders back to the 
kitchen. 

Sharon's heart caught in her throat, as she saw Paul rising from his table, 
gesturing to his friends that he would be back in a minute, and not to 
interfere. "Oh God," she said. 

"Don't worry about it," Dirk said, seeing what she saw. "I'll take care of 
it. 

She didn't know how he would do that, but she had no choice but to leave it 
to him. What else could she do? 

Paul walked slowly through the restaurant, weaving amongst the tables, until 
he stood before Sharon's table. "Hey, Sharon," he said, completely ignoring 
Professor Roland. 

"Paul," she said, electing only to acknowledge him, and wait for him to say 
what he wanted to say. 

"Out on your own, are you?" he said. 

"Sharon's here with me, Paul," Dirk said, and Paul finally turned to him. 

"Oh hi, Professor Roland. Imagine you out with a frosh. Is that legal? I 
mean, could you lose your job for dating a girl who just graduated high 
school?" 

Roland saw where Paul was headed, and decided to put a stop to it 
immediately. "What I do, and the consequences I suffer for it, are my 
business. Now, if you don't mind?" 

"But you don't understand, Roland," Paul said. "Sharon's my girl." He looked 
straight at her. "We've been intimate." Then he looked back at Roland, to 
see the expression on his face. "You know what I mean, Prof?" he said. "I 
mean I've had her hot cunt wrapped tight around my cock. Yeah, that's right. 
I came like a fire hose inside her. She can't be the kind of girl a teacher 
would want in the first place, but you wouldn't want to cut in on my action 
now, would you?" 

Sharon was certain Paul had just disintegrated her bond with Dirk in one 
fell swoop, but Dirk glared back at Paul, undaunted. "Now you've had your 
say, Slaughter, so I'll have mine. I want you to leave Sharon and I alone. I 
am fortunate enough to have you gracing the presence of my English History 
class, which you must pass if you're to quarterback State's football squad 
to glory this year. One fail and you're off the team. And get this, 
Slaughter. One word that damages my reputation, or one bit of abuse toward 
Sharon, and I'll hail you with the toughest exam any student ever had in 
this school. Understand?" 

Paul wasn't ready for that, and had no set answers. But he looked directly 
into Sharon's eyes and said, "I'll talk to you later." 

"You'll watch your step, Slaughter," Dirk said to the Greek's back as Paul 
meandered back to his table. 

Sharon's food came, and when she was only a few bites into her meal, Paul 
and his friends got up and left the restaurant as a group. Paul watched her 
until he was outside, out of sight. 

"I've never liked him," Dirk said. "Arrogant little prick." 

"What he said ... " Sharon began to explain. 

"It's not necessary,' Dirk said. "It seems to me, Sharon, you come from a 
rather sheltered outdated environment. What you've done or what you haven't 
done are of no consequence to me. I don't believe what somebody tells me 
about you, and I don't care that they've said it. And I don't care if it is 
true. You don't have to measure up to any expectations. I asked you out 
because I like you, which doesn't mean I like some image of you that isn't 
real." 

Sharon was so taken with the sincerity of his discourse that she hugged him 
from across the table, her arms wrapping around his neck. She pulled his 
head close to hers, and kissed him. 

The sensation of her moist, moving lips against his sent a bolt of 
electricity through his body, an electric charge that concentrated in his 
cock and made it spring to life. He had obviously done everything right, and 
he had her damned near to eating out of his hand. He was, indeed, sincere, 
but if it succeeded in making this voluptuously beautiful, innocent girl his 
for an evening, he would be a happy man. 

Now she parted from him, and loomed embarrassed. "That was impulsive of me," 
she said. "I'm sorry." 

He slid his chair around the small table to where he was sitting next to her 
instead of across from her. Their backs were to the rest of the restaurant, 
which was fast emptying. 

"Not at all," he said. "I do understand the pressures a new student can find 
herself under. Especially a young girl joining a staid, stodgy old 
sorority." He put his arm around her, and squeezed her. As he felt her soft, 
pliable flesh press against his, molding to it, his cock throbbed 
agonizingly. 

Responding to a newly unearthed instinct, Sharon put her hand on his leg as 
he squeezed her, near his thigh. She felt tension against the fabric of his 
pants. 

At the same time, she found herself gazing up at him, into his meaningful, 
sympathetic eyes. Her slightly parted lips connected again with his, and she 
felt something forcing her teeth apart. It was his tongue, hot and wet and 
quivering, urging its way into her mouth. Her own tongue responded to its 
presence, sliding back and forth across the top of his. 

His hand dipped to her breast, firmly supported in the cup of her dress, and 
he held it, forming his hand into its shape and testing its firmness, its 
pliability, its softness. It was all of those and more. She seemed indeed 
the perfect woman he had fantasized her. 

She moaned as his fingers captured her nipple between the sheer folds of her 
dress and pinched it erotically, delicately, sending rays of supercharged 
heat through the mound of flesh from her chest down to her cunt. 

Her responsive pussy did not have long to wait. His hand, guided by a 
willpower that sought only self-indulgent pleasure and conquest, traced from 
her delightful tit along her flat belly then down between her legs until he 
was touching the ribs of her silk stockings, beneath the hemline of her 
dress. 

She gasped again as his fingers deftly wedged upward, tugging the lace 
panties down low enough that he could slip two fingers between the slick 
lips of her tight little pussy. 

Her fingers danced on his back, her nails clawing into his back through his 
coat occasionally, stroking him and feeling him. She let her thighs slip 
apart a little, just enough that he could find easier access to the moist 
interior of her pulsating, throbbing cunt. 

He took advantage of it, guiding his fingers inside her, feeling her heated 
wetness engulf his digits. The musk from her opened pussy drifted to his 
nostrils, and he was sure he would come in his pants if he did not have her 
instantly. 

She must have read his mind, or so he thought. As he kissed her again, 
holding the back of her head, the thick, soft curls of hair, with his free 
hand, she unzipped his pants and fished inside for his blood gorged member. 

It had grown so huge with desire that she found it immediately, thick and 
hot. He was sure he was about to make a fool of himself, climaxing intensely 
in the palm of her silky hand, but she grasped him by the base and squeezed. 
She wasn't sure what prompted her to do that, but it kept him from coming. 
And without the slightest regard to who might be watching her, she lay her 
head in his lap. 

Her hands tugged at his meaty shaft base, feeling the tight, rough balls of 
pubic hair beneath them. Her lips parted, and felt the warm, spongy head of 
his cock between them, and she nibbled playfully and sucked, her lips locked 
behind the crown of his circumcised penis. 

His hands burrowed in her hair, grabbing it in great tufts, as he closed his 
eyes and quivered and thought hard in order to keep from moaning out loud, 
attracting attention to his compromising position. 

She sucked voraciously, hungrily, tasting the first cock she had ever had in 
her lusting mouth. 

As her confidence increased, she took an inch of his pulsating meat into her 
mouth, feeling the curved head grazing the room of her mouth. Another inch, 
her lips pressing against his flesh-coated thickness, and she thought she 
would gag, but she didn't. Encouraged, she thrust her mouth down over the 
remaining length of his shaft, until her lips felt the same curls of pubic 
hair her hand had felt. 

She lifted her head out of his lap, sucking on the shaft as she might suck 
on a lollipop, until only the head was back caught behind the cage of her 
teeth. 

Then she dove again, swallowing him, feeling that head of his cock hard and 
living push down her throat. She simply held her breath, and that made her 
mouthful of penis a pleasure instead of a pain. 

She lifted her head and fell, developing a rhythm. Dirk still had his 
fingers inside her slick little hole, and he tightened them into a ball and 
held them there. Each time she fell on his cock, the motion made her move, 
and the stone he had created in her pussy jammed against her rock-hard 
clitoris, stimulating it to harden even more. 

She came before he did, and the throes of ecstasy she felt surging through 
her only intensified the fervor with which she sucked his cock, awaiting the 
burst of white, sloshing semen from deep within his cock. She had heard 
girlfriends argue about it, the taste of sperm. Some had hated it, saying it 
made them feel sick, while others sucked every last drop of it they could 
from within the width of his meat. 

Her hands curled his dangling testicles around, pulling and squeezing them, 
and she worked hungrily on his pulsating male member. Finally she felt his 
buttocks shifting erratically in his seat as he quivered and squirmed from 
the feel of his nearing orgasm. 

It occurred with an intense abandon, Dirk rising off his seat and barely 
trapping a scream behind her gritted teeth. The jet of cum rose upward, 
surging forth from his testicles, and he felt it pass every centimeter of 
the length of his shaft, and he felt it separate the closed walls of his 
cock-head pinhole and gush outward, setting off only stars in his vision. 

His cum poured forth, gushing into her mouth, and she swallowed as if it was 
a nectar of the gods, sweet and salty and full of life and warmth. 

It slid down her throat, and she found she was among the faction of her old 
school friends who liked sucking out every last drop, and sucking for more 
even when there was no more. 

When she had swallowed all the cum he was going to produce, she lifted her 
head and tucked his fast-limpening cock back inside his pants, and zipped 
him up. 

He removed his hand from her dress, and she rose. Suddenly conscious of 
their surroundings, they looked around, but it was obvious nobody had 
noticed them. The waiter came a moment later to remove their plates. 

"Sharon," he said, looking away. "I know you're a student and I'm a teacher, 
but I've had this feeling about you ever since I first saw you. It may not 
be right, but ... I think I love you." 

Her heart surged, and she looked deeply into his eyes. "I want to see you 
again," she said. 

"Try to keep me away." 

He paid their bill and he drove her back to the sorority house. Her head was 
in the clouds, lightheaded and dizzy from excitement and happiness. They 
kissed lingeringly in the car before she finally opened the door, a signal 
that the evening was over. 

Still, they looked at each other and finally she walked up the path to SEX 
house. Awaiting her, she thought, was a long bath, soaking in hot water and 
beauty oils, and a long, dreamy sleep. 

What was awaiting her, though, was something quite different. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Sharon put her house key in the door and turned it, then pressed her hand 
against the door to push it in. But the door gave way, and she realized 
somebody was pulling it open for her. 

She stepped in and looked around the other side of the door. Melanie had 
opened it for her, and she wore a deep, stern expression carved into her 
face. 

"Come inside," Melanie said. 

Sharon smiled and said sure, and followed her. Melanie's walk was stiff and 
formal; she was not at all the same girl she had ... she had been with the 
other day while involved with the frat brother. 

"Is something wrong?" Sharon finally asked as they walked up the stairs and 
passed her room. They moved into a hall with which Sharon was unfamiliar. 

"Be quiet," Melanie said harshly. "You'll be told everything there is to 
tell you quite soon enough." 

Melanie led her down another corridor, at the end of which was a lone door. 
Light poured out from beneath it, and suddenly Sharon's feeling of unease 
increased. Something was amiss, she thought; she had done something wrong. 

