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More Stories - Satin Slippers
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The Animal
By Doxy Wringer ©
Author's Note: This story may not be duplicated or re-posted on another
website or in any medium without the written consent of the author.
It is a work of fiction, and intended as a pleasure derived from the
viewpoints of both the most tender and the most carnal hungers
that swell within the human animal.
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They called him "The Animal" and not a single Sigma Delta pledge had gotten him off in hell knew how long.
It was the last night of Rush week -- do or die -- and I was on board for every inch of the final mile.
If I'd been a senator's daughter or a rock star's illegitimate kid like some of my fellow pledges, I might not have been sweating my chances at acceptance. But it was a competitive year, and while I could probably have had my pick of the other campus sororities, Sigma Delta was the place to be. If you didn't win your pledge at Sigma Delta, you might as well have spent Rush week at band camp.
None of the coordinators, counselors, or scholastically assigned dorm administrators knew about the secret challenges that always took place on the last day of Rush. Or if they did, they turned the other cheek. After all, it didn't really fit into a campus brochure. The booze. The drugs. The public fucking.
There was only room for twelve new Sigma Delta members this semester, and the competition had been narrowed down to a final thirteen. I'd gone through all the hazing, all the interviews, all the preliminary bullshit. Tonight it was for all the money. The last girl to get a hot load of jock cum down her throat ended up with a copy of Greek Life: The Home Game, a shitload of Rice-a-Roni, and a speedy introduction to the exit where they were gently informed not to let the door hit them on the ass.
I fucking hated Rice-a-Roni.
The rec room of the sorority house was lit only by tabletops smothered in burning votive candles. Anything that could pass for seating was jammed up against the walls, where sat all the active campus sisters of Sigma Delta, and most of Alpha Rho -- the brother frat that was generously offering to help in our evening festivities. At the center of the room were half a dozen blue padded tumbling mats, with thirteen Alpha Rho brothers standing like soldiers, little over an arm's length separating them, along the edge of the mats. They were stripped naked except for cheap costume shop Zorro masks that were held against their faces with elastic straps. Each of them had a greek letter written on their chest in fire engine red lipstick. The room was deathly quiet but for the occasional cough and unintelligible whisper.
My fellow pledges were shuffling nervously around me, milling like barnyard hens. Of course there was good reason for that. Prior to being led into the room by the sorority queen bee, we'd been told to strip and put on masks ourselves -- these made of white satin and a touch more on the expensive side than the Halloween throw-aways worn by the guys. But then, making us sweat and feel uncomfortable was all part of the show.
We were literally sweating. The air conditioning thermostat had been cranked way up, creating a sweltering heat in the large room. They were going for a sultry effect, but it had more the feel of a cheap back-alley gym where someone like Rocky Balboa would have been taking swings at sides of beef because they couldn't afford punching bags.
I hadn't been able to tie back my long hair and I felt it plastered to my back in sopping strands. The crack of my ass must have been glistening with it, and I could feel the pool between my full tits. At least I'd just gotten a waxing the day before. If I'd been standing there with a bush as wild and hairy as the senator's daughter, I'd have been uncomfortable, too.
After they figured enough time had passed for everyone to get a good eyeful of everyone else, we were instructed to step forward. An old pointy velvet hat was held upside down by the queen bee and she instructed us to reach in and take one of the paper squares inside. I had a momentary urge to burst out in a laughing fit at the images of some geek from a Harry Potter flick trading positions with me at our perspective sorting hats, but I swallowed it. It was never a good idea to be the only person giggling in a room full of bare asses.
I reached in and withdrew a two-inch square of construction paper that clearly had a pi symbol scratched on it. Instinctively my eyes flicked toward the line of Zorros and my heart sank.
Pi was the letter written across the chest of The Animal in crimson lipstick. I muttered a curse under my breath. Mask or no mask, you couldn't hide the Animal. No one really knew how long he'd been around -- most people snickered that they'd built the fucking college around him. He was at least six-and-a-half feet tall and more than half that wide. He shaved his head completely bald, but the rest of him was covered in furry mats of hair. His chest, arms, and legs were like some missing link between man and gorilla, and the nest of mangled pubes between his thighs was something out of the Little Shop of Horrors. His was the only cock already standing straight at attention. It was nasty. Ten inches long, thick around as a fist, and nearly purple.
