The Indecent Descent : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday word is #cave. One thinks initially of cavemen or a pirate's cave. At least I do. But I've already done a caveman story and a pirate story. So I've decided to go for some sinisterly sexy spelunking. Wank Wednesday has moved. It is now hosted from Word Ejaculation. Check out that site for more information on this writing challenge and for links to all the stories.

The Indecent Descent

When Terence told the innkeeper that they were intending to crawl up Carnahan's Crack, the normally noisy patrons in the front bar of the Turd and Toadstool fell eerily silent and all eyes fell upon the trio of would-be subterranean explorers.

"Know ye not of the terrible tale of the fate of the eight," gasped the old man.

"No," replied Terence cooly, "do tell." He was a smarmy bastard.

Monty and Rosemary leaned close. They were nervous about the expedition to begin with. Monty had been cave-diving a few times, and his claustrophobia was not as severe has it had been at the start. But that was in tourist caves which had been thoroughly explored and mapped. Rosemary was Terence's wife. Like him she was in her mid-thirties and very fit. She had short mousey hair around her pretty wide-eyed face, small but well-formed breasts and a firm round arse. Monty fancied her rotten, but was too loyal to his friend, and to his own rather demanding (but non-cave-exploring) fiancée Margaret, to do anything about it.

"It were three year ago next Tuesday," continued Old Gruntwhistle, the publican. "Four men and four women there were. Experienced cave-divers by all accounts. They wriggled their way up through the tight entrance of Carnahan's Crack, one at a time, intending to explore the bowels of the Earth - the biggest network of caverns in all of England according to legend. They went in... but they never came out."

"What happened to them?" asked Rosemary anxiously.

"Nobody knows," pronounced the old man, drawing the words out so that they sounded like the wind whistling across a deserted moor.

"They probably didn't take proper precautions," said Terence. "I'm sure we'll be fine. I've been caving dozens of times. I know what I'm doing."

"There are those who say they ain't dead," Gruntwhistle added, looking around at his audience of petrified pub patrons. "There are those who say that ain't just a cave. There are those who say that Carnahan's Crack is the very gates of Hell itself. They be the one's what have heard them."

"Heard who?" Monty wanted to know.

"Heard the voices echoing out of the crack and up through the mine shafts about these parts. Not really voices so much as the howls and moans of the damned," he continued, poking Terence in the chest with a bony finger.

"I don't think I want to go any more," whimpered Rosemary.

"Me neither," Monty added.

"Stuff and nonsense," declared Terence. "Good for business in these parts, no doubt. Just like the Loch Ness Monster. Don't be taken in."

"It be no skin off my nose," huffed Gruntwhistle. "But you'll pay for last night's accommodation now. If you leave anything in your rooms I be happy to forward it to your next of kin. Just leave an address."

*           *           *

"We can't go in there after what that innkeeper said," complained Rosemary when, loaded down with packs and ropes, the trio arrived at Carnahan's Crack just after nightfall.

"I told you not to pay any attention to that old fool's ramblings," Terence replied testily.

"I think Rosemary's right," Monty put in. "We are only doing this for fun. And it isn't fun anymore."

"Well, I'm going in there anyway," insisted Terence. "If you two want to wait here for me you are welcome."

Monty and Rosemary looked around them. It was a new moon so there wasn't much light by which to see the trees of the forest. But amidst the shadows, red eyes shone out at them and they heard a low growl. Wolves.

"Maybe we could wait for you just inside the entrance to the cave," suggested Rosemary.

Carnahan's Crack was a crevice between two mighty boulders. There was a small round hole in the middle of the crevice by which one could wriggle up into a cave that was about two metres across. In the middle was the opening of a pit which dropped straight down into the earth. How deep it was was anybody's guess.

Terence was the first to push his way through the tight squeeze into the cave. Then Rosemary thrust her hands in and began to ease her way forward. She got part way in and then paused. Monty was looking nervously over his shoulder at the wolves when he heard Rosemary's voice. She was yelling to him, but  the sound didn't carry well back through the tight passage.