Melanie opened the door and ushered Sharon in. She had to blink for a minute 
to adjust her eyes to the harsh, glaring light from three suspended, naked 
bulbs. When she could finally see, she saw the room was filled with about 
eight girls, and three guys. Among the girls was Connie, sitting on a tall 
stool behind a tall table. She appeared judge-like, as the seven other girls 
and two of the boys sat in a row to the right of her. To the left was Paul 
Slaughter, leering at Sharon from a plush chair. 

Melanie indicated Sharon should stand in the center of the room, facing 
Connie. She did as she was told, and Melanie joined the nine others at 
Connie's right. 

"What is this?" Sharon asked, her heart hammering from fear. 

"Be silent," Connie said, "and speak only when spoken to, pledge." 

Sharon cowered in her spot, feeling three feet smaller all of a sudden. She 
pursed her lips together and waited. 

"We are honored with your presence," Connie told her, sneering. "So nice of 
you to join us lowly Greeks back at your sorority house." 

"I don't ... " Sharon said, then caught herself and shut up, but it was too 
late. 

"I said SILENCE!" Connie bellowed. "I'll not warn you again. Do you 
understand?" 

Sharon nodded sullenly. 

"Now then," Connie said, restoring her voice to its normal, icy tone. "You 
appear before us this evening to be judged by a jury, of your peers. You 
will accept the verdict of this jury, and you will accept whatever 
punishment they opt to dole out to you. You should be made aware that 
punishments are established in the SEX Code, and such appropriate punishment 
will be mandated. Any questions, pledge?" 

"Yes!" Sharon said, grateful for the opportunity to speak. "Why am I on 
trial? What have I done?" 

Connie looked at her incredulously. "What have you done? You mean-you don't 
know?" 

Sharon shook her head. She was sincere. She truly didn't know. 

"Do you know what time it is?" Connie bellowed. 

Sharon looked at her watch. "Two in the morning. Shouldn't everybody be 
asleep?" 

"Indeed we should," Connie said sharply. "It is entirely because of you that 
we are all awake." 

"But ... what have I done? Is there a rule about the time, a curfew? If 
there is, nobody told me about it." 

"There is no curfew at SEX house, pledge," Connie said. "But there are rules 
of other sorts. Tell us, pledge. Where have you been?" 

"Out," Sharon said innocently. "Out to dinner." 

"With whom, if we may be so bold as to ask?" 

"Dirk Roland. He's a history professor here. He's been so nice ..." 

"Be SILENT!" Connie shouted again. She was aghast, and the faces of the jury 
mirrored Connie's surprise. "Do you really want to incriminate yourself so 
openly?" She turned to the jury. "You are to disregard the pledge's last 
remark. Your verdict will be strictly based on the facts that are to be 
presented to you. Brother Slaughter?" 

Paul stood and faced the jury. "Tell this jury what you saw." 

"We were at the French restaurant, a bunch of guys from the frat and I. We 
were just out to have a good time when I saw Sharon Simmons enter the 
restaurant." 

"You recognized her?" Connie said. 

"Sure," Paul answered. 

"How?" 

"I was her pledge initiator. It would be hard to forget somebody you 
initiated that ... enthusiastically." 

Connie glared at him, jealousy brimming in her eyes. "Brother Slaughter, you 
will confine your comments to the business at hand. You positively 
identified Pledge Simmons at the restaurant?" 

"Yes." 

"Was she alone?" 

"Nope. She was with Roland, like she said. The history teacher." 

"Did it appear to be a chance meeting?" 

"Nope. They were on a date." 

"Did you attempt to speak with pledge Simmons?" 

"Knowing my duty, I did. But Roland cut me off. Threatened to flunk me so I 
wouldn't make eligibility for the team. I knew it was blackmail, but what 
could I do? So I just came back here and reported, like the rules say." 

"We're all aware of your dedication to the SEX-KKA bind, Brother Slaughter. 
"Thank you. You may be seated." 

Paul sat down and sneered again at Sharon. 

"And now," Connie said, looking at Sharon. "How do you plead to these 
charges?" 

"What charges?" Sharon begged. "Please, tell me what I've done wrong? I 
don't understand." 

"Pledge," Connie said. "One of the strictest of SEX house rules clearly 
states that it is forbidden for a member of the sorority to socialize with 
any but another member of SEX, or a member of our big brother fraternity 
KKA. You have blatantly and flagrantly violated this rule, and now must pay 
the consequences." 

Sharon shivered and stood erect, torn between the fear of the consequences 
she would have to take, and the unfairness of the doctrine. Her single 
mindedness, her willpower won out over the fear, and she spoke her mind. 

"First of all, nobody ever told me I couldn't date outside the sorority," 
she said. 

Connie looked concerned, and said, "You should have been told. Are you 
certain you weren't told?" 

"Positive," Sharon said, indignation making her voice well up with anger. 
"And secondly, what business is it of the sorority to tell me who I can and 
can't date?" 

Connie slammed her fist into the desk. "Sorority rules are paramount," she 
said. "They will be obeyed, or the violating members will be drummed out of 
this sorority unceremoniously. I regret you were not informed of the rules, 
but the rules they still are. If this jury finds you guilty of dating 
outside the sorority, you will either accept the standard punishment, or 
leave the house. And I think we've already discussed the consequences of 
leaving the sorority, haven't we?" 

Sharon did not have to answer. 

Connie turned her attention to the jury made up mostly of SEX sisters, with 
a few KKA brothers thrown in for balance. "You have heard the evidence, and 
you have heard the accused respond. As the court has already informed Miss 
Simmons, we regret the oversight in not explaining this rule to her. Yet 
even now that she understands the rule clearly, she flaunts her indifference 
to us and expresses a sentiment clearly against the house rule. It is the 
opinion of this court that she be found guilty as charged. Will the jury 
render a verdict." 

One by one, the members of the jury rose and uttered the word, "Guilty." 
There was silence in the small courtroom when they had finished. 

Connie eyed Sharon, who stood firm and tall, not wanting to be the small, 
cringing creature they obviously expected her to be. "You have been found 
guilty," Connie said happily. "You now have a choice. You may accept 
punishment, or leave. If you elect to leave, you are commanded to do so at 
once. What is your choice?" 

"That depends," Sharon said bitterly. "What's the punishment?" 

"You may not learn that until after you have made your decision." 

"How much time do I have to make a decision?" she asked. 

Connie smiled down at her. "You have no time. Your answer is expected now." 

* * * * * 

Dear Diary: 

I didn't know what to do. It had been only a matter of hours since the 
threat of non-membership had been suspended over my head, and I had learned 
the bitter truth of what would happen. No friends, no home, no family, 
complete, utter and total isolation. 

And that was only if I quit. God, what would happen if I was thrown out?" 

So I told Connie I would accept whatever punishment was due me. I was afraid 
and rightfully so, I figured. I was walking blindly into the unknown, 
leaving myself open for ... what? Would they do something like whip me with 
leather, burn a symbol into my flesh, tie me to the rack? More likely, I 
would have to submit to some sexual humiliation. Eighteen guys from KKA or 
something like that. 

"You have chosen wisely," Connie told me, and I felt hate radiating from her 
at me. I had to assume, as I had before, that Her hatred was due to Paul's 
interest in me. That wasn't my fault, I told myself. How can I control what 
a man thinks? It's neither fair nor right for anybody to expect that of me. 

But Connie was president, and I'm just a lowly pledge. There was obviously 
no arguing, no negotiating, no reasoning with these people. I had to take my 
medicine, and like it. Dear God, I thought, what have I gotten into with 
Sigma Epsilon Chi? 

"You will follow Melanie, and she will dole out your punishment. This is 
Melanie's responsibility as rules chairman of SEX." 

Melanie rose from her juror's spot, where she had only moments earlier added 
her voice to the chorus of guilties. She beckoned me to follow her. 

We went downstairs, through the kitchen and out onto the back porch. "Wh ... 
what's going to happen to me?" 

"I can't tell you," Melanie said. But she took my hand and squeezed it 
reassuringly, a definite about-face from the way she had been behaving 
before. "It was good that you decided to stay with us. That makes it so much 
better," she said. 

She opened the back porch door and I followed her out, through the back yard 
to the tool shed out back. It was a spacious, manicured yard, and my feet 
felt like they were padding on clouds as we made our way across the 
dichondra lawn. 

Melanie opened the tool shed with a key she wore around her neck, and I 
followed her into the darkness. She closed the doors behind us before she 
flipped on any lights. 

Finally, though, she turned the lights on, and the room was bathed with it. 
It was empty, except for a couple chairs. On the wall various things hung, 
but nothing I could identify as a threat. 

Melanie pulled out one of the folding chairs and sat primly in it. "Take 
your clothes off," she said. 

I looked at her with indignation. "What?" I had been right, it seemed. They 
did want me to go through some sort of sexual humiliation. 

"Don't argue with me, Sharon. Any hesitation and I have no choice but to 
report back that you were uncooperative. Take your clothes off." 

I began to comply slowly. I was down to my brassiere and my lacey, frail 
slip when there was a knock on the door. Melanie had obviously not been 
expecting anybody, judging from the way her head whipped around. "What is 
it?" she called. 

The door opened, and Paul thrust his head in. "Mind if I watch?" he said. 

"Get out of here," Melanie hissed at him. "This is private. The rules 
require it." 

"Ah, the hell with the rules," Paul said. 

"It was the rules that brought Sharon to this punishment," Melanie said. "It 
was also you reminding Connie of the rules. So don't go and make light of 
them now. Thanks to you, personally, Slaughter, we're well beyond that phase 
now." 

Paul shrugged and looked me up and down like a hungry wolf. "That's all 
right, Sharon," he said. "We'll get together for some fun and games later." 

He pulled his head out and slammed the door before I could say anything. I 
didn't know what I would have said anyway. 

"Go on," Melanie said. I looked into her eyes and tried to see if there was 
anything there, any betrayal of how she felt, what lay in store for me. But 
there was none of that. Her face bore a smile, but other than that, it was 
empty. Completely blank. She was obviously well-trained at this job. 

"Take them off, Sharon," she told me. "The sooner you comply, the sooner 
we'll be finished with this." 

I reached between my breasts and unclasped my brassiere, and it fell into 
two loose parts. I shrugged out of it, and my orbular breasts jiggled free 
of their restraints. I hesitated only briefly after that, then hooked my 
thumbs into the rib of my slip, and pushed it down. 

The slip slithered like satin over the length of my long, tapering legs, and 
I finally stepped out of it, completely naked. I stood straight, mustering 
all the pride inside of me, and waited. 

"Now come here." Melanie said. 

I approached her, keeping my thighs pressed as firmly together as I could. I 
wasn't aware of it until I thought about it later, but it made my walk seem 
slinky and sexy. But Melanie didn't seem interested in that; her job was 
clear, and she was going to do nothing more or less than execute it. 

I stood naked before her, inches from her, and I felt the strangest rush of 
warmth pass over and through me as she looked up at me. I can't describe it, 
but it was like a flood of heat that, made me tremble. 

