Nymphos Are Best
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My ConditionChapter 3 free porn video
For the next two weeks, before we had to go back for classes, Lisa was insatiable. I mean, she was wild before. Now she was maniacal about sex, like she couldn't get enough. Like she knew it was going to end soon. Like, when Greg got back.
As much as I pestered her, she wouldn't tell me about the special plans Rita had alluded to that night. Every time I asked her, she would start another fuck session. One night she even tried to let me take her anally. I think it was a mistake. I liked it, but she couldn't take me all the way in, she was just too small. She walked funny for two days. I felt really bad, that I had hurt her. But she brushed it off.
The night before Greg came back, she kissed me. Tongue and all. There were tears and tenderness and we did it all, in her bed in the museum. Another first. She held me tight all night and every time she thought she could go again, she would wake me up and we would go again. A couple of times I don't think I woke up, but I can't be sure.
Greg's return signaled the start of the long trek back to State. There were several of us from here going. I had actually been able to meet a few of my fellow students on our occasional jaunts into town as my Dad had suggested might happen. I caught a ride back to school with one of them. Lisa and Greg drove up in her Dad's BMW 750i. I don't think she was planning on returning the car to him. Ever. She kind of liked that car.
My first surprise came when I went to the housing office to get my dorm room assignment. I had been assigned to a different dorm clear across campus. It was in a prime location, as it was way closer to the library, the computer science labs, everything. It was the only dorm on that side of campus, though, and was populated mostly by women. It was hard to get assigned there.
More surprising was my roommate and suitemates. There weren't any. It was a single room, on the end, with its own bathroom. There weren't many of these single rooms in the building, only on the one end. The story around school was that the student architect that had designed the building had miscounted the number of rooms or something and when he divided by two, there was one left over. So they made the leftover room a little smaller, tacked on a bathroom and called them singles. They were the most popular dorm rooms at State. I got assigned one on the second floor without even requesting it.
I smelled a rat. A rat named Lisa Nagi.
I was sitting in my new room, staring at the mottled concrete walls and the bare linoleum tile on the floor. My few belongings were tucked away already, not even filling two of the five drawers. My three shirts hanging in the closet looked lonely, so I shut the door on them. One of the advantages of the single rooms was the space normally used by the second bed. Mine had a work bench there, and I already had spread out my soldering iron, oscilloscope and electronic testing meters I used for my computer science labs and projects. But other than that the room was pretty desolate. I didn't even own a broom.
I jumped up off the bed when I heard a knock on the door. Opening it, I looked in confusion at the mass of humanity milling outside my doorway. I thought maybe someone had bumped against my door by mistake and I started to close it.
"Hey! Wait! Lisa sent us. We're the welcome wagon."
I thought I recognized Carole's voice. I looked at her and gave her a questioning glance, raising my eyebrows. Her bright blush was all the confirmation I needed.
"Sure. Come on in." I had no idea what they wanted, but by the time thirty or forty girls had filed in, left whatever it was they were carrying, and then, after a curiously intense and reverent inspection of me, departed, I had a completely furnished room. Complete with a wool Oriental rug (a slight stain on one corner), a pair of lamps (elegant, but not matching), two easy chairs (comfortable, and that's all that counts), and enough linens and towels to fill the second closet. The single bed had been replaced with a queen-sized bed that barely fit through the door. There was even a living plant in the corner, next to the window. New curtains went up and three tasteful paintings graced the wall, covering most of the blemishes.
Carole supervised the unloading, placement and assembly of each item as it was brought in, apparently according to a pre-arranged plan. The flawless precision of the operation would have done the planners of Desert Storm proud. Carole obviously had a future in logistics.
As the work progressed, I had a chance to study Carole. Either she had lost a lot of weight in the last two weeks, or my assessment of her as stocky was a little severe. Let's just say she was solidly built and her sports bra kept her healthy chest well under control. There wasn't an ounce of fat, though, that I could see. She saw me looking at her and quickly looked away. She wrote furiously on a piece of paper and handed it to me.