"I'm stuck," she cried. "You'll have to give me a push, Monty."

Monty put his hands on the lycra-clad cheeks of her round bottom and pushed. Rosemary moved through the passage and Monty's cock stiffened in his pants. That was going to make it harder for him to follow her through the tight space.

Thinking quickly Monty tied a length of rope around himself to keep his boner from becoming snagged on a rock. Then he stuck his head into the hole, worrying that, if he were not quick, the wolves might eat his legs.

Rosemary and Terence grabbed his arms and pulled him swiftly into the cave. The space was lit by Terence's powerful flashlight.

"So we'll wait for you here," said Rosemary. "Don't be long."

"Cowards," cursed Terence, tying a rope about his waist and then affixing the other end to a stalagmite.  "I told you I know what I'm doing. You'd be just as safe coming with me." Then he climbed over the edge and began making his way, hand over hand, down the side of the pit.

It was only two minutes later that the stalagmite broke, the rope snaked rapidly down the hole and Terence's girlish scream gradually faded away as he plummeted into the abyss.

"Fuck," cried Rosemary. "Now I suppose we'll have to try to rescue him."

"How are we going to do that?" asked Monty.

"You hold the end of my rope," Rosemary instructed. "I'll lower myself down."

All was going well until Rosemary reached the bottom of the pit and found that it opened into a giant cavern. Monty was able to hold her weight as long as it was lessened by her feet being propped against the side of the pit, but once she dropped into open air, he could no longer keep his balance and he fell head long down the hole.

Rosemary landed first and a short while later Monty came down on top of her. They landed on something soft and spongy. Terence's flashlight loomed up out of the dark to show them that they were sitting on the top of a giant mushroom.

"Spot of luck, hey!" exclaimed Terence, cheerfully.

"I don't know why you're so chipper," replied Rosemary angrily. "How are we supposed to get out? We'll die down here."

"We came for an adventure," he retorted. "And now we've got one. We'll find a way out. The old man mentioned mine shafts. Mine shafts often have ladders."

"I hope you're right," put in Monty nervously.

There were many passages leading out of the great cavern. They picked the one with the biggest entrance and followed it, Terence leading the way with his flashlight. Gradually the walls closed in around them until they could go no further.

"Dead end," pronounced Terence.

They turned around and went back.

Terence examined the openings of the other passages. One, which was very narrow, opened out after a few metres.

"We'll try this one," he said. And so they squeezed in after him.

For several hours they crawled through the tight space, the cold damp stone pressing in all around them. Then, finally, it opened out into another cave.

Terence scanned the area with his flashlight. Rosemary and Monty screamed at what they saw.

There, laid out carefully on the stone floor, were four skeletons.

"These must be the ones the innkeeper was talking about," cried Monty.

"But there were eight of them," pointed out Rosemary.

"The rest must be somewhere else," said Terence.

"Unless they are still alive," suggested a quaking Rosemary.

"Hogwash!" Terence exclaimed. "No-one could survive down here for three years."

Monty felt a tingle run down his spine and he looked nervously behind him.

Since this was another dead end, they made their way back to the large cavern and decided to eat some of their sandwiches and try to get some sleep.

Monty lay down on top of one of the giant mushrooms, with a flashlight beside him, and tried to sleep. But he was too anxious. Sleep wouldn't come. He could tell that Terence was not having the same problem because he could hear him snoring loudly.

Sleep did eventually wash over Monty, but he was awoken a couple of hours later by a blood-curdling scream. He grabbed his flashlight and flicked the switch. The beam of light shot up the pit down which they had fallen. He quickly scanned it around the walls of the cavern and was just in time to see Terence's horrified face disappearing down the passage they had last explored. He was being dragged feet first by someone or something.

Monty could sense something moving on the other side of cavern. He whipped the flashlight around and what he saw in its beam seriously creeped him out.