Melanie lifted her arms up over her head. "Lay across my lap," she said. 

The warmth was replaced in an instant by a chill, but not an unpleasant 
chill. I started to say something, but then I realized I was always saying 
something. I was always coming out with a but, or a what, or a you can't be 
serious, or something along those lines. And those little things I said 
never did any good. I realized suddenly that not only did whatever was in 
store for me come to pass despite my protest; I usually ended up liking it. 

Still, I couldn't bring myself to believe I would like this. Punishment is 
not a word associated with pleasure, with the exception of a masochistic 
few. And yet, once again, I knew I had no choice. It was comply or be 
expelled. As much as I wished I had never heard of Sigma Epsilon Chi, I 
could not stand to be expelled. I simply could not stand it. 

So I lay across Melanie's lap, face down, my cool, still cunt pressed 
against her leg tops. My round, firm ass was curved upward into the air. Oh 
my God, I thought. Is she going to spank me? 

She answered my question before my mind had time to finish posing it. There 
was a short swishing sound as something sliced the air, and then something 
hard and flat connected with my buttocks. The pain was sharp, and the sound 
it made was a loud slap. I cried out, and grabbed Melanie's legs, but made 
no move to try to escape. There was no escape. I could run away, but then 
what? Then what? 

I didn't see her pick up a paddle, but she was definitely not using the flat 
of her hand in the punishing spanking. It was, unquestionably, a hard wooden 
or plastic paddle of some kind, and the pain was exquisite. I didn't want to 
see my tender ass, but if I could, I was sure it would be as red as a beet. 

She paddled me mercilessly; I thought it would never end. Each blow was as 
hard as the last, never a letup, never an easing of the force of her blows. 
And each spank mounted atop the pain of the last ones, so each spank I 
anticipated was a hundred times worse than the last. 

Tears rose to my eyes and I hugged her legs tight, some refuge in the storm 
of agony Melanie inflicted on my bare, exposed buttocks. But the tears 
slowly gave way to something else, something completely and utterly 
unexpected. 

My pussy, which had been uninterested and unaroused, suddenly began to turn 
warm. At first I thought it was the heat from the spanking transcending the 
fleshy surface of my buttocks and flooding straight down, into the depths of 
my cunt. But that wouldn't account for the erotic stimulation I felt, the 
urge to turn around and spread my legs lewdly for Melanie, open and 
inviting. 

Each spank still created pain, but each spank now also intensified my 
desire. I had never before associated the two, but here they were, together, 
welling up inside me like a bomb ready to go off. 

My hard little clitoris throbbed, and as the paddle slapped against my 
cheeks, it grew a little harder. I was moaning through clenched teeth, 
squirming anxiously in Melanie's lap, and she assumed it was from pain. 

It wasn't. My now-burning cunt was grinding into the rough fabric of 
Melanie's jeans, spreading my sizzling cleft apart and tickling the inner 
pink membrane flesh. I chewed on my lower lip to keep from screaming as the 
paddle rose and fell, turning my sculptured ass into a mass of red pain, as 
my liquids oozed out of the cavern of my pussy onto Melanie's jeans. 

The paddle fell one last time, and my wanton lust reached a fever pitch as I 
climaxed, gyrating madly in Melanie's lap. I squeezed her legs tightly in my 
arms and humped my pelvis against her thighs, moaning and grunting from the 
extraordinary intensity of the orgasm. 

My spent little pussy finally quieted, and I relaxed, dangling over her lap. 
It took a minute to realize the paddling had also ceased, and Melanie's 
breathing was accelerated-I could tell by the way I rose and fell in her 
lap. 

It wasn't as accelerated as mine; her exertion had been lifted to the 
paddling she was administering, while I had been suffering from her blows 
and experiencing a delicious orgasm on top of that. 

"So you like that?" I heard Melanie say. I just continued panting and did 
not respond. She pulled me over, so I lay on my back facing her, my cunt at 
the top of my body and my legs and torso dangling lower. Over the peak of my 
bilious breasts, I saw her looking down at me. This time, there was more 
than emptiness in her eyes. "I asked you a question, pledge," she said. "You 
liked that?" 

I couldn't lie. I had no willpower left in me, and I could not lie. "Yes," I 
told her. "I loved it." 

"I thought so," Melanie said. "I couldn't be sure, but I thought you did." 
And with that, she gathered my hair in both her hands, leaned forward, down, 
as far as she could bend, and kissed me. 

I shook and shivered at the sensation of her moist, feminine lips touching 
and brushing against mine, the fullness of them pressed against the ripe 
fullness of mine. Our mouths, as though acting on a long-buried instinct, 
opened at precisely the same moment, and our tongues met at the midpoint. 
The tips of our long, wet, vibrating muscles quivered against one another, 
and sparks flew from my tongue along the length of my body. I had been so 
certain I had spent all of the energy within me, but I was wrong! I was 
alive with feeling, cosmic energy flowing through me and concentrating in my 
vibrant living pussy. It shivered and trembled and longed for attention, to 
be filled with a hot, thick cock or to be tongued by an anxious, hungry 
woman, anything at all! 

Melanie's hand formed a cup over my breast, and my nipple shot up like a 
small, fleshy spike through her fingers. She pinched her digits together, 
capturing my stiff, erect nipple between them, and she pulled and twitched, 
sending erotic flashes from my hard nipple into my large, full breasts, and 
flooding down to join the other multitude of sexual, aroused feelings inside 
my alive vagina. 

"Oh, God, Melanie," I moaned not really aware of what I was saying, or even 
what I was thinking. "Oh, Jesus, fuck me, my darling. Fuck me!" 

Her mouth, already lifted from my hungry, desperate lips, dove down to my 
hard nipple and encased it in its moist fullness, sucking and flicking at it 
with the tip of her tongue. I honestly believe that, when she had started, 
she had not been interested in sex with me, but now she was as aroused as I 
was, as excited and as intent on personal satisfaction as was I. 

I fumbled in the darkness that existed behind my closed eyes, and finally 
found her hand. I held it tight, squeezing and manipulating it in mine. 
Slowly, I maneuvered her hand between my legs, about knee-length, and then 
gradually pulled it up. First it was between my sweaty, smooth thighs, then 
against the fluffy mound of musk-scented pubic hair, then pressed firmly 
against my stimulated vulva. When I touched her hand against me there, I 
sighed audibly, and the sound gurgled within my throat. 

"Sharon," she moaned, and her index finger separated the two folds of outer 
cuntal flesh and probed within the hot, wet slit of my cunt. The finger felt 
like an instrument of exquisite torture there, a pebble under the mattress 
that made me ache with wanton arousal. I felt the perspiration spring to the 
surface of my flesh as she began to move her finger, hungrily searching 
inside my pussy for some unknown hidden treasure. 

"Oh God, Sharon, you're so hot" she said. "So ... so hot." Her finger began 
to vibrate with speeds I would not have imagined possible, and her other 
hand continued to hold my breast, squeezing it as her lips closed over it 
and sucked, her tongue aiding in the effort. 

I was still lain across her lap, my head even with my feet, almost dangling 
to the floor. I was completely helpless in her clutches, except for my one 
hand clasped around the wrist that jiggled and shivered inside my pussy, 
with each vibration finding itself a half inch deeper inside my forbidden 
crevice. 

I was determined not to let her have such complete advantage over me, and I 
wrenched myself upward. I twisted and maneuvered myself until I was now 
seated in her lap. and I locked my arms around her neck and pulled. 

She came easily out of the chair, and we fell as one to the cold floor. 
Melanie started as she felt the icy surface of the floor crawl on her skin, 
but I knew it would be but a moment until we warmed it up just fine. I held 
her close and pried her fine, long legs apart with one of my knees, and 
pushed the knee upward, until I was digging it hard into her hair-fringed 
cleft. 

Her parted lips were inches from my ear, and I heard her breath coming in 
short, sputtering rasps. I also felt her hot, moist breath flooding my ear, 
and the sensation from her breathing transcended my ear and filled my white 
shimmering cunt. 

I twisted and gyrated my knee between her deliciously splayed legs, my other 
knee hard against the cold surface of the floor, creating friction and 
making it easy to apply pressure to her. 

"Oh God," Melanie moaned close to my ear, and the tiny tip of her tongue 
darted into my ear and made me shiver. "Oh God," she said. "Sharon, darling, 
fuck me, baby, fuck me!" 

If I had a cock like Paul Slaughter or Dirk Roland, I would have shoved her 
knees apart and slammed it into her, humping her until there was no strength 
left in me. I have no idea what it was that had overcome me. I had always 
before been unnerved by the thought of lesbian sex. 

Even in the house bedroom the other day, with Melanie and the frat guy and 
the other girl, the only thing I had been interested in was cock. And even 
that was a new, thrilling, forbidden experience for me. The fact that I had 
been sharing the cock with two other women made it only that much more 
exhilarating. 

But now there was no penis, only pussy. Mine and hers, and I wanted hers. I 
wanted to feel and taste her come, and I wanted to climax myself at her 
hands. But God help me, I didn't know how. 

I allowed my instincts to take over. I pulled my knee away from her pussy, 
and noticed for an instant it was wet and sticky from her dripping female 
juices. 

I pressed her shoulders once against the floor to let her know I wanted her 
to stay there. Her hands were moving like buff pads over my skin, raising 
mounds of goose flesh, and I had to concentrate hard to keep my mind on what 
I wanted to do. 

My ass planted firmly on the floor, I swiveled around so I was no longer 
facing her head. Instead, I was looking down at her glimmering mound of 
pussy hair, the bare light bulbs suspended above shining off the wetness 
that had saturated he delectable pubic mound. 

Her thighs were parted only an inch, locking the forbidden entry way to her 
gorgeous, quivering pussy beyond my access, but open enough to be 
stimulating and inviting. Even though I did not touch her, she writhed 
uncontrollably, her hands pressing and kneading her orbular breasts as her 
aroused fervor grew. 

I rose to my knees and slid my cool hands beneath her pliable flesh of her 
cheeky buttocks, and lifted just a bit. She bent her knees and let gravity 
spread them apart. I watched as the hidden slit of her hair-fringed fissure 
opened like some mystical doorway. At first I could only see the sizzling 
lips of her pussy, then a hint of her interior pink, shiny cuntal skin, then 
the deep, cave-like hole that lay behind her portal. 

As though dragged there by a force beyond my control, I pushed my head 
between her warm, sweaty thighs. The inebriating odor that rose from her 
obscenely open cunt rose to my nostrils and made my head swim; my own pussy 
quaked and reminded me of its emptiness. I shut that out, though, as my lips 
encountered the hot moisture of her trembling vagina. 

Like a fish to water, my tongue fled from inside my mouth and gouged deeply 
into the recesses of Melanie's cunt. As it thrust inward, she was arching 
her back, raising her buttocks a half-foot off the floor and she screamed. I 
looked over the rise of her pubic triangle and saw she was squeezing her 
titties so hard the blood had turned them a deep red, but she didn't seem to 
mind. 