I knew what it would say before I opened it. "I have a boyfriend," it read.
I grabbed a pencil from my backpack and scribbled a one word answer.
When she read my response, I thought she was going to cry. Then she realized I was making a joke and she gathered herself with what seemed a bit more self-assurance than she had had before and the re-habilitation of my room proceeded. She even kissed me on the cheek when she left.
What had I written? "DAMN!!!!"
I meant it, too.
Lisa showed up with two girls, one of them Carole, the next morning after breakfast. I got the distinct impression that General Lisa was doing an inspection of the troops. I almost felt like saluting her but I was distracted by the second girl.
She wasn't quite Oriental, but the hair matched. Long and straight and jet black. Her eyes, when I could see them, were ice blue and very striking against her cocoa-colored skin. She wouldn't look at me, however, at least not in the eye. The level of her gaze never got much above my belt buckle. Or much below it, either. As Carole and I stood by the door out of the way, Lisa toured the room, followed by the girl I had now identified as Barbara.
I leaned over to Carole and whispered, "Let me guess. She has a boyfriend, too. Right?"
Carole snorted trying to stifle her guffaw, but eventually was able to nod that she did. We looked at one another, co-conspirators in a private joke. Together we said aloud, "DAMN!", and started laughing.
Lisa and Barbara looked at us in puzzlement. Lisa got a look in her eye I hadn't seen before. Carole, seeing her expression, stopped laughing abruptly, nearly hurting herself in the process. It's a hard thing to do, to stop laughing just like that.
I considered intervening for Carole, but thought better of it. I wasn't exactly sure how sororities worked with their hierarchies and all, but I figured if I tried to protect Carole it might be perceived as a weakness on her part and hurt her in the long run. So I kept quiet and kept any further comments to myself.
Barbara left with Carole not long after that, still without having said a word to me. I got the feeling she didn't trust herself to look me in the eye.
Once they were gone, Lisa sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back, resting on her elbows. She knew the position did wonders for her tits, and she had teased me by leaning back like that all summer long, especially when we were in public and I couldn't do anything about it.
I took a chair as far away from her as I could. She wanted something. That much was clear.
"Thanks for the room. What's the catch?"
I don't think she was used to the straight forward, cut to the chase approach. I know she wasn't used to it from me. She had been leading me around like a puppy for two months now. Strange thing about puppies. They grow up into big dogs. She wasn't used to me thinking either, but I could.
"Oh. You figured that out?" No giggle.
"It wasn't hard. Especially when the re-decorators showed up, lead by Carole."
"You weren't supposed to know who she was."
"Give me a break, Lisa. She and Barbara just left." I was fishing, but her surprised look confirmed it. I continued, "The only one I haven't seen so far is Rita, but I'm sure we'll run in to each other one of these days, don't you think?"
Lisa looked like she had seen a ghost. Her reaction confirmed what I already suspected. Rita was someone special to the sorority. Or to Lisa. I wasn't sure which. Having made my point, I let it drop.
"How's Greg?" I asked softly.
"Tired..." She stopped herself. "No! I mean, not like that."
"Why, Miss Nagi, I do believe you're blushing!"
"John, I him. Leave him out of this."
I raised my hands in a gesture of conciliation. I didn't want to fight with her.
"OK. Sorry. So, what's going on? Or can you tell me?" OK, just a little sarcasm, but can you blame me?
Relieved to be on familiar ground, she pulled herself together.
"Rita told you I was making some special plans for you. This room is part of it. It's paid for by the sorority, whether you participate or not."
"Participate? Participate in what, exactly?"
Lisa was actually squirming. Like she was the night of the medical exam. I had a feeling this was going to be good.
"Well, each year each of the sororities and private women's houses on campus place two teams in competition. One team is a male contestant, the other team is made up of one or two females."
"OK. Let me get this straight so far. Two teams from each house. One guy, one or two girls. What do they do in the competition, fuck each other?" I joked.
