"Oh, so goooood," she murmured.
The professor's response was to fix his mouth on her beautiful lips and start to kiss her open-mouthed and hot. He had everything going now, mouth on mouth, hand kneading a full, exquisite and naked tit, and stiff cock riding to glory deep in the young woman's cunt. He'd worked like the devil all his life to become well-to-do and well known, and he felt it was a deserved reward for his achievement to be able to fuck a beautiful young girl like this. He hung in a blissful heaven.
Upstairs, Lisbeth felt her whole life attitude change. Her sex with the professor had dwindled to almost nothing. It wasn't his fault; after years and years the zing was gone. She suspected he managed to seduce a hot-eyed coed now and again but had reserved herself, even though other lecherous academicians and even younger men found her worthy of pursuing. She knew her body was good -yet she held back-until now. Young Harold turned her on-his innocence, his respect, his hidden sexuality. He was the one young man she'd risk all for.
She felt her belly suffused with tingling joy from the adequate but not overpowering prick. Years peeled off as he rocked, dazed and glazed in the wonder of his first fuck, loving her through every pore of his body. Just as she'd forgotten the hot ecstasies of her young womanhood, she'd forgotten the staying power of young pricks. Harold hung her on golden ropes of extreme sex joy. She surged up under him and locked and gave a high-pitched "Yeeeeeee" of total excitement as her tension burst and she succumbed to an ache-relieving set of pleasure runs that restored the animal gusto of her youth…
A surprised Harold felt the body of his patroness stiffen under him and then it seemed as if her cunt gloved on his cock in strong spasms while she made sounds of gurgling joy. Even in his innocence he realized he'd brought the woman to orgasm. For him the whole evening had been a flood of pleasure and excitement after years of wondering about sex and never having any. First the two young women in his car, and now this.
"Sacre Bleu. Zut!" he went.
Then his floodgates opened, and it was nothing at all like masturbation or even a cocksuck. It was total glory to ejaculate hot bursts of seed into a pink, quaking cunt. He keened and gasped his pleasure, holding the woman and bursting off his luscious spend in her, aware of achieving his manhood with each spuming throb of his cock. He half-fainted in the joy of spending his first virginal gushes into a female cunt…
Downstairs, dreamy, sated with sensual experiences, Cheryl watched and saw the orgasm upstairs. On close-up she could actually see the exploding cock throb as it delivered its spunk and pressed forward into Lisbeth's cunt, only to slide back and inch and carry forward with the next throb.
"Oh, my God," she marveled.
The professor no longer kissed her. His face hung before hers, wide-eyed, glazed. His body locked. He gave animal grunts. He was done and she hadn't cum. He delivered. She felt his cock quake as he spent body-hot gushes in her vagina right on her uterus, but she wasn't going to gush.
She gave a cry. "Oh, nooooooo!”
She flashed on Abby's soft body twined with hers, the sweet rub of cunt sex, and went breathless. As the professor finished and tapered off with a happy "Zowwww!", she was able to give up gorgeous spasms of taken girlhood, as she fantasized the lesbian act. She spent off her tension and fulfilled her deep need for orgasm, yet there was the tinge of bitterness. Even with all of the sex dainties of this evening, she still had her beastly hang-up.
Foster hastened her dressing and shoved her out of the door, complete with Salt. She practically trotted to the nearest street lamp to examine it. She felt the gems in the hollow figurine and her heart sang, but when she pulled the object out it wasn't the Gypsy at all. It was merely a dime store necklace that either Tom, Spider or Harold had substituted for the real thing. With all of her vigorous searching and all the incredible sex, she still hadn't recovered the prize she had to have. She leaned against the lamp post and wept.
Chapter 8
The next day Cheryl went to her classes, moving like a zombie. The bottom had dropped out of her life. She finally had to face the fact that she was lesbian-oriented and no amount of normal sex would ever save her. Oh, she might be able to marry and get by after years of therapy, but she knew that at every orgasm she'd have to fantasize lesbian Jove to get it off with her husband. She was not completely female. The word "dyke" burned in her brain.
She had an unsatisfactory lunch with her father. They talked about the necklace, but somehow her failure to get it connected with her failure in normal love. She told him she was sure to have it in the next day or two, but she saw he didn't believe her. She didn't believe herself.
Her father seemed in an odd mood, too. She sensed that something else besides the loss of the necklace bothered him, something more important, if she could believe it. It wasn't like him to appear like this without prior warning, and it wasn't like him to babble about "Meeting an unusual person" and "Maybe she'd have a stepmother one day".
"It could be a younger woman," John Wallace told her. "Someone surprisingly young for me.”
Cheryl had always thought her father should remarry. Even if his new wife, her stepmother, turned out to be as young as thirty, that would be okay with her. She told him so.
"Well, yes," he said. "It could be a surprise to you in several ways, but I think I've found someone I can't afford to let get away.”
She didn't want to deal with new problems or persons at this particular time.
"Love her well and marry her then, Dad," she said, and left after that.
Spider readily admitted to having found the Gypsy and taken it out of Salt, the figurine that Cheryl had now restored to its usual place in the Delta Rho house. Cheryl spoke to Spider on the phone.
"I suppose you've sold it already," said Cheryl.
"I'm holding it for ransom.”
"I could get the police on you, Spider, but I'll ask the dumb question. What ransom?”
"I want to spend the night with you and your roommate in the Delta Rho house.”
"What? Why?”
"Because no Sig has ever achieved that. Because I want the kick of it.”
"We have the toughest house mother on campus, Mrs. Briggs, not to mention a lot of girls with loose lips. I couldn't get by with it even if I wanted to.”
"Give me what I want-I'll bring the necklace.”
She no longer believed it could be solved that simply. Every effort she'd made had failed, and she was sure that this demand would be followed by another, requiring even kinkier sex.
"Stuff that vibrator on your desk down your throat and choke to death," she said. She slammed down the receiver.
Cheryl Wallace had reached that stage where she wanted to destroy, wanted to escape her pain by rushing into the cause of the pain, giving in to the horrors she'd tried to escape and flaunting them. Let Spider ram the Gypsy up his ass! As for the other-well, if she were doomed to be a dyke, she'd be a good one, the best in the Midwest.
After dinner as Abby sat at her desk in their room, finally getting a chance to study, Cheryl came up behind her, put her arms around Abby's neck, and began to kiss her.
"Oh, Cheryl," moaned Abby. "I've got to study tonight." Cheryl's roommate, like herself, seemed to be subdued tonight, solemn, somehow different, as if yesterday's big sex binge had also quieted her down to seriousness.
Cheryl dabbed at Abby's ears, nibbled them, and breathed hot breath in the tiny ear holes to make Abby shudder. She nipped and nibbled around Abby's neck, finding little erotic spots that made the girl quiver.
"Stop that," said Abby.
But, of course, a dyke was the aggressor and it was up to her to initiate the sex and get what she wanted. In her new mood of despair, Cheryl wanted to play her new role to the hilt. She reached down to manipulate and knead Abby's big, circular breasts, outside her blouse and then inside, against naked nipples.