This time she shook, as though a volcano had erupted inside her. She 
relinquished her grasp on her breasts, and dug her hands into my head, 
grabbing tufts of hair but digging her nails into my scalp. The pain, 
surprisingly, only intensified the pitch at which my tongue worked on her 
sweet pussy. 

As I tickled and tugged at her pebbly clitoris, I captured juice from her 
gushing pussy on my tongue and worked it back into my throat, swallowing it 
down like a soft drink. It was delicious, and as it coursed down into me, I 
think it worked to arouse me even more. 

I felt something wet beneath me, and realized I was dripping so much myself 
I had left a puddle of love juice between my legs. I moaned as my pussy 
urged me to please myself, and the moan vibrated against Melanie's clitoris 
and made her gasp. "Oh sweet Jesus, Sharon, give me your cunt. Give it to me 
baby, bring it to my face!" 

My heart began pounding to a crescendo at her words, and I complied, 
trembling, by raising one leg over her breasts and settling it on the other 
side of her. I never once stopped working on her slippery, smooth pussy, but 
I backed my ass against her face. Her hands latched onto my buttocks 
instantly, and guided my splayed hole to her mouth. 

Her tongue was obviously more expert and practiced than mine. She wiggled it 
in the opening of my cunt, jerking it back and forth for a minute before she 
began pushing it into the desperately anxious interior of my pulsating 
pussy. 

Each time she shoved her rotating tongue in an inch, she pulled it back out 
a half inch. I gyrated and twisted my pelvis against her face, and she dug 
her sharp nails into the fleshy cheeks of my ass. 

It took a long, exquisite time, but her tongue finally filled my hot cunt, 
still twisting and turning. She moaned and made sounds from deep in her 
throat that vibrated inside of my pussy, making my cuntal walls quiver and 
shake, and my own tongue involuntarily reacted by increasing the rapidity of 
my thrusts in and out of her quim. Each thrust dragged against her growing 
clitoris. 

My own little pleasure button had not been touched yet, but suddenly Melanie 
withdrew her tongue with a lurid plop, and curled it around the clitoris 
nested in wet flesh at the top of my burning cleft. 

I wanted to scream from the ecstatic joy of the sensation, but that would 
have forced me to lift my head away from her pussy, which I was not yet done 
devouring. But the reaction had to come from somewhere, and without knowing 
it, I clamped my teeth down over her clitoris and nibbled on it while I 
moaned, saying to myself, "Oh God, Melanie, eat me, don't stop eating me." 

That was enough to do it for her. Her buttocks leapt into the air and I felt 
the shock of her entire body racked with fits of trembling. Her face came 
loose from my saturated cunt, and she screamed, "I'm cumming, dammit, oh it 
feels so ... ahhh! Ah, Sharon, fuck me! Aaarghh ..." 

Her words evaporated into meaningless gibberish as she entered the hypnotic 
stage of her orgasm. I knew I was only seconds from my own climax, but she 
was so wrapped up in her own that she could not possibly concentrate on me. 

I had to do something. I don't know what made me do it, but it certainly 
worked. I slid away from her face, until I felt one of her firm, small 
breasts between my legs. I reached between with both hands and squeezed her 
tit into a cone and thrust it between the slick lips of my vagina. 

Her erect nipple met with my erect clitoris, and the chemical reaction was 
instantaneous. My clitty erupted in a shower of meteoric sparks, hot and 
electric. 

I humped up and down fanatically, burying her breast inside the dark 
interior of my cunt, letting her nipple continue to scrape my exploding 
clitoris. 

I felt a new, gigantic wave of female juices gush out from within me, 
spilling onto her breast. 

By this time, Melanie had finished her orgasm, and was aware of what I was 
doing. It excited her immensely, and as she thrust her finger inside my 
sweat-soaked anus, making the orgasm I was experiencing more intense, she 
said, "Oh yes, Sharon, fuck my tit. Fuck it hard, baby." 

I didn't need any encouragement. Between the nipple up my cunt and the 
finger worming inside the entry to my asshole, I was in paradise. I shivered 
and shook, twisted and gyrated and moaned. My hand went back to Melanie's 
pussy and explored it as I came. 

Finally the sensations subsided, and I fell to the floor beside her, 
struggling for breath. My breasts and belly heaved as they rose, my lungs 
searching for air. 

After a few minutes, I was relaxed, and Melanie lay her arm across my belly, 
holding me affectionately. 

"That was a punishment?" I said. 

"It's never worked that way before," she said. Then she added, "although 
I've always hoped it might, at least once." She looked at me meaningfully. 
"I'm glad it was you," she whispered. 

Her lips brushed against mine. 

We lay in each other's arms for a long while before dressing to return to 
the main house. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Sharon submitted to standard Greek hazing over the next several weeks as a 
pledge. She crawled into bed at night to find it filled with shaving cream. 
She was taken blindfolded, to an unfamiliar part of town and made to find 
her way back. She was awakened in the middle of the night by three boys and 
three girls standing over her bed making a terrible racket with sticks and 
trash can lids. She was assigned to do the filthiest dishes she had ever 
seen in a sink of cold water with no soap. 

She didn't mind any of it. She had, like most everybody, known what it meant 
to go through a hazing before she had even started. And at least she did not 
have to open her legs for anybody. 

She had suffered greatly the night after her intense love making session 
with Melanie. She had enjoyed it, yet if anything was wrong, she knew, it 
was lesbian sex. At least fucking somebody like Dirk or Paul was, if not 
moral, healthy. Men had penises, and they were meant to be inserted between 
the pliable lips of female pussies. If she didn't like premarital sex 
before, she had resigned herself to it now. It was unfair to lie to herself. 
She liked it. No ... she loved it. Before coming to State her cunt had never 
yearned to be filled. Now she found herself aroused for no reason, at 
unusual times of the day. She fingered her tight little hole to climaxes at 
least once a day, dreaming of Paul's magnificent meaty shaft, or of Dirk's 
long, thick cock. 

But Melanie was different. Sex with another woman, no matter how enjoyable 
it was, was not natural. It was not meant to be. And she worried that she 
perhaps had enjoyed fucking Melanie more than she had enjoyed Paul, Dirk, or 
that unnamed boy in the dark bedroom. She lay awake at night, staring at the 
ceiling, fretting that she would become one of those women who slept only 
with other women. 

She told herself that was ridiculous. If, when masturbating, she fantasized 
her slick fissure being pried apart by the blood-gorged crown of a throbbing 
male penis, wasn't that proof enough that she was still mostly heterosexual? 

But she was so new to sex as a whole that she was not encouraged by her 
reasoning. More doors had opened for her in the last few weeks than in all 
her life previously, and she didn't know her left from her right. 

Dirk helped. Over coffee after class one day she told him she had been 
punished for going out with him, and explained why. She did not, of course, 
embellish the story with her interlude with Melanie. 

"Damn Greeks," he said. "I don't care what the rules are, Sharon. I still 
want to see you." 

She looked deeply into his eyes, and clasped his hand with both of hers. It 
was the first time she realized she was in love with him. She had had two 
hot, hard cocks filling her newly-awakened cunt, but neither of them had 
been inside of her because of love. Those experiences had been strictly 
sexual. Now her pussy burned with a new desire. Yes, she wanted his cock, 
that same cock she had sucked so hungrily in the French restaurant. She 
wanted to spread her legs apart, opening the gash of her pussy, and take his 
quivering meat inside of her. But it was something more than that. 

Dirk felt something vaguely similar. He too, wanted to dip his long, 
throbbing erection into the honey pot of Sharon's pussy. He pictured her 
long, delicate legs milky white and splayed obscenely. He imagined her 
gaping cunt, the lips pulled apart by the spread legs, displaying the tunnel 
that led into her deepest vaginal section. 

His cock twitched now, growing hard just thinking about it. He even felt 
something like affection for this young college girl. If he fucked her, and 
if everything worked out just right, he imagined he might even possibly fall 
in love with her. 

But not likely. 

"I still want to see you," he said again, massaging her soft hand. 

"And I want to see you, too, Dirk," she said. "But we have to be careful. I 
can't get thrown out of SEX. I can't tell you why, but you must believe me. 
It's a horrible thing to happen to a sister." 

"I promise, we'll be careful. Tomorrow, stay behind after class. Well talk." 

"We can talk now, too," she said. "Oh! Don't misunderstand-I'll stay after 
class tomorrow. But let's talk now." 

He smiled in his fatherly way and nodded. They talked over a dozen cups of 
coffee, letting the hours slip away. She told him about her home town, her 
parents, her brother, her friends. She rambled about her love for knowledge, 
her thirst for education. It stemmed, she said, from a realization that 
nobody from her home town ever went anywhere in the world. They got jobs in 
the town, grew older, had families, withered and finally died. 

She wanted more than that, she said. But in the far reaches of her mind, 
something about it no longer rang true. They were all feelings she had had 
before. She had even shared her feelings with one or two best friends, and 
they had been sincere and deeply felt. But now they seemed just the 
slightest bit hollow. 

It was because of SEX, she realized. The girls of Sigma Epsilon Chi had 
diverted her mind, and now she thought of cock, of pussy, of orgasm. There 
is only so much room in one's mind, she knew, and a percentage that had 
previously been occupied by lofty, academic thoughts was no longer. Now it 
was taken over by thoughts of eroticism, of sexual arousal. Part of her 
hunger of learning had died. 

But talking to Dirk made it seem not so bad. She was still a bright girl, 
and her discovery that she enjoyed sex would not diminish her ability to go 
places in the world. She would still make something of herself. She looked 
into Dirk's eyes. Perhaps she would become a professor at State and marry 
Dirk Roland. 

That way, she thought, she could have the best of both worlds. She could 
have all the education she could stand, and still have Dirk's sturdy, lovely 
penis. 

Dirk talked also. He spoke of his past, coming from a large West Coast city. 
He came to State after teaching a couple years at a major university. "I 
needed the change," he said. "I needed to get away from the craziness." 

"I've never been to the West," she said. 

"It's a great place. Everything's there you could possibly ever want. A half 
hour drive from the ocean, an hour from the desert, two hours from the 
mountains. There's music and movies and theatre and more high class 
restaurants than you could ever go to in your life. All sorts of people too. 
But that's part of the problem. It's to crowded. If everybody wants 
everything, and everything can only be gotten in one city, that's where 
everybody goes. I had to get out." 

"I'm glad you did," Sharon said sweetly. 

He smiled at her. "You are. Catherine wasn't." 

She cocked her head. "Who was Catherine?" 

"My wife," he said. "I had to leave, but she refused. It was her home, she 
said, and she'd be damned if she'd leave on my account. So we got divorced." 

"It was probably the best thing you could have done," Sharon said. 

"It was. As soon as the divorce was final, I went over to visit our son, 
Anthony, and found Sharon in bed with two men. Two! And Anthony was in the 
next room sleeping. I took her to court and got custody." 

"Then your son lives with you?" 