The damn thing might have looked locked, loaded, and ready to party, but I knew better. The Animal hadn't ever been made to cum during a Rush initiation. I was fucking doomed. I could almost smell a skillet of sizzling Rice-a-Roni in the background.
I numbly obeyed the instructions that were recited to us. Each of us knelt down in front of the naked Alpha Rho bearing our greek letter. The only rule was no hands on our assigned cock -- that was another nail in my coffin. My best blowjob technique involved slippery wet hands and a hard slurping mouth working in tandem. The contest ended when twelve girls got their Alphas off. Number thirteen earned the humiliation of a dry mouth and a one-way ticket to Loserville.
Someone called out, "On yer mark…ready…set…go" and we were off.
Suddenly the quiet room became a crucible of sucking, slurping, grunting and groaning. The thundering of hot heavy panting and wet lipped slapping noises made me want to giggle.
I didn't dive in whole-hog like the rest of the girls. Instead, I eyed the monster of a dick that had become my nemesis. I caught the faint scent of cheap shampoo and the musky emanation of sweat. There was so much sweat in his pubes I could have filled a wine glass.
Leaning in, I let my breath exhale slowly against the knob-like head of his stick. It visibly twitched. With just the tip of my tongue, I tickled his piss hole, lapping up a pooling drop of precum that had started to ooze. He twitched again and grunted. I licked tentatively from tip to balls, pressing my face into his furry wet mat of pubes and lapping the sweat from under his balls. It was salty and tangy, but not as unpleasant as I thought it might be. When I pulled back his smell was all over my face. It filled my nostrils. But I'd learned what I needed to know. I knew where the trigger points were.
They had said I wasn't allowed to touch his prick, but there had been no rules about touching myself. Rolling back onto my haunches, I squatted like a catcher behind home plate, giving him a birds-eye-view of my shaved and pouting pussy. I knew I had his attention when his mouth curved up in a wicked leer. Reaching down, I fingered my outer lips, letting my middle finger pat and swat at the swelling hood of my clit. His hips gave the slightest thrust forward and I realized I'd achieved the goal I was seeking. The Animal wanted to fuck.
I heard snickering behind me and heard someone whisper "what a slut" but I shook it off. No guts, no glory. And I wasn't going down without a fight.
No pun intended.
I hastily brought myself to the brink of cumming. I knew I had a very expressive pussy. Men had remarked on it before. My labia blushed to dark red and swelled in expectation. My cunt hole gaped and puckered, waiting for something -- anything to fuck inside it. And my pink, shy clit began to poke its way from out of its folds. Stiff with agony, it demanded to be seen and stroked.
Then I heard a familiar gagging noise, and a throaty male voice moaned out a long string of obscene hallelujahs. The gagging continued as someone from the peanut gallery snickered about knowing now that the senator's daughter was a spitter and not a swallower.
As though the first cumming had been a sexual tripwire setting off bigger artillery, two other Alpha Rho studs emptied their barrels. The gagging wasn't quite so pronounced and I knew that whatever girls had earned their cream, they were both swallowers. Meager applause from a handful of spectators saluted their selfless efforts.
I pulled my fingers out of my dripping wet honeypot seconds before I could let out a hot orgasming gush. My hand was drenched with juice, briny and sticky and sweet all at the same time. Carefully, I got back onto my unsteady knees and lifted up my hand. The Animal leaned down to slurp, but I jerked my arm back at the last second -- like a sadistic mistress tempting her pet with a treat only to pull it out of reach over and over.
The third time I did this, the Animal's eyes slitted darkly. Mission accomplished. I could tell I'd pissed him off. I hoped that part of my plan was a good thing. Holding up my fingers, I finally let him inhale the aroma of my cunt milk, like an old paperback novel detective giving a bloodhound the scent of some deadly fugitive. He opened his mouth to lick, but before he knew what hit him, I drew my hand down and began to slurp my fingers clean, sucking on my own taste right before his eyes.