A skinny pale figure with tangled hair was watching him with big green eyes. It was a woman, a naked woman. At least, he could tell that it had once been a woman. Now it was something bestial. She had a face of haunting beauty, with eyes like glittering emeralds, but her mouth formed an idiot grin and she was drooling. As Monty moved the beam of the flashlight down her body he discover that she was crouched over a small, rather phallic, stalagmite and sliding her juicy cunt up and down its length.

"Rosemary," he cried. "I think we're fucked now."

But Rosemary was gone. He was alone with the creature.

She licked her lips and played with the stiff nipples on her nearly flat chest. And then she spoke.

"Precious want to fuck?" she hissed.

"Nothing personal," stammered Monty. "Must decline. Engaged you know."

"Precious gonna fuck," insisted the creature with an evil smile as she crawled on hands and knees across the cave floor.

"My God!" exclaimed Monty. "Is that the time? Must be off." But there was nowhere to go.

She leapt up onto his mushroom like a hairless monkey and the next thing he knew his clothes were being shredded by sharp teeth and long fingernails.

"Precious has cock," she hissed. "Sharon like cock."

Sharon, thought Monty. That was the name of one of the four women who went missing. So it was true. Not all of the eight were dead.

Monty was scared. He was scared stiff. All of his resolve flowed straight to his cock while the rest of him went limp.

Sharon's clit stood out prominently from between the hairless-lips of her pussy. She moaned as she rubbed it up and down the length of Monty's stiffness and dribbled pussy juice all over it. Once she had enjoyed this appetiser she applied herself to the main meal. She wrapped her bony hand around his throbbing cock and impaled herself on it. It was cold deep down there beneath the earth, but the inside of Sharon's cunt was as hot as a furnace.

"Precious has a nice hard cock," she hissed. "Long time no fuck. Pussy-licking not as good as fucking Precious."

Monty's brain ticked over. No cock. So the men had not survived. And she hadn't been licking her own pussy. So at least one of the other women had. But what had turned a normal woman into this thing?

Sharon had thrown her head back as she bounced up and down on his cock. She was pinching her nipples. Monty was surprised that, though she was quite skinny, her bottom as it sat down repeatedly on his thighs, was soft rather than bony. She might have been monstrous and sub-human but she was a hot little number all the same.

It didn't take her long to cum. A couple of minutes of rutting and she squirted a litre of pussy juice all over his cock and balls. But that didn't stop her. She just kept going. She went straight into another orgasm and another and another.

"Sharon's cunt love Precious," she hissed.

But Monty's stamina was not so great. After she had her tenth orgasm he couldn't hold back any longer and he jizzed in her juicy hole.

"Want more, Precious," she hissed, grabbing his floppy jissom-coated prick and slapping it back and forth.

"I'm all in," panted Monty.

"Want more!" insisted Sharon, anger possessing her features.

Monty improvised. He grabbed her, threw her down on his mushroom bed, and began wanking her off with three fingers.

"Want cock!" she insisted, petulantly, but she didn't put up any resistance.

"What made you like this?" asked Monty.

"Mushrooms," smiled Sharon. "Mushrooms delicious."

"You ate the mushrooms and they changed you?" asked Monty.

"Girls eat mushrooms. Guys see what mushrooms do to girls. Guys no eat mushrooms. Girls fuck guys. Guys die. Stupid guys," she explained.

"You fucked them to death?" cried Monty.

"Precious be smart," she hissed. "Precious eat mushrooms."

"Where are my companions?" he asked, as she quivered and squirmed and squirted over and over again, drenching his fingers in her hot juice.

"Don't know," she replied.

At that point another creature appeared from the passage into which Terence had disappeared. Another was behind her and as she emerged she dragged Terence's corpse behind her.

"He broke," the creature hissed sadly.

"Oh, my God!" cried Monty.

Then, out of another passage emerged the fourth creature, dragging Rosemary. Rosemary was stark naked and tied up with her own climbing ropes.

"Help me, Monty!" she cried. "She tied me up and did lesbian things to me!"