"He sure does. And he's something. Thirteen years old now, and he takes 
complete care of himself when I'm at school. We're more like good friends 
and roommates than father and son." 

"That's wonderful," Sharon said. 

They talked until they realized they had to part, and they went their 
separate ways. The next day, after class, Roland closed the door, locked it, 
and turned down the Venetian blinds in the windows. 

He took Sharon in his arms, leaning her back against the chalkboard. Her 
lips pressed hungrily against his, and her tongue probed the warm interior 
of his mouth. It grazed his gums above his teeth, then felt the inner moist 
flesh of his cheeks. It ran along his teeth and tasted the roof of his 
mouth. It fluttered and danced across the surface of his tongue, and they 
fenced within their open, locked lips. 

"Sharon," he whispered into her ear. "I want you." 

"And I want you," she whispered back. "Oh, Dirk. Let's do it here. I can't 
get caught." 

"That's what I'd planned," he said. 

She laughed gently, and the sound sent chills through him. "I know," she 
said. "I love you." 

Those three words would have upset him, perhaps even kept him from making 
love to her. But at the same time she said it, her delicate hand cupped his 
trouser crotch, trapping his burning loins in her gentle grasp. 

She squeezed tenderly, urging his erection to appear slowly but steadily, 
building until it stretched the fabric of his pants to the breaking point. 

"Take it out," he urged. 

She used both hands to undo his pants. She didn't bother pushing them down, 
all she wanted now was his cock. She already knew it intimately from the 
head she had given him before, but now she knew she would feel it between 
her legs, inside her lithe pussy, where it belonged. 

She curled her fingers around it and extracted it. She felt the blood 
coursing through it, making it hot and stiff. It beat to the rhythm of his 
heart in her hand, and she felt like she was holding his life in her palm. 

He groaned as she stroked it, getting to know it even more. She slid her 
cool fingers along its raging underside until her fingertips felt the fuzzy 
orbs of his dangling, bloated testicles. They curled and contracted at her 
touch. 

Dirk could no longer stand being handled without doing some touching and 
probing of his own. The boiling in his erection was so intense as to be 
nearly painful, and to finally let his fingers slide into Sharon's cunt 
would relieve some of the frustration. Soon, he told himself very soon 
you'll be inside that pussy, fucking the daylights out of it. 

His fingers found the hem of her skirt, and inched it up until his hand 
could slip beneath it. His hand grazed the soft flesh of her thigh, and he 
felt her jump a little at his touch. God!! he thought. I excite her! I want 
to make her come for hours. 

He found her panties, and burrowed his hand between her thighs against the 
crotch of her underwear. She immediately moaned and gushed forth a flow of 
her sticky lubricants. They moistened his hand. 

Dirk sunk to his knees. He cursed the action, because he had not thought it 
out beforehand. By falling to his knees, he forced his stiff meat out of her 
hand Now it throbbed and ached far away from her silky, female touch. But he 
was too aroused to think clearly. He couldn't blame himself. Besides, it 
would be all right very soon. 

His nostrils flared as the scent from her active, living pussy rose to meet 
them. His hands snaked up the backs of her legs, his fingers curling around 
the fine, fleshy form of her curved buttocks. He slid his fingers beneath 
the elastic leg bands of her panties and felt the flesh of her ass and 
squeezed it. In his mind, he saw the milk white imprints his digging fingers 
were making on the flesh of her cheeks. 

He dropped his head, and used it to push her skirt out of his way. He 
burrowed his head beneath her dress and was engulfed in darkness. 

Instinctively, though, he knew where he was. He pushed his face forward, and 
the tip of his nose turned instantly damp as it connected with her 
fluid-soaked panties. 

"Aaagh, Dirk, God ... " she moaned as she felt his nose touch her. Her hands 
grasped his head through her skirt and mashed his face into her panties. 

Her hypnotic musk overtook him and his head grew dizzy. He felt her dampness 
against his lips, and he sucked at her delicate underwear, tasting the 
lubricants trapped there settle on his tongue, then glide back into his 
throat. His excited tongue darted out of his mouth and tasted the velvety 
fabric of her panties, licking at it hungrily. 

Her panties were sopping now, from a combination of her pussy juices and his 
saliva. Through the wet material he could feel her moist, downy curls, and 
beyond them the slit of her cunt. 

He pushed his tongue, and the panties molded around it. They coated his 
mouth muscle, and he easily pushed it between her pussy slit. 

It was almost as though the panties were not there at all. His cock quivered 
and trembled, and he feared he might come just from excitement. He grasped 
his cock with one hand at the base, holding back his imminent ejaculation. 

"Dirk," she moaned. "Oh Dirk, make me come, darling, make me come against 
your face." 

It was what he wanted, too, for starters. He eased his tongue up along her 
sizzling cleft until he felt the hard ball of her clitoris. The roughness of 
her pantie fabric was enough to create intense friction against her pleasure 
button, and she writhed, moaning and gasping against his face. 

One hand remained at her skirt, pressing his head into herself, but the 
other had to clutch at the chalkboard for support. Slowly, the fire of 
orgasm built inside her chafing pussy, and she began to contract her 
buttocks, pulling her cunt away from him, then expanding it, pushing her 
fiery loins back into his face. The back and forth movement intensified as 
her climax built, until she erupted violently, humping his face and using 
both hands again to pull him as tight against her as she could. 

"JESUS!" she yelled. "Oh lord, I'm coming, I feel it, I'm ... aaghhh!" 

Dirk pulled his head away, but while he was still beneath her skirt he 
yanked her panties down. Then he withdrew, emerging once again into the 
fluorescent light of the classroom. 

Sharon had sagged, her knees bent, and was barely able to support herself 
against the blackboard. She used both hands now to grasp the chalk tray. 

With her knees bent, her legs were spread by virtue sheerly of gravity. Dirk 
aimed his cock at her lewdly splayed pussy as he rose. When he was nearly 
standing erect, his spongy crown pushed against her vulva. He straightened a 
little, and his cock head pushed aside the lips of her vagina. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," he said, whispering into her ear. 

"Yes," she responded, her voice little more than sounds formed within her 
hot, sputtering breath. 

He pushed his cock entirely inside of her with one great heave, and he 
sighed a deep breath of relief. Finally, he was balling her. He had wanted 
her the minute he had seen her, and now she was his. 

He fucked her with great enthusiasm, his hands on her hips. When he rammed 
his shaft into her, he pulled her pelvis to him. When he withdrew, he pushed 
her away. She in turn, held his shoulders. Her head was tilted back, her 
lips parted, her brow shimmering from perspiration. 

They climaxed together, and he filled her hungry pussy with a giant load of 
his white hot semen. She quivered and writhed against him, and they fell 
contented to the floor, locked in each other's arms. 

* * * * * 

Dear Diary: 

It was fantastic! Now, for sure, I know I am in love. 

We made love against the blackboard, and it was like nothing I've ever 
experienced or felt. We lay together on the floor, and it was only a matter 
of minutes before we were locked in erotic, sensual intercourse once again. 
A half hour later, we made wild, passionate love one last time before I had 
to leave. 

My only negative thoughts, my only worries, were about SEX. My love for Dirk 
is strong and real, and I am certain his is equally devoted to me. But I 
cannot display it in public. If I do, I suffer the agony of being an 
outcast. 

Only if Dirk marries me can I handle that. Then it wouldn't matter if SEX 
threw me out. I wouldn't like not being able to return to my home, see my 
family. But then, Dirk would be my family, and even though I would not be 
happy with my ostracization from my home town, I think my feelings for Dirk 
would support me through that ordeal. 

All of these thoughts raced through my mind as I wandered back to SEX house, 
my battered pussy feeling stiff and sore, making walking a difficult task. 
It had completely slipped my mind that this was my last day as a pledge; 
that tonight I would go through the formal initiation that would make me a 
full fledged member of Sigma Epsilon Chi-I would be a true sister. 

If only I had known what the initiation rites involved!! 

Of course, I was not surprised when we, the pledges, were lined up in a 
straight row and blindfolded, then ordered to strip. It seemed like a repeat 
of our initiation as pledges. There was no doubt in my mind, even before the 
rites began, that sex would be an integral part of the initiation. My old 
belief that SEX was just a coincidental abbreviation of Sigma Epsilon Chi 
had long ago fallen by the wayside. Perhaps once it was that way, but today 
SEX is an extremely appropriate name for this sorority. 

Naked, we were led upstairs, and deposited one by one in separate rooms. "Do 
not take your blindfolds off," Melanie warned each of us as we were dropped 
off. "If you do, you'll be expelled, and all your work as pledges will have 
been for nothing." 

I felt my way in the darkness of the room to a bed, patted its edge, then 
sat on it. I couldn't see a thing, but I could tell by feel that this was 
not my room. It was possibly down that eerie hallway pledges were forbidden 
to explore. 

A long time passed, perhaps an hour. Finally the door opened and I heard 
footsteps pad in. A deep, male voice ordered me to remove my blindfold. 

I did as I was instructed. Before me stood a tall, muscular member of KKA 
whom I had never seen before. His bare legs were lightly coated with smooth 
hairs, but most discernible were the rippling calf muscles. He wore a short 
bathrobe, with KKA embroidered on the right breast. 

"I have to have you?" I said. 

"That's right," he answered, untying his robe's felt belt. "The traditional 
initiation into SEX is to ball the member of the big brother sorority with 
the largest genitals. That happens to be me." 

He shrugged his robe off, and I had to catch my breath. His penis was limp 
and flaccid, but even like that it was larger than most erect cocks I had 
seen (keeping in mind that all the erections I have seen have been shown me 
in the few weeks I have been here at State). 

It shone a little from wetness, and I surmised he had been going from room 
to room, copulating with each of the pledges in their turn. 

I wondered if he ejaculated into each of their pussies as he bore his 
massive drill-like penis into them. I didn't have much time for 
contemplation though. He approached me, hooking his hands under my knees. He 
pulled me around so I was laying on the bed, my legs dangling over the end. 

He pulled my thighs apart so that my sore pussy was open for him; he could 
clearly see into the depths of my cuntal tunnel, the folds of inner pink 
membrane flesh quivering and dancing in their beds of moisture. 

He reached out and took my hand, which was resting idly at my side. He held 
it for a minute, then settled it atop my pussy. He manipulated one finger 
out of my hand, and eased it into the gaping hole of my cunt. "Finger 
yourself," he said. 

"What?" It wasn't what I'd been expecting. Not that I should have been 
surprised. Very little that has happened to me here has been what I was 
expecting. 

"I said finger yourself. Don't you know what that means?" he said. 

"Of course I know what it means" I said. I began to work my finger into the 
moist flesh of my cunt. My pussy responded by growing excited, hot and 
horny. Each time I pressed my finger into the slit of my cunt, between my 
moist lips, I shot a hundred volts of electricity through the interior of my 
dark vagina that made my bowels cringe and my flesh shudder. My voice now 
quivering from the sexual arousal I felt, I asked him, "But why?" 

