I had never seen anything like it, but that summer I had finished only my first year of college. I never had seen a real cunt of a real girl at all—just lots of open-crotch shots online. I would not have believed it possible and almost felt sorry for Janey, who maybe felt like a freak.
"It" was almost two inches long, shaped like a little pink canoli-a tube slightly fluted at the ends. I'm talking about her clit, of course. It stood out amazing rigid and assertive against the folds and creases and slit of her pussy, which in turn was spread wide open.
And from the end of the clit thrust toward us protruded a soft pink head, just like the head of a little penis, pink and slick and with a little slit at the top. This girl was showing it all.
Janey was naked and flat on her back on the chipped and soiled but sturdy oak table. Her ankles, circled twice with rope-and her thighs, too—were wrenched wide apart and secured. Janey was shaved clean, but with a thick triangle of very curly, deep auburn hair been left atop her high, rounded, fleshy mound. She might have been busy, lately; where her pussy was shaved the hair was coming back, with very short dark bristles from the edge of her cunt to an inch or so up either thigh. She was a hairy girl.
Several cellphone cameras were going off, now, and Janey was straining and twisting on the table, moaning, "No, please, no..."
She had been a lot feistier than that when she first realized she had walked into a trap.
Actually, why should I feel sorry—almost sorry—for Jane Morrissey? In our senior year at high school she had been "The Bitch," a girl with a startling chest, broad hips and big ass, nice legs... Very pretty, too, with an upturned freckled nose, full lips, and auburn hair cut short and stylishly; her mother was our town's most sought-after hair stylist.
It had been easy for her to first tease, then seduce, one horny guy after another during our last year-tease them and then slam them down for being "fresh." It was a game with her. She played her boobs and her cute face and her hips like a movie preview for a movie you never got to see.
When I had told Barry that I might ask her to the senior prom, he had shaken his head and said, with a big grin, "Oh, you'll have a barrel of fun with Janey." I figured he was jealous; Janey was a big girl, but desirable. When she did consent to be my prom date, a lot of people envied me. And, oh, yes, she came across: a prom gown so revealing that all my buddies got in trouble with their dates—for staring. But when it came to the big moment, parked in my Dad's car beside the lake, she was one of the "The Untouchables." She literally sneered at my obvious arousal and said, "Just don't try anything, that's all..."
She had a right, of course. But later, when I heard she had regaled her friends with stories about my hilarious horny frustration, I admit I was hurt.
Now, her pale wrists, with more freckles, were bound and stretched out, fastened to the table's legs. Janey always had a big chest, filling and more than filling her black sweaters. But none of us had ever seen her boobs. Now, we were having a good look. With her wrists and shoulders hauled back, so her chest was stretched and pushed up, the mounts rose round and perfect, as lust-provoking as we ever imaged, each crowned with a spreading dark nipple that now was very stiff, the skin at its based crinkled hard. Janey sure was on display.
She had shrieked, pleading, "No, no, no, not that," when her over-sized, well-wired bra had come off. But come off it did, and the big boobs with the broad brown nipples now sloped slightly to the side with sheer weight. Of course, her protests at losing her bra were nothing like when her panties came down, sliding right over the fleshly mound with the auburn tuft and down the long, sturdy legs.
Poor Janey. I have to tell you what happened our senior year when I and few other guys had a sort of camp-over night at her house with her twin brother, Timmy. We all were just 18 and still liked that sort of thing. As soon as we got settled around the room on our camp beds, all in our proper pajamas, Janey sailed into the room in a negligee. "Just came to say goodnight," she said breezily. She wasn't supposed to be there at all. So her brother, Timmy, takes one look her and gives a long, low, very rude and appreciative whistle. What do you expect? Under the gauzy negligee her big tits seemed to push straight out, holding up the negligee like a shelf. What business did she have there?
At first, she seemed to have decided not to "hear" the wolf whistle, but then she walked over, very slowly, to where her brother was lying grinning up at her. Looking down at him, she snapped at us: "Come over here." We did it, of course; this was excitement.
And Janey said, "Get off his pants, I want to see what he's got. Let's see Timmy's stuff."