"Let her go!" Monty insisted to the three creatures as they squatted around the cavern drooling and masturbating and staring at him hungrily. "Fuck me to death if you must, but let the woman I love go free!"

"The woman you love?" queried Rosemary.

"I can hide it no longer," Monty insisted. "Though you loved another, my heart was ever yours."

"Just don't let them lick my hoo-hah any more," Rosemary pleaded.

"Eat mushroom!" ordered Sharon.

So Monty tore off a big piece from the side of the fungus on which he had been fornicating and shoved it into his mouth. It actually tasted surprisingly good.

Once he had swallowed it, Monty began to feel strange. An energy suffused his body, an over-whelming feeling of bliss possessed his mind and his cock got as hard as an iron bar.

"Coooooooorrrrrrrrrrr!" he groaned. "Precious want pussy."

He grabbed Sharon, flipped her over and started pounding her hard doggy-style, while pawing lustily at her tiny tits.

"Oh, Precious!" hissed Sharon.

Monty came hard, squirting quarts of cock-juice into the carnal cave-dweller's cunt. But his dick was still hard.

What was left of his mind wondered about freeing Rosemary. He hopped off the mushroom and crawled over to her.

I'd better untie these ropes, he thought. They probably hurt as they rub against her stiff pink nipples and push into the soft white flesh of her heavenly boobs. The way the rope rubs through the crack of her arse, right between the saucy cheeks of her spankable bum, chafing against her cute little wrinkled butt-hole and sliding roughly between the succulent lips of her cunt, must be uncomfortable, he reasoned. God he wanted to fuck her!

"What are you doing!?!" she screamed as he rubbed his cum-slippery hard cock all over her thigh. But there was nothing she could do. She was defenceless.

Monty crawled back over to the mushroom and grabbed another handful.

"Precious wants to fuck Rosemary," he hissed.

"You said you were going to let me go," she insisted, looking at him with pleading frightened eyes.

"Precious changed mind," he shrugged, pushing the handful of mushroom into her mouth.

Reluctantly she swallowed. Then he began untying her bonds. As he did, a profound change came over her.

When she was free, Rosemary smiled a big goofy smile, lay back, spread her legs and began happily wanking.

"Rosemary's a slut," she giggled. "Rosemary's always been a slut."

"Always?" queried Monty.

"Always," she insisted. "But now that I'm in the cave, I'm out of the closet." She pushed her left boob to her face and began happily sucking on the nipple.

"Precious wants his cock sucked," hissed Monty.

"Oh, Precious," Rosemary hissed back, crawling over to him and licking her soft wet tongue up the length of his rigid rod.

"One of us! One of us!" chanted the other girls. Monty thought of them as girls now, rather than as creatures. They all came in close for a group hug and grope and lick and fondle.

Monty realised that returning to the surface would be impossible now. The mushroom could sustain them, but it was addictive, he could tell. Controlling their sexuality was an impossibility now. He couldn't walk around with a permanent erection unable to keep himself from fondling and trying to fuck every woman in sight.

He knew that he would live out his life underground, but as he felt a sexy tongue licking his balls and another probing his butt-hole and felt wet pussies squirting their juices all over his body as they told him how much they loved "their Precious", he decided that he had no choice but to cave in to their demands and make the most of it.

The End

The Sex Signal : Fuck Me Friday

What day is it I hear you ask? It's Fuck Me Friday! Time to listen to another one of the Scribbler's filthy stories. That is if you can listen with your eyes. If you can't, maybe you'd better read it instead.

Make sure to check out Aisling Weaver's site to read the other contributions and let the writers know how much you love them with a little feedback.

The Sex Signal

It was 5.26 PM on a Friday afternoon. The location was a packed commuter bus in a major city.

The girl was a university student. She was short but shapely with frizzy red hair and glasses. She was wearing a cream cardigan stretched tightly over her full bosom. Her loose navy skirt didn't quite come down to her pale and freckled knees. She was leafing through a magazine and nodding her head gently in time to the beat of the music she was listening to on her I-Pod.