"I've already screwed three of your friends," he said, his eyes locked on my 
active finger. "You may be the most beautiful, but I still need some sort of 
stimulation to get turned on." 

I succeeded in exciting him into an erection slowly. My eyes grew wide as I 
realized just how large his immense cock would grow. It seemed to never 
stop, just expanding and widening and thickening and telescoping to 
surrealistic proportions. 

"I ... I can't take that in me," I croaked, but my actions indicated 
otherwise to him. My finger was vibrating madly, rubbing against my 
throbbing clitoris and dipping deep into the sloshing wetness that had 
formed inside my hot little hole. 

"You'll take it," he said, "or you'll be out on the street." 

Finally his penis stopped growing. It danced and jiggled in front of me, and 
far back behind it I saw his huge sacks of testicles dangling, curling and 
gyrating in anticipation of entering me. 

He kneeled. He was tall, and on his knees his cock came right up to the 
height of my spread legs. I was madly working my finger now, at the height 
of self-induced orgasm, but he grabbed my hand and pulled it away. 

I moaned in protest, but my finger was replaced right away by the head of 
his meat-like cock. He had not yet entered me, but his cock crown covered 
the entire surface of my vulva. "Oh God, no," I said, fearing he would tear 
me apart. 

My words were futile. He inched forward, and I felt my pussy portal being 
painfully split apart as he began to violate my cunt. He moved slowly, and I 
could feel every centimeter of his throbbing shaft skewer into me. I was in 
agony, half from pain, half from ecstatic, orgasmic pleasure. I opened my 
eyes and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and bunched up fistfuls of the 
bed blanket in my hands. 

I would never have imagined there was that much room inside my tiny cunt. It 
was filled to the hilt, stuffed completely full, spread to its limits to 
take in the incredible thickness of his cock. 

I was hyperventilating, desperate for breath, and my breathing came out in 
audible, moaning sounds, "Ah, ah, ah, ah ..." 

I dared to look up, over the fleshy mounds of my quivering breasts. My 
nipples were super erect, little arrow points jutting out of the top of my 
tits. Between them I could see my pubic triangle, and beyond that I observed 
his cock. It was in my pussy as deep as it could go, jutting painfully 
against my cervix, but still only half his length was inside me. 

Without even moving, his cock creating immense pressure against my overused 
clitoris. "Jesus," I gasped, panting like a bitch in heat. "If you're going 
to fuck me, fuck me now." 

He withdrew, then thrust like a ramrod into me. His spongy cock head slammed 
into the ceiling of my pussy, and I screamed. He repeated it, again and 
again, and I didn't even hear the bedroom door open. 

Once again, the eruption in my cunt had built to a writhing, monstrous 
climax, when the boy (I don't even know his name!) withdrew, with a sucking 
plop sound. My pussy was sore as hell now, but the need for orgasm was 
unbearable. I couldn't even remember the four climaxes I had had as a result 
of my love making with Dirk. 

"God, no!" I screamed. "You can't ... " But I was shut up when I looked up 
and saw him, his gleaming penis erect in front of him, crawling up over me 
on the bed. And behind him was Connie, completely naked, gazing longingly at 
my body. 

I gasped when I saw her pussy. There was no hair on it, not even a hint of a 
pubic growth. It was shaved as clean as a baby's. Little tucks of pink skin 
peeked out of her slick slit. 

The boy settled his massive, meaty member between my breasts. "Hold them 
together," he ordered. I mashed my tits together, trapping his rod-like cock 
between them. 

Connie kneeled between my spread thighs. "Now you are a sister," she said, 
shuddering, her voice quivering as she spoke. "You have accepted the bodies 
of our society, the men of KKA and the women of SEX, and both at once. 
Nothing can tear you asunder of our fraternity now." 

With that, she shoved her bare pussy against mine. The boy was stroking his 
long, thick penis in and out of my cleavage as I squeezed and massaged my 
titties, and Connie gyrated and pressed her cunt into mine. 

I don't know if it's possible, but I actually felt her hard little hairless 
mound enter the gaping slit of my cunt, made wider by the entry of the boy's 
incredibly thick meatiness. 

In and out it went, my ultra sensitive pussy feeling the bone of her pelvis, 
the vertical slit of her pussy, the hard little pebble of her clitoris. I 
vaguely felt the boy tremble, and a great stream of hot semen spurted over 
my breasts, tickling my erect nipples. I saw through a haze that my breasts 
were coated with snow-colored cum, and I saw even more sperm shooting out of 
the open hole in the head of his cock. It caught me on the face, cascading 
over my chin and dribbling warmly down my cheeks. 

Connie's movements intensified, and finally I came, a screaming, gyrating, 
writhing burst of feeling that enveloped my entire being, my body, my mind, 
my subconscious. 

I passed out before the orgasm even ended. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Once she had become a sister, Sharon Simmons led a double life. 

She learned that being a SEX sister meant very specific things. The sexual 
emphasis of the sorority, of course, came no longer as a shock or surprise 
to her. Still, it took some adjusting to get accustomed to a steady, 
constant stream of sex. She enjoyed it immensely, as though a new world had 
opened up to her, but there was always that nagging in the back of her mind. 
Something, she told herself, is wrong with all of this. 

She had to be available to any of the members of KKA at their whim. 
Conversely, they had to satisfy the girls of SEX whenever their needs grew 
large. And occasionally, the girls of SEX satisfied each other. 

Then there was Dirk. They met in offbeat, faraway places for afternoons of 
leisurely, lovely love making. Once they lay a blanket in a wheat field 
twenty miles east of town, and several hundred feet off the highway, and 
made love beneath the waves of grain. 

It was a strange time for her. Everything she had previously known, it 
seemed, was wrong. Here she was in love with her teacher, and balling him 
passionately in the most obscure and hard-to-find places, hiding their 
feelings for one another. She could not share her joy with her sorority 
sisters, or the sorority's big brothers from KKA. And yet, on an almost 
nightly basis, she engaged with one (or more) of her brothers or sisters for 
an evening of sexual diversion. And of those delightfully sensuous and 
sweaty encounters, she could not tell her beloved Dirk. 

And still, there was little time for self-recrimination. She felt little 
guilt, little of the old feeling of being a deceiver, a liar. Her pussy, so 
tight and small before, had by now stretched to the size of a well-used, 
experienced cunt, and her sizzling, hair-lined cleft opened and pulsated to 
meet the intruding length of a male shaft, any male shaft. She humped and 
quivered and moaned, writhing in ecstasy and gyrating in orgasmic intensity, 
panting as her efforts left her painfully short of breath. When the evenings 
ended, she was tired as the dead, and slept without dreams, without 
interruption. 

During the days, she had to go to class. Dirk's class was a pleasure, 
because of the private looks they stole. He was also a superb teacher, a 
master of his craft. Her other classes she muddled through. 

As for homework and studying, there seemed to be so little time for it. One 
night she was bound and determined to lock herself in her room and study, an 
effort to return to her old thirst for knowledge. 

She found her mind wandering, though, and fifteen minutes after she had 
opened the book, there came a knock on her door. 

"Please," she said. "I've got to study. I'm falling so far behind in my 
classes." 

She knew she could talk like that now. They could not misconstrue her 
intentions as being anti-SEX. She had been an active and willing participant 
in the proceedings at the house. Nobody could doubt her loyalty to the 
sorority at this point. 

Yet they would not leave her alone. They kept knocking, and she finally had 
to respond, opening the door. She looked tired, haggard, with dark circles 
under her eyes. 

Behind the door was Paul Slaughter and three of his brothers. He had his 
hands stuffed in his pockets, and a sheepish look etched in his face. 
"Busy?" he said. 

"Very," she told him, looking sincere and hoping he and his friend would 
take her word for it and go away. "I've got three tests next week, and I 
haven't even begun to study for them. I've got no time. If I'm going to pass 
my classes and stay in this damn school, I've got to study." 

Paul draped his arm around her shoulder. As he spoke, his hand inched down 
until it covered her firm, brassiere-supported breast. His fingers 
outstretched to reach beneath it, and he squeezed, happy to feel her nipple 
hardening against the palm of his hand. 

"You can study later. I don't think we'll take too much of your time." 

"Paul, I'm serious. I'd love to, you know that, but this is really 
important." 

"So is this," Paul said, anger rising beneath the calm tone of his voice. 

His anger bounced off Sharon, who grew angry herself. "Jesus Christ," she 
said, the fire burning in her eyes. "All I do around here is spread my legs 
for you guys. Aren't I entitled to any respect at all?" 

She whirled, pulling herself out of his grasp. The other brothers looked at 
one another, nervous smiles crossing their lips. Paul reached out to grab 
her, but she eluded him. "You bastard," she said. "I want to study, and 
that's by God what I'm going to do." 

"Like hell," Paul shouted, kicking the door shut violently. It slammed like 
a shot. Now the anger in Sharon's face was mixed with fear. Paul approached 
her and shoved her viciously down onto the bed. "You're a sister, and you're 
going to fucking well behave like one!" he shouted. "I don't understand you. 
Everybody else in this house knows the score, but after all this time you 
still act like a primadonna." 

Paul whipped his belt off and tossed it aside, then undid his pants and 
pulled his cock out. He held it in his fist aiming it at Sharon-from where 
she sat, it was but inches from her face. 

She watched, her heart smashing against her ribs, as his cock grew in his 
hand, pulsating, growing another inch long with each throb. 

Finally, the shaft was fully-erect, stiff and turgid. He took a step closer, 
and the cock grazed her lips. "Suck it," he ordered her. 

She looked at the monstrous thing, its blue veins moving and throbbing, its 
head bobbing and straining. Saliva formed in her mouth, making her tongue 
wet and slick. Her lips quivered, and she knew she wanted to. God, how she 
wanted to. She ached to part her lips over it, allowing her hot mouth to 
blanket his living penis. She wanted to feel it in the back of her mouth, 
and she wanted to taste its sweat-salt coating. 

Finally, she desired for him to come in her mouth, unleashing his torrent of 
white hot cum so she could swallow it, feeling the slick oozing semen glide 
down her throat like liquid candy. Her cunt twinged, and she pictured 
herself dipping her fingers between her thighs as she sucked hungrily at his 
thick erection. 

But there was a principle involved here. She could not do what Paul 
Slaughter said, just because he said it. "Fuck you," she said, looking over 
his pulsating cock into his eyes with defiance. 

Paul would not let it go that easily. As much as it was a matter of 
principle for Sharon, it was a matter of discipline for Paul. He roughly 
grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her toward his waist. 

She yelped from the pain of having her hair yanked, but kept her lips 
tightly sealed. "Suck it!" Paul shouted at her. She whimpered but shook her 
head. 

Paul turned to his comrades. "Open the bitch's mouth up," he told them. 

One of them slid behind her and held her tight, while the other two pried 
her jaws apart. With his fist still wrapped around his shaft-base, Paul 
steered his cock into her mouth. 