My performance inadvertently made four other Alpha Rhos blow their wads. Every eye in the rec-room-turned-borderline-Roman-orgy was on me. Guys sitting in the cheap seats started to reach into their pants, and so were, to my surprise, a couple of girls.
Seven down. Five to go.
I went face down into his crotch again, using the flat of my tongue to lap and lick at the crease where his leg met his thigh. The sensitive area wasn't accustomed to the velvet brush of a pliant tongue. His whole massive body quivered. Extending my neck I kept sliding down and back, licking right around to his asshole. I heard two more pledges gag on faces full of showering jizz and knew my time was getting shorter every second. Still, it was kinda flattering when I heard a couple guys in the audience lose their spunk as well.
Nine down. Three to go.
I rimmed the sweaty pucker of his gigantic hairy asshole for a few minutes and then worked my way back down between his legs and back to his huge ball sack. They were too massive to get into my mouth, so I lathered them up, lathing them with my tongue and sucking as much of them into my lips as I could. A combination of drool and sweat creamed down my chin and dripped onto my naked tits. I slurped long and messy and loud, hoping the sound was even more of a turn on. A crescendo of slapping monkeys and fingers-in-the-panties-pussy squishing echoed from the gallery of onlookers. Down at the far end of the mats, I heard a goofy man-scream and some guy began to chant like a Tibetan monk.
Two left.
I slid my tongue up the shaft of his cock, following a vein that bulged all the way to the underside of his fist-sized mushroom-shaped cockhead. I rolled my tongue slowly along both sides of the ridge that separated the head from his shaft, and although I didn't think it was possible, I swear the damn thing swelled up another inch.
The last thing I heard before stretching my mouth as wide as I possibly could was the sound of the guy next to me cumming like a ruuting pig. The rock star's illegitimate kid choked on the thorough hosing he sprayed her with, and despite swallowing twice, still had cum drenched tits before he was finished.
One left, I thought to myself. I am fucking doomed.
And then the Animal grabbed the back of my head.
There was no earthly way that cock was going to get down my throat, but the Animal didn't seem to give a lot of thought to probability and laws of physics. With one fist wrapped hard in my hair, his other palm was free to grab the back of my head. It barely registered on me that his Cro-Magnon hands were the size of my whole head.
I was preoccupied trying not to choke to death on the nastiest cock that had ever been crammed at me. A rock and a hard place would have felt like a tropical vacation compared to the position I found myself in. Between his steel tight fists and his tree trunks of legs there wasn't any wiggle room. I was getting way more than I'd ever bargained for. It occurred to me there was something worse than not making the Animal cum and it was -- quite simply -- making the Animal cum.
He fucked my face with brute power, my lips swollen and stretched to the limit to accommodate the enormous girth of his horse-sized prick. I squirmed and gagged, but he merely held my head in place while hammering the tip of his cock toward the back of my throat. Unable to breathe, I began to struggle frantically, my oxygen-deprived mind coasting on a wave of hallucinogenic panic and bliss. White spots began to could my vision.
Sputtering; screaming; shaking; slapping; wagging. I dug my nails into the tender backs of his knees, hoping that would make him stop. His cock pinned my tongue and slammed another inch into me. There were a few seconds where I was sure I'd blacked out.
And then, the floodgates broke loose.
Cum. In buckets. In streams. In gooey silver gobs.
I choked and gagged -- swallowing every drop I could manage and then finally snapping my head back with all my might. A jet of milky jizz splashed into my face, and another squirted down across my tits and belly. The raging spewing monster dick began to droop, and the final burst painted my thighs white.
As I fell down onto my hands and knees, gurgling and gasping and trying to gulp down enough air between massive mouthfuls of cum, I was oblivious to the sounds around me. Clapping. Cheering. Stomping. And, of course, scattered orgasms from Sigma Delta and Alpha Rho alike. By the time the buzzing in my ears subsided, I could feel a pair of huge hands helping me up. The Animal didn't appear to be holding any grudges that I'd won.
The youngest sister of a B-movie actress had gotten her mouthful a split second after I drained the Animal's load. Rice-a-Roni flavored bitter disappointment was tattooed all over her cum stained face.
The Animal retired from Rush ceremonies after that and I got Sigma Delta's outstanding member service award.
No pun intended.
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