The man, who was sitting in the seat next to her, was a business man in his forties. He was quite good-looking but with the air of dullness that comes from an up-tight all-business personality. He was reading The Financial Times.

The first sign that something was wrong was that the girl started to play with the hem of her skirt, pulling it up and down her thigh in a way that intermittently uncovered a little more thigh flesh than was quite proper during rush hour on a bus.

The businessman tried to concentrate on his paper, but he was only human and his eyes kept drifting back to the girl's pale freckled thigh.

She pulled the earphone out of her right ear - the one next to the businessman - and turned to look at him. When he met her eye she smiled sweetly. She left the other earphone in place.

The news magazine she'd been flicking through was open to a picture of the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton.

"I don't believe in the monarchy," she said casually to the businessman, "but I'd suck his cock."

"I beg your pardon?" stammered the businessman, unable to believe his ears.

"I'd take it all the way to the back of my throat," she explained. "I can practically feel his throbbing cock veins against my tongue now."

"Are you on some kind of medication?" asked the nervous man.

"No," repled the girl simply, as she lifted her skirt around her waist and stuck her hand down inside her visibly damp pink cotton panties.

"Well, you should be," he told her.

By now some of the people in surrounding seats were beginning to notice that she was behaving strangely. Mostly they tried to ignore it. It was better not to get involved.

"God, I love having a long slow wank," she sighed. "Of course I'm a total perv. It's a wonder I get any studying done when there is so much awesome porn on the internet to jill off to. What about you? Ever wank off to internet porn? I bet you're into dominatrixes. You look the type. Why don't you pull your dick out? I can see that its stiff. We'll have a wanking contest. If you shoot your shot before I cum I'll lick it all up no matter where it lands."

"This is a public place," insisted the man, feeling his face burning red and the sweat pouring down into his shirt collar. "People are looking."

"I can't help it if they're uptight," she said, unbuttoning her cardigan and blouse and lifting her large pale breasts out of her bra so that she could play with her big pink nipples with one hand while continuing to wank with the other. "You have to have fun in this life and not be intimidated by blue noses."

"Just because someone is not a mentally deranged slut doesn't mean they're a blue nose," insisted a young woman sitting across the aisle. "Driver you need to ring the police. Or an ambulance. I don't know which, but there's a woman here who's going crazy and doing obscene things."

The driver pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the bus, and half the male passengers started craning their necks and trying to move forward.

"Keep back! Keep back!" cried the bus driver. "No need to panic."

The girl was now standing in the aisle, bent over with her skirt up and her bare ass in the air as she unzipped the business man's pants, wrenched them down and pulled his stiff cock out of his underwear.

"This isn't my doing!" insisted the businessman as she began sucking his cock. "I don't want this! But I'm a pacifist. I can't bring myself to fight back. Especially against a woman. Violence just wouldn't solve anything."

"I've rung the police," the driver informed him. "But I'm not trained for security matters. It's outside my job description to try to restrain deranged passengers. But, believe me, I'm watching everything that happens closely. I'll be able to describe it accurately in court."

This was not an isolated incident. All over the world people were losing their sexual inhibitions to a frightening degree. But not everyone. It depended on what they had been listening to.

*          *          *

Jennifer was bored with the party. She was chatting with Susan about cake recipes. Every so often she would look away while pretending to listen. She looked over at Michael. He was a bit of a spunk. A pity he was so dull. All he ever wanted to talk about was his car. Tony was getting a drink from the fridge. She could swear he totally checked out Tabitha's butt in those tight jeans as he walked past her, but he was pretty subtle about it. Maybe things would pick up a bit later once they'd all had a few more drinks.

But now she needed to extricate herself from her conversation with Susan and go have a pee.

As she pulled down her panties and sat down on the toilet she contemplated her situation in life. She had all the things she had hoped to have by this time in her life. She had a good job as a hospital receptionist. She was married to Tony, who was a decent enough guy. Although he was usually busy with work, he'd make time to spend with her, maybe a dinner out or a movie. Their two kids were doing all right at school. They weren't delinquents. They're grades were acceptable.