Lisa studied the scuffed tips of her tennis shoes before answering.
"Well, in a word, 'Yes'." It didn't sound like she was joking.
"You're joking, right?" I asked, just to be sure.
"No." It was now well established this wasn't a joke.
"And you want me to be the male contestant for Gamma Phi?" I jumped to the obvious conclusion. I wasn't sure if I was hopeful or horrified.
She nodded, but kept quiet.
"Do the girl teams bark?" I asked suspiciously. I had heard some stories about Geek parties. Those were pretty cruel.
"No. Definitely not! Only the best, uh, performers from each house are eligible. Same goes for the guys. Anything else would defeat the purpose. "
"Which is what, exactly?"
"It's a tradition, really, going back to the early 1900's, although you won't find anyone who would admit it happened back then or any public reference to it. Even now it's kept pretty quiet. It's just the Greek's way of settling who's the best fucking house on campus. The President of the winning sorority is the unofficial Queen, kind of."
"And how is that determined?"
"Well. Normally, it's determined by whichever girl, or team of girls outlasts all or the most men. That house is then named the unofficial home of the best fuckers on campus."
"But that's not why you want me, is it?" I was beginning to understand how this crafty woman thought, and it scared the shit out of me. But I wouldn't have missed this for the world.
Lisa grinned that Cheshire grin I had seen on about the third day of our marathon summer fuck-fest. She had been planning since that day for this. The whole summer was testing and preparation, her own special training camp. I began to wonder if Greg had really been unavailable.
"Well, there is one other way, but it has never been done before."
It hit me all of a sudden. "Wait. Let me guess. I'm on a roll, no?"
She nodded for me to continue.
"If one of the male teams outlasts all the other female teams, the house he represents wins by default?"
"Yes."
Bingo. Got it in one. I was her fucking ringer. Literally.
"So, let me recap. I get to fuck 20 to 25 teams of the most beautiful women on campus into submission, just so you can be the Fucking Queen."
She looked at me and shrugged. "That's about it."
Lisa studiously avoided my gaze for several minutes, examining the stain on the carpet, the paintings on the wall, the hanging of the drapes, looking everywhere, anywhere but at me.
"That's not all, is it?"
She shook her head, screwing up her mouth as she chewed on the inside of her lip.
"Well?" I prompted when nothing was forthcoming.
"The Queen has a few unofficial duties and perquisites," she abbreviated. I think she thought that was enough to satisfy me.
"I'd like a little bit more information, Lisa."
She glared at me. I wasn't sure if it was because she was embarrassed, which I doubted, or if it was because I wasn't a member of the Greek society, which I suspected was more likely the case. I wasn't entitled to be informed of all the inner workings of the houses.
"The winning house gets first pick of all the new rushes, no arguments. They also get to organize the various functions. It... It gets political," she expanded, slightly.
"So, you'd get to be top of the pecking order, if you won. Interesting method of selection, I must say." I was thinking furiously. There was something else driving this young woman. Then I remembered what someone said about how to determine the motives of liberal politicians. 'Follow the money.' It somehow applied here, too.
"Is there an entry fee, Lisa?" From the look on her face, I knew I had hit a rather large and sore nerve.
She nodded.
"How much? $100?"
"No."
"More? $200?"
She shook her head. "More."
"$500? Come on, Lisa! How much?"
"$2,500. Per team."
A soft whistle escaped my lips. I was calculating rapidly. Twenty houses, minimum, two teams per house, ergo $5,000 per house. This was serious money.
"What happens to the money, Lisa," I asked quietly. I was almost afraid of the answer.
"It's invested."
"Huh?" No prize money?
Lisa saw I wasn't going to give up until I had an answer that made sense.
"The Greek Society has a special fund. Someone came up with the idea of investing the proceeds of various money-generating functions that were not charity fundraisers. The interest generated each year by these annual investments could be dispersed to charities and so on. At least, that's the way it's usually done.
"Unfortunately, the by-laws don't state how the money is to be used, since it's not required to be given to charity, only that it is to be dispersed, and by whom. The winning house gets the keys to the vault.
