Duncan Fox: Spread wide and tied

"Jesus, Baby, suck it."

Grant's gross words brought Clara abruptly back to the present. She focused her eyes just in time to see Lois take Grant's dick into her mouth. Clara's pussy drooled into her panties as she watched Lois take Grant's entire pecker. Then Lois began bobbing her head eagerly.

Suddenly, Wil was dragging Clara's panties down and baring his cock. In seconds, she felt his shaft drive into her depths. She clutched him as he fucked her, right there in front of Grant and Lois! From the sucking, slurping, swallowing sounds, Grant had already cum.

Clara spread her legs wide, drew her knees up, let Wil rape her. For the first time, he was really, really in charge. He was driving deep into her, pounding at her strongly, impatiently. She clawed his back as he rammed into her again and again and again. He drove her toward her flooding peak of pleasure. Then she was over the top and tumbling down the other side.

In moments the quick animal coupling was done and Clara was lying there, panting under Wil. She turned her head. Grant was sprawled on his back. His dick was drained and limp and Lois was sitting on his face. Clara wished she could see what Grant was doing to Lois. Her hips were bucking madly. Loud sucking sounds filled the room.

Then, with a moan, Lois folded over Grant's face, smothered him with her orgasming cunt. Clara sighed and let her eyes close.

As hard as she tried, Clara could not get the tale of the gang bang out of her mind. Her feelings about the story astonished her. Rather than disgust, or horror, there was envy. She had the feeling that she had missed something, rather than escaped it.

Her memories of her experiences with Wil added to her dissatisfaction. There must be more to sex than what she had felt so far. What was the song? "Is that all there is?" If that was all there was, then she would keep dancing.

She thought of how her parents would feel about what she had done already, and shivered guiltily. As she looked down at the dark campus, she thought of her home, and her gut knotted. What had she become?

Then she thought of Lois being the helpless toy of four boys, and getting cock after cock. Clara's pussy began to drool with hunger.

The ringing of the telephone in the hallway interrupted her reverie. For a moment she let it ring, hoping someone else would answer it. Then she remembered that the dorm was virtually deserted – everyone was at the movies – and hauled herself up off her bed. She tied the belt of her robe and wiped her slimy fingers on the quilted cotton. She hadn't realized she had been fingering her sopping cunt as she daydreamed. Her gut was an aching knot of horniness.

"Hey there, anybody home?" a strange male voice asked when she answered the telephone.

"Yes, me," Clara said, a little nettled by the bluff breeziness of the caller.

"Well, whoever you are, you sound beautiful and sexy," the voice went on.

"Do tell," Clara sniffed, "anyone special you want? Or are you just getting warmed up for the heavy breathing? Or maybe the dirty words?" She figured it was one of their regular obscene callers.

"I'm calling to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime," he went on with unabashed enthusiasm. "You, and any other lucky ladies there, are invited to a come-as-you-are beer blast at Hemlock House!"

"Oh?" Clara asked warily, interested in spite of herself. Hemlock House was a notorious off campus dorm. She had heard of their parties, but never dreamed she'd consider accepting such an invitation. "Just when is this blast going to come oft?"

"Right now, of course."

"And it's come as you are?"

"Affirmative."

"What," she began, trying to still the tremor in her voice, "if I am naked?"

"Fair lady, why do you think we give such short notice?" His tone raised the hair on the back of her neck, and made her insides coil into a hot knot.

"Do you really think I'll show up?" she asked, knowing what would happen if she did, knowing she was going to.

"Aren't you?" he taunted. Obviously, he knew the answer.

"Half an hour," Clara said. "No," she corrected hastily when she realized that if she took that long, good sense and fear would keep her from going. "Fifteen minutes."

"Right ho!" he responded, and hung up.

For a moment, Clara just stood there, the receiver in one sweaty hand, and wondered what she thought she was doing. She hadn't even asked if there were going to be other girls there. She really hoped there wouldn't be. The call, coming light in the middle of her daydreaming about Lois' gang rape, had caught her at a vulnerable moment.

She knew she shouldn't go. She hurried into her room and ran a comb through her hair. Then she glanced down at herself. The robe was ankle length, and looked enough like a coat that she could get away with it. She slipped her panties off and her shoes on.

Ten minutes later eight men were escorting her down to the combination bar and game room in the basement of the rambling old mansion. Downstairs were two other girls, and four more men. She knew them only by sight.

The guys were dressed in blue jeans and sweat shirts. The other two girls had either cheated on the "come as you are" part of the invitation, or been caught in jeans and tank tops. Clara, in her bathrobe, was immediately the center of attention. She was surrounded by men, and a drink was pressed into her hand.

Someone slammed the juke box into action and music dinned around her, battering her already swimming senses. She began to dance. As her guts boiled, she tied to tell herself she was drunk.

She knew she wasn't.

The robe whipped around her bare legs as she danced dreamily. The faces around her blurred as she spun. They were clapping for her. Even the other girls were watching as she whirled around the room. Everyone was watching her! Everyone!

Her belt loosened as she swirled. A hand reached out, tugged, and the knot gave way. Just a single twist was holding the belt closed now and only the belt was holding the robe closed. The twist loosened, the robe loosened, and the neckline deepened towards her waist. The robe opened, upwards from the bottom, toward her boiling crotch. Air touched her bare flesh, as did the hungry stares of a dozen pairs of eyes.

There was another tug on the belt, and it whipped free. Clara clutched at her single covering, restrained it enough to keep a few secrets, but not enough to discourage her audience. She continued to dance. Something was driving her on, forcing her to keep moving. She knew if she stopped she would panic and run. One part of her wanted to run. But another part wouldn't allow it, because running away would mean the hunger in her groin would continue eating at her like a hot, cancerous worm.

So, she danced. She kicked away her shoes. Her bare feet whispered over the cold, dusty tile. The robe slipped until it was flickering open and shut over her brown muff, and just barely concealing her tits.

Another drink was thrust at her. She reached for it. As her hand closed on the glass, her robe spread open, bared her tits and cunt. As air whipped over her skin there was a bellow of admiration from the crowd.

There had been a subtle change in her audience as Clara danced. The other girls were each with two men. The men's hands were fondling and probing and touching one of the girls was up on the bar. Her shirt was shoved up so her lush jugs were bare. She was hugging two men to her. As they fed on her boobs, their hands probed her crotch, fondled her through her jeans.

Someone tugged on Clara's robe from behind. She let them drag it off her shoulders, down her arms. She whirled away from it. She was ravishingly, excitingly naked and free and unfettered. She danced for the hungry men, not about to let the other girls steal her attention.