The Day We Did Janey

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."

Timmy panicked a little bit, grabbing the tops of his pajama pants, and flipping on his side. But he was giggling, too; I figured this wasn't the first time Sis had seen him.

So four of us grabbed him, whipped his pants off, and held his rather skinny legs apart. There it all was. The poor little bastard protested; but by then he was so excited. Wow. His dick was so stiff that his foreskin was pulled way back and his dark red berry was swollen and glistening. Seemed like just a good time, for him.

Then, Janey ordered: "Hold him open just like that," and disappeared from the room. More excitement coming, I figured. When she reappeared, she walked straight over, stopped and stood staring down at her brother's impressive cock and balls. There was a huge blue elastic band in her hand. I figured she would snap it around his package, making it swell up even more. I had done that to myself.

But very suddenly, with a smile on her face, she bent over, placed one end of the elastic against Timmy's pulled-tight balls, and drew the elastic band back to its full length. She never took her eyes off the target; her lipped were parted in excitement. Timmy was trying to jerk his hips away, in terror, yelling, "No, Sis, no.

I cried out, "Wait," but none of us acted fast enough. We were staring in fascination, not believing this was going down. The giant elastic band was back 18 inches and Janey, looking right into her brother's eyes, let go...

I'm not going to tell you in detail what Timmy did. I mean, it's private how a guy takes that sort of thing. But I haven't forgot how, for hours, as we lay in our beds in the dark, we heard him moaning and weeping, groaning again and again, "Oh, my nuts, my nuts, my nuts..." What could anyone do for him? It kept me awake, I think, for three hours.

Janey watched just a few seconds after she zapped him, while Timmy was screaming and writhing all over the bed, his face bright red, his hands thrust down between his legs to nurse himself. A man will do anything, when it first happens; he doesn't care who is watching. He was screaming in a high pitched voice. I know he felt he just couldn't stand the pain—but what could he do?

Janey flounced from of the room. In the morning, her brother got out of bed and limped from the room, not looking at us or saying a word. It took months before he even spoke to any of us, again.

Timmy was with us today, standing beside me, taking in the view of his sister. He had no expression on his face as she thrashed in her bonds, heaving her hips, desperately bring together her legs. He was staring at that most tender part of her anatomy, the sweet, slick, light pink head the pokes assertively from the swollen tube of her clit. I have no clue to what he is thinking.

Right now, you are thinking: They are all headed for jail for kidnap-at the very least. Nah, no way. Janey had come home from Vasser very full of herself; she seemed to have acquired a taste for coke. She got her coke. One of our buddies from high school is a local cop. What he told her, when her caught her with maybe six-hundred bucks worth of coke. After, um, negotiation she came here to meet with someone who would "fix" her problem. She protested, of course, but she came.

It's probably the last place in the world Janey would choose to go. Down by the river, where "no one goes," is a shack that is the home of "Miss Debra," a black lady who keeps the men of our town faithful to their wives. Because the occasional trip down along the muddy path through the reeds to Miss Debra's is not viewed as cheating, in our town. Deb guards the virtue of our men.

Janey arrived, striding rather angrily along the muddy path, through the puddles and high reeds, and all the stinking shells and stuff, and banked on Deb's door. Pretty gutsy of Jane, not that she had any choice. How many years in the federal penitentiary on a drug conviction?

Debbie stepped from the door, held out her hand to Janey, with a big smile, and said, "Hi, honey."

"Okay, what's this about?" Janey demanded.

"Before you come in you take off all your clothes, all of them."

"Fuck that."

"Or I take them off, for you," said Deb.

And then the fight began, what you might have called a "cat fight," once. Or a "sweater fight." Janey went at it furiously, Deb went at it as she had so many times. Somehow, in a minute or two, Janey had lost her sweater and her bra, and was wailing and pleading because Deb had her in a hold that left her helpless. Then, Deb let her up, again, and Janey went back to fighting, but it was much more interesting, because she was in her bra, her big boobs jouncing up and down, and she would try to support them with her arm—but you can't fight that way.

Then, Deb had her down, again, holding her, and tore off her skirt, leaving just her black thong, so Janey was in the rough, dry grass, in just her underwear, rolling around, trying to cover herself with her hands. Deb reached down and dragged her up, then shoved her right at the door of the shack. We were inside, watching through the window, and pulled open the door, so Janey stumbled in.

You've got to give Janey credit. She stumbled through the doorway and stood, in just her bra and thong, looking around; she saw her old prom date—me—and her brother—and a half dozen other guys from our high school class. For just a moment or two, there was a wild terror on her face, shock. But in incredibly short order, the she managed to straighten her shoulders, give her dark auburn curls a shake, and look straight at us. It was as though she was ready for all this.

Janey had a tough time giving up her bra and thong, yelling, "What's going on?" and "Why are you doing this?" Interesting, though, she didn't yell: "You're going to jail for this" or anything like that. She knew the score; that was Janey.

Now, it was Deb who smiled broadly, looking at Janey's wrenched-wide cunt, and said, with a smile, "Just look at this clit, guys..."

"No...No...please..." moaned Janey. She knew what Deb meant. Deb had beautiful long fingers, with remarkable nails. She reached out and her fingers began twiddling with Janey's pussy. "No, God, no," moaned Janey, but Deb's finger went right to the mount of the clit and began to tickle it, rub it, run its skin up and down, jerk back the cover of the sensitive, protuberant pink head of the clit.

Framed between Janey's stretched pussy lips, the swollen little canoli, almost two inches long, with the slick pink head protruding, looked unbearable sensitive. I guess that it was. Deb's fingers found it and traced it, massaged it, rubbed its length, rolled the skin back from the pink nubbin, jerking it...

Jane's moans were inhuman. I jumped when I heard her cry. Her big hips and dark curly auburn mound jerked up violently, her hips twisting, her belly rolling around in restless, seeking to escape the unbearably arousal. With a slight smile on her lips, as though all this were old hat, Deb, with a slight smile on her lips, kept tormenting the huge clit.

Then, at some point, she abruptly stopped, took her fingers away, and Janey cried out, "Nooooo-oooo, please do it...finish me... don't stop. I marveled at the way the big body, tightly tied, could thrash.

Deb, now nude herself—as almost always, when guys were around—with ebony tits that jutted to almost black nipples, with a long, sleek belly, and with a fully wire-haired pussy—turned to us, with a smile, and said, "Any of your studs want to do her? She's ready, now..."

And so, it seemed, was Janey. From her pussy a slick olive oil—or whatever it was—ran freely, slicking all the swollen pink flesh. I couldn't figure where all this was coming from, but I knew that this girl was creaming herself...

I did what I had wanted to do for a long time. I took a few steps, bent over to kiss her full lips—cutting off her cries and pleas—and gave her a long, long kiss. At the same time, my hand made free with her breasts, as I had dreamed for years, crushing the soft flesh, rolling it on her chest, pinching the nipples, pushing them against her chest—playing with them madly, as I had dreamed so many times. Janey Morrisey's boobs, all mine. When I stopped my long, furious kiss, she gasped for air with a kind of panic, her chest rising and falling, and I realized that my kiss had almost smothered her.

And then my lips went to her nipples, another dream I had a thousand times, lying on my bed... I sucked and kissed like a madman. One and then another. I nipped the nipples, stretched them, and flicked them with my tongue... The whole time, Janey was moaning, "Noooowww..." but pushing up her chest, her great soft mounds, to meet my mouth.

I heard Deb say, very softly, calmly, "What about you, Timmy? I've heard about you and your Sis. What do you want to do?"