"For the last three years the same house has won the contest. All the moneys normally given to United Way and other charities have gone into redecorating and furnishing their own house. And there's not a damn thing anybody can do about it.
"The bitches in charge of the fund couldn't care less if the reputation of the Greeks is sullied by their stinginess. Their actions have caused a lot of bad feelings, both internal and external. The community is starting to wonder what's going on, but there is no way we can tell them without giving away the whole story."
"So someone else has to win this year?"
She nodded.
"Anything else?"
"Just a couple of details." She pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. "First, you'll need to give blood at the University clinic every week. It will be anonymous and discrete. You miss once, we're disqualified." She looked up. "Don't miss."
"Yes, Ma'am," I saluted. She didn't laugh.
"Second, I need your Friday and Saturday nights, unless I tell you ahead of time. Get your studying done before then or do it during the day. From 8:00 on until they collapse, you're mine.
"Third, obviously, if we're going to win by the default route, you can't fuck any girl from our house during the contest period. They were all here, they all got a good look at you, and frankly, John dear, you could have had any or all of them. There were so many pairs of dripping panties last night, the hallway was slippery. But for the honor of the house they will stay away from you, so you stay away from them. Clear?"
Well, that explained the funny looks the girls had given me. But all of them? At once? If I hadn't already had a hardon, I would have gotten a big one just thinking about that possibility.
"Any questions?" I could tell by the way she asked me, that she really didn't want any. But a few things came to mind.
"Uh, yeah. First, do the girls on the teams have boyfriends?"
"You could probably count on all of them having some type of relationship, yes."
"And a lot of these guys are bigger and stronger than I am, right?"
"Quite a few of them, yes." Not that I was wimpy, but I would never have played college football.
I think she finally saw where I was headed. "Do the boyfriends know what's going on?"
She nodded. "Pretty much."
"But not all?"
"No, not all."
Shit! This was a disaster waiting to happen. I didn't have a 'gang' to back me up. The only three other guys I knew at State lived in another dorm now and it took all three of them to lift a six-pack. Get one disgruntled Frat boy on my case for fucking his girlfriend better than he could ever hope to and I was toast. I thought fast.
"I want permission slips. From the boyfriends of the female team members. Full disclosure."
Lisa thought a minute. "I hadn't thought of that. Good point. It would probably be a good idea to have slips from the girlfriends of the male contestants, as well."
"As long as you can have an option for 'None'," I said ruefully.
"I could sign it for you, John."
"No. It wouldn't be right, and you want to win by the book, right?"
Lisa nodded, surprised I had refused.
"Then get one of your pre-Law sisters to write up a consent form, and leave a spot for 'None.' Should be simple enough, no?"
"OK. Anything else?"
"Yeah. What's allowed during the, uh, matches?"
"Pretty much anything that doesn't maim, injure, drug, kill or permanently mark. Oh, and no drugs or alcohol during the sessions."
"That's still pretty wide open, isn't it?"
"Whoever made up the rules apparently didn't want to place any restraints on the creative juices of the contestants. But mostly I think you'll find it's just straight fuck till you drop. Of course, no one tells what they did, only how well. That's another unspoken agreement. No telling."
"Are there observers? How do you know who wins."
"Oh. Well, yes, you can have observers if you want. It's rare, but you can request them. Most of the boyfriends, if they're not representing one of the houses, hang around outside waiting, then go home and have sloppy seconds. It turns a surprising number of them on. Others go get drunk.
"As to who wins, each female team has a digital camera they carry with them. A picture of the limp dick verified by date and time code is to be posted to the web site by noon the following day. No picture or a late picture is an assumed win by the man."
"So if I lose, I get my shriveled prick posted to a web site? That's quite an incentive to perform." Then I thought about the weekly blood test. And the one that Dr. Rita had drawn. "The blood tests. You're not testing for AIDS, are you?"
Elouise
- 02.06.2021
- 11
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