Enthusiasm though, that was what was missing. That passionate fire in the belly. And her sex life with Tony. It was enjoyable enough, but it wasn't all that exciting any more. She came when they had sex, but her heart didn't beat like it was going to burst out of her chest like it did back when they were teenagers. She supposed it was like that for everybody.

As she came out of the bathroom she wondered why Michael was looking in her direction. He quickly looked away as if he'd been doing something he shouldn't.

"Let's liven the music up a bit," suggested Graham, picking up the I-Pod that was plugged into the speaker system and selecting a different album. "Let's listen to the new Percy and the Parasites album."

Percy and the Parasites were a somewhat campy retro pop band whose output was silly but decidedly danceable. For the first few tracks everyone grooved along to the happy music. But when the speakers began to blast out a song called Panty Party something strange happened. This was the same track that was playing on the I-Pod of the girl on the bus just as she started playing with the hem of her dress.

Michael came over and sat next to Jennifer.

"That's a lovely dress your wearing," he said.

"It's not like you to compliment me on my clothes," Jennifer pointed out.

"What I'd really like to do is to compliment you on what's underneath them," he told her.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, with a nervous giggle.

"I bet you have a lovely pink pussy," he continued. "Do you shave it or leave it all nice and hairy."

"How would you like me to ask you how big your cock is? And whether you woke up with a rock hard boner this morning?" she responded, astounded at what was coming out of her own mouth.

"I've got a boner now, I can tell you that much," he told her, grabbing her hand and pushing it down onto the lump in the front of his trousers. "I think about you when I'm alone. I think about you and I masturbate. I stroke my stiff cock while I imagine you squatting down and pissing all over my body."

"What the fuck?!?" cried Jennifer. "I don't know if I want to piss on you. I'd rather feel your stiff prick in here." She lifted her dress and grabbed the damp crotch of her panties.

Michael unzipped his pants and pulled out his stiff cock.

"Oh, my God, Michael's got his cock out!" laughed his wife, Tabitha. "Well, if he's going to wank off in front of everyone, then I'm going to stick a zucchini up my ass!"

"And a lovely ass it is," said Tony, sinking to his knees and nuzzling his face into it, before licking up the seam that covered her arse crack.

"Look at me, everyone!" cried Graham, stripping off all of his clothes and waving his erection at the women. Then he sat down on the sofa and used his stiff cock as a catapult to shoot salted peanuts into his mouth.

"I'll give you a lap dance like you'd never believe, honey," purred Susan, coming up behind him and running her hands all over his hairy chest. "As long as you promise to grope my tits and ass and finger my cunt. And when I'm nude I'll give you a tug job until you spurt jizz all over my face."

"I want to see that!" cried Tabitha, who was now nude and slipping a zucchini lubricated with margarine into the tight embrace of her pink butt hole, while Tony watched and wanked.

"Look at her!" cried Jennifer, spreading her labia and displaying her wet hole. "She's my pink, wet pride and joy and she wants cocks and lots of them! I wonder how long it would take to get fucked by every guy in the world?" she wondered.

"Well you can start with me," Michael responded, sliding his achingly stiff member deep into her wet warmth.

And it went on like that. Graham spurted over Susan's face. Tabitha licked it up while Tony spread her cheeks and licked her asshole. And after Jennifer and Michael had finished fucking, Jennifer needed to pee again so she dragged Michael in with her to watch.

*          *          *

The alien diplomats were gathered in the Oval Office. The leader looked at the President of the United States through a set of four large glossy black eyes and fidgeted with one of his sixteen pairs of tentacles while fanning the rest out in a gesture intended to indicate confidence and magnanimity.

"If you agree to all of our demands we will undo the brainwashing and allow you to go back to repressing your sexuality and living orderly, productive, structured lives," offered the leader.