The two who had opened her mouth moved away, and she could see out of the 
corner of her eye they were both lustfully rubbing their full crotches. The 
other Greek remained behind her, holding her still and steady, and Paul 
continued to hold her hair as he pumped his cock into her mouth just as 
though it was a cunt. He had no regard for her feelings now, no interest in 
whether or not he was hurting her, choking her. 

Her hands flailed uselessly at her sides as she felt his hot, slick meat 
sliding vigorously in and out of her mouth. It filled her mouth, then 
suddenly she felt only the small round crown between her lips. But before 
she could clench her teeth again, the cock was rammed back in, jackhammering 
her. 

Paul tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her head to him with each 
thrust, shoving it out of the way with each withdrawal. Her teeth scraped 
against the fleshy covering of his thickness, but he did not care. He was 
fucking her, and that was all that mattered. 

His cock swelled with his approaching orgasm, and he yelled and nearly tore 
a tuft of her hair from her head as he shot a gusher of sperm down her 
throat so quickly and viciously she had no time to taste it. 

Still, her hands had somehow wrapped around Paul's firm, muscular buttocks, 
and she was eagerly cooperating with him. 

"Christ, look at that," she heard one of the brothers say. "She likes it." 

Spent, Paul withdrew his limp member from her mouth. But he still held her 
hair. "Eddie, your turn," he said. Eddie, a tall, good looking redhead, 
eagerly unzipped his pants. Sharon's eyes widened as she realized she was 
expected to suck all of their cocks, bring them all to orgasms and swallow 
down every last drop of each of their ejaculations. She was horrified. 

But Eddie's stiff thickness was before her before she had too much time to 
think about it. Her jaws were sore from working on Paul's cock, and she knew 
she could offer no resistance. So when Eddie's throbbing shaft appeared 
before her mouth, she simply opened it and even held his cock, guiding it 
between her soft, moist lips. 

Eddie wasn't as violent as Paul; he let her suck his delicious cock, taste 
it, slide her firmly-pressed lips along the length of his shaft. He 
vigorously rubbed her hair, and Paul finally released the aching bunch of 
hair he was holding. 

But Paul wasn't finished either. 

"Spread your legs, Eddie," he said. Eddie heard him through a haze of sexual 
arousal, and spread his legs. Paul crawled between then, and was faced with 
Sharon's knees. He hoisted the hem of her dress up, and viciously pulled her 
panties off, taking one or two strands of her curly pubic hair with him. He 
heard her whimper as he ripped her panties away, but cared nothing about 
that. Her gaping, pink-rimmed hole was open for him, and he lapped at the 
shimmering slit with his tongue as though he were licking a popsicle. 

Sharon clamped her thighs around him, and redoubled her efforts on Eddie's 
ready-to-explode erection. 

Paul's tongue finally reached her pebbly clitoris, and he licked at it with 
the hardened tip of his tongue. Sharon responded with a deep, guttural moan 
that vibrated like a machine against Eddie's impaling thickness. He gasped, 
lurched once shoving his length beyond the limits of Sharon's mouth and into 
her throat, then withdrew with a yank. 

His viscous male sperm splattered across Sharon's face, and dribbled down 
her chin. She came then, climaxing in a fit of aroused passion, shaking 
uncontrollably against Paul's face. 

When Paul arose, he was smiling. His face shone from the liquids she had 
gushed onto him. 

"I've still got two friends who aren't satisfied," Paul said, as Eddie 
stuffed his cock back into his pants. "You guys come here." 

The brothers stood in front of Sharon, grinning, awaiting their pleasure. 

"Take your dongs out, boys," Paul said. They did as they were told. Both of 
them had long, thick erections, dancing and bobbing in anticipation of the 
touch of female flesh. 

Sharon was shivering. Her face was coated with a cooling layer of cum-some 
of it was turning into a dry crust already. Her skirt was hiked up to her 
belly, and her sopping cunt was exposed to all of them. And two cocks faced 
her. 

"Jerk them off, Sharon," Paul insisted. "I want to see them cum all over 
you." 

"At the same time?" Sharon said, a quiver in her voice. 

"At the same time. Two hands for beginners," Paul quipped as he leaned 
against the wall and folded his arms. 

She took one penis in each hand, and began to slide her hands in rhythm back 
and forth along the length of each shaft. Each one felt distinctively alive 
and individual. One was hot and pulsating rapidly, the other was cool and 
beat steadily. But they both spurted their loads of cum onto her face and 
her dress at the same time. 

"Lick them clean," Paul said. 

She did as she was told. "See?" Paul said. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" 
Laughing, the four of them left the room, closing the door behind them. 

Sharon collapsed on the bed weeping. All of her activities in the last 
several weeks caught up with her, and she lay in the puddles of semen, her 
cunt lewdly splayed, and cried. 

When she was done crying, she showered, then ran from the house. She had to 
find Dirk. She had to confess it all to him. Things had finally gone too 
far; she had been humiliated this time, and there was no reason she should 
have to put up with it. 

She would tell Dirk. 

She didn't see Paul following her as she left though. She had no idea this 
was the beginning of the end. 

* * * * * 

Dear Diary: 

They're coming for me. I am huddled in my room, with the door locked and a 
chair shoved under the knob, but I know they'll get in. It's only a matter 
of time. 

I don't know what I'm going to do, and I don't think I care. I can never 
face Dirk again, after what they've done to me, and without Dirk I don't 
know why I should even bother. 

I found Dirk at his home, wearing a lounging jacket, smoking a pipe and 
working on some student papers. He saw I was agitated, and we went for a 
drive. We parked in a quiet park, and as I wept, I confessed it all. 
Everything. 

He wasn't mad. He wasn't even upset. He put his arm around me and held me 
close and whispered it was all right, that he loved me, that he actually 
wanted to marry me. It was the happiest moment of my life. 

God, if only I had known Slaughter had followed us, that now he knew about 
us. Dirk and I made love, and even though sex had been such a humiliating 
experience a few hours before, this was beautiful and wondrous. Then Dirk 
dropped me near the edge of town, and I started back toward the house. 

But Paul and two of his brothers intercepted me. "What do you want?" I asked 
them. 

"We know about you and that scumbag teacher," Paul said. "Don't you know the 
rules, you cock-happy bitch? You can't fuck anybody but KKA. You don't learn 
your lessons very well, do you? We're just going to have to teach you 
another one." 

Everything was so bright in my future I couldn't let these childlike 
imbeciles stand in my way. I tried to run, but Paul caught my arm and forced 
me into his car. 

"Where are we going?" I asked. My voice trembled from fear. 

"To your teacher's house." He said. I started, but Paul laughed. "Oh, don't 
worry. A couple friends of mine stopped him. He'll be a while getting home." 

"Oh God, what have you done with him?" I shrieked. 

"If I were you, I'd be more concerned about yourself," he told me. 

"But Dirk ... " I could think of nothing else. If I had learned anything 
since joining SEX, it was that the sisters and brothers would do anything to 
accomplish their goals. In every instance, that meant sex, but what 
enjoyment could they get out of Dirk? All I could think of was violence. My 
Dirk! 

"He's just being delayed a little," one of the brothers said. 

Paul shot him a hostile look. "You fuckin' talk too much, man," he said. 

The brother looked down, ashamed for having aroused Paul's anger. But that 
abated when Paul looked back at me, and a smile crossed his face, lighting 
it up. , 

"You come along with us, little sister," he sneered. He grabbed my wrist and 
flung me into the back seat of his car, and the two brothers got in on 
either side of me, making escape impossible. 

Paul slid into the driver's seat, and gunned the engine. I tried to relax, 
since there was nothing I could do, but it was not possible. I was nervous, 
shaking, and I could hear the deafening echo of my heart pounding in my 
head. 

I tried to watch his route, but it was dark by now and my eyes were clouded 
with eye moisture and fear. But I knew where we were when we arrived there. 
We were at Dirk's house. 

When they saw my reaction, Paul said, "Don't get your hopes up, little 
sister. We've got other plans for you." 

The doors flung open and I was hauled out of the car, and dragged up the 
walkway to Dirk's front door. Paul didn't knock or ring ... he just opened 
the door and walked right in. His friends pushed me in after him. 

Dirk lived in an old house, two stories, that was almost gothic in 
appearance. Anywhere else, it would have been considered a valuable, lavish 
piece of property. At State, though, only faculty and administration could 
afford houses. And even most of them were waiting to get a better job, so 
their interest in investing was small. Dirk rented this house for a song. 

Upstairs, I heard what I thought was giggling, female giggling. That didn't 
sound too ominous, so I didn't resist much when Paul began forcing me 
upstairs. His friends followed behind us. 

His words inspired fear though. "You're about to pay, you bitch," he 
whispered as we mounted the stairs. "You've been warned. You were told there 
was a price, even before you became a sister. You gave an oath, you cunt. 
And you've been violating it every goddam day behind our backs. Now it's get 
even time. You get yours tonight, shrew." 

The sound of giggling increased until I heard it coming from beyond the door 
at which we stood. Paul pushed it open and shoved me in. 

I toppled, and didn't have a chance to see what was going on until I could 
sit up on the floor to which I had fallen. 

My eyes must have widened three inches. Connie was there, naked and panting, 
sweat glistening on her body. Melanie too. They were on the bed, locked in 
one another's arms. Melanie's lips were closed over Connie's erect nipple, 
and Connie had her hand buried in the growth between Melanie's thighs. They 
both giggled, even after seeing me. 

Mixed in, and beneath their tangled bodies, I saw a leg covered with fine, 
black hair. I knew there was a boy beneath them, naked as they were, and 
obviously a KKA brother. 

Connie looked up at me, saw me, and reached out and grabbed something. It 
was a cock, the boy's, thick and covered with liquid that made it glisten. 
As she wrapped her long fingers around it, it grew a little, throbbed, and I 
heard the sound of a male moan. 

Then she dove on it, her mouth unhinging and the cock disappearing into her 
throat. She sucked hungrily and the boy moaned loud, again and again, 
guttural sounds that were pure instinct and no reason. 

When she pulled away, she pulled her soggy breast away from Melanie's hungry 
mouth. I saw her lips quiver, and it reminded me of the time Melanie and I 
had languished on the floor of the punishment room. Even though I was sore 
where my hip had hit the floor, I became somewhat excited against my will. I 
tried to force it back, but it paid no attention. 

Suddenly my heart stopped. Across the room, I saw Dirk's son, Anthony. He 
was naked, tied by both wrists to the handles on his closet doors. This was 
his room! I realized with a start. He had been bound there and forced to 
watch Connie and Melanie making love to each other and to the KKA big 
brother. And now, even though his binds tore at his flesh, his little penis 
was erect, bouncing happily as he struggled, aching to participate in the 
scene that had been going on before him. 

