That summer that I came home from my first year of college, I hadn't seen a real cunt—just online open-crotch shots. Scores of pretty girls stretching back their labia. Drawing the cowl back from their clit.
So, I was excited, of course, but almost felt sorry for Janey. Did she feel like a freak? Or proud of it?
"It" was a good inch long, shaped like a pink cannoli--a tube slightly fluted at the ends. It swelled, rigid and assertive against the pink folds and creases of her pussy, which was spread about as wide as pussies go. I thought I even saw a pulse beating in her clit like the little heart of sea creature.
Out of one end stuck a soft pink head, slick, with a slit in the top. This girl was displaying all she had.
On her back on the chipped, soiled, but sturdy oak table, Janey was naked, of course. Her ankles, circled twice with rope, were hauled apart and secured. Janey's cunt was shaved, but she had left a thick triangle of curly, deep auburn hair on her prominent mound. She must have been too busy, lately, to keep manicured. Even where her pussy was shaved, the hair was coming back, with short dark bristles along the edge of her cunt lips and an inch or so up either thigh. She was a hairy girl. Her mom, Mary Ann, was our town's hairdresser and a nice piece, too.
Several cellphone cameras were flashing, now, and Janey was straining, twisting, moaning, "No, please, no..."
She would say, "Eddie, no..." Or "Jack, no..."
Should I feel sorry—almost sorry—for Jane Morrissey? In our high school, she had been "the Bitch," a girl with a thunder boobs, broad hips, big ass, nice legs... Pretty face, with an upturned freckled nose, plump lips, and auburn hair cut short and stylishly--by her mom.
Janey played at teasing, seducing, one horny guy after another during senior year--tease them, then slam them for being "fresh." Always her boobs under a black sweater, cute face, and hips in a stretched tight skirt--the trailer of the movie no one ever saw.
When I had told Barry I asked her to senior prom, he had shaken his head, grinned: "Oh, you'll have a barrel of fun with Janey." Was he jealous? Janey was a extra large, but desirable. She consented to be my prom date, people envied me.
And she delivered, in a way: a prom gown so revealing my buddies got in trouble with their dates just for talking with her. But at my big moment, parked in my Dad's car beside the lake, she was a "untouchable." She commented on my obvious arousal and added: "Just don't try anything, that's all..."
Later, she regaled her friends with stories about my hilarious horny frustration. I admit I was hurt.
Now, Janey's pale wrists, with freckles, were bound and stretched out, fastened to the table's legs. Janey's near-legendary breasts that filled and more than filling her black sweaters were naked. Now, we got a good look. Her chest was stretched and pushed out, the mounds rosy round, as lust-provoking as we dreamed, each with a spreading dark nipple, now stiff, the skin crinkled hard. Janey was truly on display.
God, she had shrieked, pleading: "No, no, no, not that," when her oversized, well-wired bra had come off. But come off it did. The knockers resting on her chest dragged a little so the side with sheer weight, the brown tits stretched. Of course, her protests at losing her bra were nothing compared with when her thong came off, sliding right over the fat mound with the auburn tuft and down the long, sturdy, wildly kicking legs.
Poor Janey? Well, this is what happened senior year when I and few other guys had a camp-over at her house with her twin brother, Timmy. We all were just 18, still liked that sort of thing. As soon as we got settled around the porch in our camp beds, all in our proper pajamas, Janey sailed into the room in a sheer negligee. "Just came to say goodnight," she said, breezily. It was a little too dark to get an eyeful.
She wasn't supposed to be there. So her brother, Timmy, takes one look at her and gives a long, rude, appreciative whistle. What do you expect? Under the gauzy apricot negligee, I saw her shadowy knockers like a shelf.
At first, she seemed not to hear the wolf whistle. Then, she turned and walked over to where her brother was lying. Looking down at him, she snapped at the rest of us: "Come over here." We did it, of course; this was exciting.
"Get off his pants," snapped Janey. "Let's see Timmy's stuff."
Timmy panicked, grabbing the bottoms of his pajama pants, and flipping on his side. But he was giggling. I figured this wasn't the first time Janey had played this game, with him.
Three of us grabbed him, whipped his pants off, and held his skinny legs apart. Poor bastard protested, but he already was excited--embarrassing, of course.
Wow. His dick was so stiff that his foreskin was pulled way back and his dark red berry was glistening. It seemed as though he was having a good time.
Janey ordered: "Hold him open," and disappeared from the room. More excitement coming, I figured. When she reappeared, she walked straight over 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 fasten it around his package, making it swell up even more. I had done that to myself.
But she bent over, placed one end of the elastic against Timmy's balls, and drew the elastic band back to its full length. She never took her eyes off the target; her lips were parted in a grin of intense excitement. Timmy cried out, trying to jerk his hips away, in terror, yelling, "No, Sis, no." It definitely seemed that this brother-sister game had happened before.
I yelled, "Wait," but none of us was fast enough. 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 about this. I mean, it's private how a guy takes that sort of thing. But I have never forgotten how, for hours, as we lay in our beds in the dark, we heard Timmy 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 for a few seconds after she zapped him, while Timmy was going berserk, his face crimson, 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, Timmy 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, 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 trying to bring together her legs. He was staring at that most tender part of her anatomy--the sweet, slick, light-pink head that poked assertively from the swollen tube of her clit. I had no clue what he is thinking.
Right now, you are thinking: These guys are headed for jail for kidnap--at the very least. Nah, no way. Janey had come home from Vasser with a taste for cocaine. One of our buddies from high school is a local cop. What he told her, when he caught her with maybe six-hundred bucks worth of coke, was that she should come here, today, to meet with someone who would "fix" her problem. She came.
It's down by the river, a shack that is the home of "Miss Debra," a black lady who keeps the men of our town faithful. Because the occasional trip down along the muddy path through the high reeds to "Miss Debra's" is not viewed as cheating, in our town. Deb guards the virtue of our men.
Janey arrived, striding angrily along the muddy path, through the stinky puddles and high reeds, the stinking shells, and banged on Deb's door. Pretty gutsy of Jane--not that she had a choice. How many years in the federal penitentiary on a drug conviction?
Debbie opened the door, held out her hand to Janey, with a big smile, and said, "Hi, honey."
