As he left the night deposit window at his bank, he thought back to his earlier conversation. Becky Hundsucker. He'd known who she was since the first time they had done it when she had pledged. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl on this or any other campus. Shit, he'd dreamt about her since his---and her---freshmen year. She been in the first group he'd ever "done." She had been one astoundingly nasty little freshman. If memory served him correctly, she'd taken him all the way down her throat and given him the best BJ he'd ever had.
Most of these pretty little bitches probably couldn't suck a regular size dick worth a shit---let alone his, which measured over nine inches. Well, he was being modest; it was just a hair under ten inches. He was pretty sure that half of them didn't even enjoy sex that much. He knew damn well that most of them were not pleased when he fucked 'em in the ass, but then they'd made the choice to join one of these fucked-up sororities.
He'd worn a mask since day one; over the last three years, so had the girls, which was just as good since he probably had a class with more than one of them and would have had a hard time not breaking out in laughter if he'd recognized one of them. It wasn't that big a college and seventy-nine percent female. All were from excellent bloodlines with very wealthy parents. And while he'd fucked the cream of the crop, he couldn't have gotten a date with one of them to save his soul---certainly not Becky Hundsucker.
He remembered well the demonstrations and taunts when he had first arrived on campus. The Board of Regents or whatever they were called had mandated the admission of a certain number of males in each class. His had been the first such class. Lots of parents, alumnae and students were furious. Virtually none of the rich bitches would even speak to him the first year. At least the faculty had taken pity on guys like him and had universally worked to ensure that they were fairly treated in the classroom. Why had he chosen this fucked up place?
Easy: money. He didn't have any, the administration was under tremendous pressure to demonstrate that they were actively seeking male admissions and the publicity and angry diatribes from the "women only" crowd had scared away most male applicants. Several guys who accepted their admissions letter received packages in the mail with selected, severed animal parts and little notes that would make any male uncomfortable. As more and more prospective freshmen men took a pass, the private university kept upping the ante to the remaining applicants. In the end, they were more than paying for all of his expenses to attend one of the top twenty academic institutions in the country---they were paying him more than twice the cost just to show up.
After the police got to the bottom of the small group of wacko, radical, fem-fascists who were carrying out the threat campaign, the silent treatment started. The bitches---or at last 99% of them---wouldn't speak to a male student---let alone go out with him. It had gotten a little better each year he had been there. At least now they'd speak to him for the most part but they still wouldn't go out on a date with any of the male students, preferring the predominantly male university fifty miles away.
They were a private school; why buck the alumnae? The single largest endowment source---without which they couldn't keep their doors open---mandated it. It was part of the will of an alumna with millions to be left to the school on one condition---they admit men. Rumor had it that the old bat blamed the college's policies for turning her into a lesbian and late in life decided that single sex schools were unhealthy.
Back to Becky Hundsucker. He was damn sure she had been the only one that first semester who started to salivate when she saw his cock. Too often over the years he'd have some poor crying little cunt who, in her heart wanted to back out but whose pride wouldn't let her. He'd always been kind to them, certainly never treated them rough and, on more than one occasion, pretended to cum so that they would believe that their "ordeal" was over.
Slightly less than half of them were damn nice little fucks who got into the whole thing in the spirit of sisterhood or whatever. Becky Hundsucker had been a different matter entirely. She had been a tiger. He'd never forget her. In the dim light when her mask had slipped he had recognized her. Evidently superior night vision was another physical benefit of his...condition.
He'd dated normal girls before and certainly ended up in the sack with them. He'd had more than one express shock at the length and girth of his organ and at least one back out, calling him a freak. That had stung. In point of fact, the majority of the pledges probably looked on him as little more than a circus freak. But not Becky Hundsucker. In addition to sucking him off for all he was worth, when it came to phase two she had brazenly grabbed his cock, centered her sweet blond muff over it and just ridden it all the way down to the root.
"It's about damn time! Now that's what I call a fucking cock!" she had intoned.
Looking back it was the best sex he'd ever had. Becky Hundsucker loved to fuck and was as talented at it as any woman North of the Equator, not to mention just fun in the sack. While all of the girls submitted to anal training by their big sisters, the anal part of the initiation could get a little dicey and on more than one occasion he'd cut it short---both in duration and depth---before the poor little thing passed out from fear. Not Becky Hundsucker.
He could take or leave anal sex---certainly leave it when it came to a woman who didn't really want to be getting poked in the butt. Becky Hundsucker absolutely loved it up the ass. She was certainly the only one who had taken the initiative and essentially fucked herself on his hard cock, whimpering and whispering, "oh, that's really nice" for the entire time---and it had been a very long time.
So why hadn't he taken her up on her offer for a "private client" encounter?
They were both seniors. They were in three classes together. They were lab partners in one and had drawn each other's names in a psych class that would involve each of them interviewing and evaluating the other. While Becky Hundsucker had made it clear over three years prior that she would never date a student at the college, she had at least not been rude about it. She'd taken an oath and that was that. What had he been thinking anyway; she was the heir to a fortune. He was the son of two lifelong schoolteachers---hardly landed gentry.
It has started out as just a Chippendale kind of thing. He'd been a jock in high school, had worked out for as long as he could remember and had a chiseled physique. The girls at the college had more money than sense. Hiring a stripper for a best friend's engagement or birthday was no big deal. He'd answered a want ad. Ultimately he'd run his own ad and for the first semester had all the business he could possibly handle. And then Becky Hundsucker's sorority had hired him as a stripper/dancer for some function and the former president had asked him if he'd 'do more than dance'. He'd had propositions of sorts before but this was different.
"I'll dance, I'll certainly be as provocative and touchy as you want---and get as naked as you want---but you're talking prostitution here." He still wasn't sure how she had talked him into it. Oh, that's right, total anonymity and $1,000 per pledge. They'd wanted to have it so they could watch. He'd drawn the line on that one. No witnesses except the participant and she signed a waver---and since she wasn't actually paying, it really wasn't illegal, he had rationalized.
While he would never remotely be as rich as Becky Hundsucker, he had a substantial nest egg as the final semester of his senior year began to wind down. He had more money in the bank than his folks made in five years---combined. His work money plus the excess paid by the college to get him to attend was all in interest bearing instruments and some modest real estate holdings. He'd graduate Summa. He already had some job inquiries.
He laughed again as he thought about Becky Hundsucker. He knew she was engaged to some prick at the exclusive men's university fifty miles away. He'd seen the two carrot rock on her finger. She came across in public as almost virginal. He swore he had heard her tell one of her girl friends in a class that Mr. Right wasn't going to get any until after the wedding---although they had enjoyed oral sex. Lucky guy. What a crock!
On returning to his apartment and checking his answering machine, there was a call from some corporate recruiter he had met a week earlier at a campus job fair. He sounded very anxious to speak to him, telling him to call on a private number at any hour. It wasn't that late. What the fuck.
"This is Mike Simmons. I'm returning Mr. Lander's call---he said call any time."
"Mike! Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. This is Fred Landers. Have you got a few minutes to chat?"
"Absolutely." Damn, it would be great to nail down a job sooner rather than later.
"Mike, we'd really like to get you up to company HQ to meet everyone. Those of us who interviewed you on campus were very impressed. You may recall that as part of the interview process we asked each applicant to propose a product idea, write a marketing plan and include a cost study. Sadly, a few folks decided it was just too much trouble. Most of the plans that were submitted were, in all honesty, sophomoric. Your plan was not remotely sophomoric. A lot of people want to talk to you about it."
"It is intellectual property, fully protected under this country's copyright laws. And the product idea is under patent."