In an instant, Paul and one of his friends were upon me, ripping my clothes 
from me. I felt each garment come off, torn from my body. My dress strained 
against my back, tremendous pressure, and the material finally gave and I 
felt the dress shred from the top to the bottom. It peeled away easily after 
that. I had lost my shoes in my fall. I felt my brassiere being tugged by 
the hook that held the two brimming full cups together, and it too, finally 
snapped, and my large, orb-like titties flowed loose, the mammary flesh 
rippling as the two mounds filled the space they were meant to. 

Something tickled the hairs of my cunt, and I was aware that Paul was 
reaching far up between my legs, grabbing the ribs of my stockings. He 
wasn't concerned about running them; he just pulled them off, ruining them 
for good. My panties came next, they could have easily slipped them down my 
long, tapering legs had they wanted to. But that wasn't enough punishment. I 
was to undergo a humiliating experience, and it was necessary for them to 
rip my panties off, pulling them so hard that they dug painfully into the 
flesh of my hip before it finally tore. 

Now I was nude. The boy Connie and Melanie had been fucking held me by one 
wrist, and the KKA brother with Paul held my other wrist. Connie held one of 
my ankles, and Melanie the other. They spread my legs wide, obscenely 
displaying my gaping, wet pussy for the sole satisfaction of Anthony Roland, 
the son of my lover. 

He strained tearfully at his ties, but could not escape. There was no 
question in my mind though, after seeing his cock react to the sight of my 
splayed legs. He wasn't trying to set himself free-he wanted to put his 
long, virgin cock up my tight little pussy hole. 

Paul emerged from somewhere, holding a can of shaving cream and a razor 
blade. He showed them to Anthony, who didn't really understand. 

I struggled, because I understood. But they held onto me tightly, and I 
succeeded only in tiring myself out more. 

Paul expelled some shaving cream onto his fingertips, and knelt between my 
spread legs. He rubbed the creamy, white stuff into the downy curls of my 
silky pubic hair. It was that kind of shaving cream that turns warm after it 
goes on, and the folds of my cuntal flesh, just beyond the crevice that 
leads into the depths of my pussy, starting to get hot. I squirmed, but this 
time it was only half from anxiety-and half from arousal. I couldn't help 
it, the warmth of the cream on my cunt was more than I could stand. 

When he had rubbed it in good, so my pubic mound was thoroughly saturated 
with cream, Paul wiped his hand on his pant leg and flashed the razor before 
my eyes. 

I screwed my eyes shut and tried to relax. A razor over tense flesh, I 
reasoned, would have a better chance of cutting than would a blade over 
loose, eased pussy skin. 

The razor scraped over me, and I whimpered against my will. In my mind, I 
pictured Anthony, his mouth agape, his eyes bugging out as he gazed into the 
space between my thighs, the sizzling pink flesh of my cunt. 

The razor passed over again, and a chill swept my vulva. It was, I realized, 
the air hitting the now-naked flesh of my vagina. I shivered, and the razor 
swiped again. 

Suddenly, it stopped. A dry, fluffy feeling grazed my cunt, a towel, I 
realized. I had been shaved clean. I opened my eyes and saw Paul stepping 
back, gazing at the honey pot between my splayed thighs. 

"Like a baby's," he said. 

He moved away, and let Anthony see. Blood droplets had formed on his wrists 
near where the ropes gouged into him. But his face was red with sexual 
frustration; he wasn't even aware of the pain in his wrists. 

His erection throbbed like a man's, thickened by the sight of my naked 
pussy. Over the pinhole head of his cock, a large drop of white semen had 
formed. I closed my eyes again and wished. I wished Connie would go over to 
him and wrap her hand around his meaty boy's shaft and stroke his hardness 
once, twice-enough, no doubt, to stimulate him enough to come, shooting a 
geyser of hot sperm. Maybe it would land on me, who knows? Anything, though, 
to keep him from putting his cock inside me. Not that! He was my lover's 
son, just a little boy. It wasn't his fault, he was forced into it without 
choice. Still, the idea of the hot, pulsating penis of the son of my beloved 
Dirk made me ill. 

I had no choice though. They pulled my legs apart farther, so that the 
tunnel that led up my cavernous pussy was easily visible. At the same time, 
Paul used a pocket knife to cut away Anthony's restraints. 

The instant he was free, he fell upon me. He was naive in the ways of love, 
as I was when I had first come to State. I felt the rockiness of his thick 
cock jammed against my pussy, but he couldn't find the entrance. He moaned 
and whimpered as he humped in vain, the underside of his fleshy cock sliding 
along the bare exterior of my cunt. 

Maybe, I thought, he would come like that, and never have to enter me. 

But the SEX and KKA people had planned this, and they did not have any 
intention of seeing it go awry. Melanie reached between my body and 
Anthony's; I felt her cool hand on my sensitive pube skin. She felt around 
for the cock she knew was pressed between us, found it, and pointed it 
between the slick portal walls of my cuntal entrance. 

The head of his turgid cock penetrated the slits, and jammed against the 
hard pebble of my flaccid little clitoris. I gasped as my pleasure button 
jumped to life, twitching and growing hard. 

Connie straddled our interlocked bodies, and planted her bare feet on 
Anthony's quivering, hairless buttocks. She pushed, and the boy's cock 
shoved hard and fast into me. It had no trouble moving in, since there was 
no pubic triangle through which to navigate. And my lubricants were flowing 
freely, offering him no resistance at all. In a split second, his hard, full 
cock was filling my cock-loving pussy. 

His breath was audible and rapid, and he was aroused beyond control. His 
tender young penis had never before felt anything like this; I don't even 
know if he'd ever even masturbated before. 

He humped me madly, and I felt my wrists and legs released by those who had 
held me. Instead of trying to get away, though, I wrapped my arms around the 
boy's shoulders and pulled him close. His head nestled into my hot, jiggling 
bosom, and my nipple found its way between his lips. His anxious tongue 
flicked over the nipple, forcing it to harden from excitement. 

"Ah, God, fuck me," I said involuntarily. At this point, a cock was a cock, 
and that was exactly what was inside my pussy, gyrating and thrusting in and 
out, drawing forth an animalistic excitement. 

My head and face were completely exposed, and Connie decided that was just 
the way she wanted it. She straddled my face, and I opened my eyes to look 
up at her splayed cunt lips. 

Something dripped on my face, hot and musky. It was a drop of her 
lubricants, slipping out of her aroused pussy, which was shaved as slick and 
clean as mine! 

Before I had a chance to say anything, she sunk to her knees. The smooth, 
moist flesh of her cuntal skin pressed into my face, against my lips. As 
Anthony fucked me, his skewering, impaling thickness shoving into my cunt 
and out again, I began to lick at the sticky lips of her pussy. 

Her fluids were like alcohol, and I lapped at them hungrily, my tongue 
burying itself inside the folds of her cunt, and then receding again back 
into my mouth so I could swallow her juices. 

"Yes," she hissed, leaning forward and rubbing the moving cheeks of 
Anthony's buttocks. "Yess, fuck him and eat me, baby, fuck him and eat me!" 

Her words aroused me, and I nibbled tenderly at her shaved vulva. I was so 
wet I could just barely feel Anthony's cock sliding moistly in and out of my 
pussy. Nothing mattered now, not Dirk, not education, not my morals-only 
cock and pussy. I wanted to come so bad it hurt. 

I felt hands on my side, and realized somebody was trying to force me over 
onto my side. It was a difficult maneuver, but whoever it was forced me. 
Anthony just rolled with me and kept humping, his arms locked around my 
back. Connie also rolled, locking her thighs around my face. 

She lay on her back, twisted around at her waist, and I continued burying my 
face into her gaping, delicious pussy. 

I felt somebody pulling the cheeks of my curvy, milky ass apart. I gasped, 
realizing what was about to happen, and the gasp vibrated against Connie's 
pussy. "AAAGH," she screamed. "Yeah, baby, fuck me with that hungry mouth of 
yours." Then she sucked in air violently and vibrated against my face. Her 
fluids were flowing like a river now. Electric shocks sang from my breast 
where Anthony sucked at my nipple, and his rigid penis continued 
jackhammering into me. 

I felt the head of a cock push up against the tight little button of my 
asshole, and shove. "GOD NO!" I shouted into Connie's pussy, and she 
screamed back, her arousal intensified a hundred times by the vibrations 
from my voice. 

"FUCK ME!!" she screamed in a piercing voice. "Make me come, make me come 
all over you, make me come." 

She repeated her litany over and over again as I felt a cock push deeply 
into my tight rectum. "There," a voice said as the penis had entered my ass 
all the way. It was Paul. "Now you can fuck everybody." 

He began thrusting in and out, falling into time with Anthony. Connie 
gyrated and writhed on my face. From every direction it came, from every 
angle. I twisted and shivered, but every move I made only made me aware of 
one other genital, the cock in my ass, the one up my pussy, the cunt 
blanketing my face. 

Anthony came, shooting a virgin load of semen that seemed to be a full 
gallon up my pussy. It spurted against my throbbing clitoris, and I 
shuddered to a violent, writhing climax. 

The movements I made, and the deep, loud moans issued by my orgasm, led 
Connie to hers, flooding her juices over my face and filling my thirsty 
mouth with them. 

She rolled off me, as did Anthony, who was crying and shaking. Connie held 
him as Paul forced me on my stomach and violently humped my puck-ringed anus 
until I could feel it bleeding. Still, when his gusher of white, viscous 
semen filled my bowels, I shuddered to one more climax, shouting, "Yes, yes, 
this is what I want. It's all I want, it's all I want." 

He withdrew from me. I lay alone in a puddle of semen and cunt lubricant. I 
thought for sure I would cry. But I didn't. 

I was smiling. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Dirk Roland sat in his car for a long time, looking at the SEX house. He 
knew Sharon would see him, and come down sooner or later. She would have to. 

Finally she emerged from the house, and walked slowly to his car. 

"I've missed you," he said as she leaned on the open passenger window and 
looked at him. "When can I see you?" 

She smiled emptily. "You can't," she said. I'm a SEX sister, and I can't." 

"What about before?" he said. 

She shrugged. "People make mistakes." 

"Look, Sharon. Anthony told me what happened. I understand. You were forced 
into it. It wasn't your fault." 

"It wasn't a fault at all," she told him. "It's what's supposed to be. I 
liked it. I like everything here." 

"I thought you loved me." 

"Little girls think lots of foolish things," she said. "I'm a big girl now." 

Dirk looked dejectedly up at the road, empty and gray before him. "Your 
grades are slipping. Fast." 

"There's more important things." 

"Look, Sharon ..." 

"I can't talk any more, Professor Roland," she said. The formal name sent a 
stab of pain through his heart. "My friends are waiting." 

She turned and walked sexily back to the house. Dirk's cock ached for her, 
particularly now that she wore tight jeans and a SEX sorority tee-shirt that 
displayed her jutting breasts nicely. 

But she wasn't interested anymore. She had been ... assimilated. 

He started his car. He'd have to forget her, if he could. It would take a 
long time, but now she was one of them. 

He drove away as Sharon closed the door to SEX house behind her. 


THE END