"And we would want that why?" asked the President, who was groping the breasts of two of his nude secretaries, while fucking a hot blonde reporter and enjoying the sensation of having his wife slide her lubed fingers up his ass.

"We could possibly have planned this conquest attempt a little better," admitted the leader to one of his underlings.

The End

The Cat Who Shot the Cream : Fuck Me Friday

Fuck me! It's Friday already, and time for another of Aisling Weaver's Fuck Me Friday writing challenges. By now most of you know how it works and those who don't can read all the whys and how tos on her site. Today's prompt is #Cream. Make sure to check out the other entries from the links on Aisling's site.

The Cat Who Shot the Cream

"I can't give you any more for it," explained Gerard Steele to the figure lurking in the dark shadows of his large office. He puffed on his cigar sending clouds of smoke drifting through the cone of light that illuminated his desk. All he could see of his visitor was her amber eyes which burned in the darkness like glowing coals. "We get them hooked on the Cream and then we milk them for all that they've got. Your share stays the same - 25%. I take the risks. You're not really in a position to distribute."

"Not yet," Emma Blaine agreed. "But don't feel too complacent. My posse gets bigger every day."

"If you want to make some more money," Steele began thoughtfully, "there is another task that you and your posse are well positioned to perform."

"And what might that be?" she asked, her voice full of barely suppressed contempt.

"You know Professor Basingstoke?" he queried.

"Sure. Physicist. Most intelligent man in the word, if you believe the hype. I.Q. of 365," she informed him.

"Someone wants his spunk," explained Steele, tapping ash into an ashtray carved from the shell of a recently extinct species of tortoise.

"Breeding purposes, I presume," mused Blaine. "Of course there is no solid evidence that I.Q. is hereditary."

"I don't care about the rationality of my client's demands," Steele pointed out. "All I care about is their credit rating. This lady's loaded."

"The girls and I can do the job," she assured him. "What's our cut?"

"A cool million," declared Steele.

Now she was interested.

*          *          *

"Damn!" cursed Calvin Selfridge, as the bathroom window of the Alpha Sigma Sigma Sorority steamed up, obscuring his view of Rita Goodbody's soapy nude buttocks.

Image courtesy of Girls Out West

Perhaps he should have felt ashamed of himself. But he didn't. If something was his duty, did it make any difference that it was pleasant?

By day, Selfridge was the pride of the Delta Delta Tango Fraternity. Everyone believed that he lived for toga parties, keggers and the humiliation of pledges. But as soon as night fell he became Fratman, courageous curber of campus crime. And one of his principle duties was to watch over the sorority sisters, lest they fall under the seductive sway of his arch nemesis The Panther.

The Panther. Real name - Emma Blaine. In 1966 she'd been a student at Blake College herself. This was the age of government-sanctioned psychedelic drug research. Blaine was the first and only individual to ever ingest a particularly powerful form of LSD known as Black Moonlight. It sent her on a trip from which she had never returned. She came to believe that she was a wild beast stalking the urban jungle. But beyond that it caused a bizarre form of instantaneous genetic mutation. She was able to slow down the ageing process if she consumed a certain minimum dose of semen. Most significantly, however, the process of orgasm caused her to ejaculate large quantities of an addictive drug. It's scientific name was Purrroine. Street name : Cream. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. It could be taken orally, but most addict's took it intravenously. Psychologically it induced euphoria and a loss of sexual inhibitions. On men it also had a powerful physical effect, causing the testicles to swell up to the size of mangoes until such time as the individual ejaculated gallons of jism which would shoot out of the penis with all the force of a fire hose. Side-effects included dehydration and protein deficiency. It was a price that addicts were willing to pay.

Blaine only came out after dark. She wore a bodysuit of soft black velvet with cat's ears. It zipped up the back. There were eighteen holes in the suit - two each for her eyes, two each for her ears, one for her mouth, ten for her long claw-like fingernails, one each to bare her permanently erect nipples, and one to allow access to her cunt. When she stood, her jet black pubes disguised the fact that her genitals were open to the air, but when she crouched with feline grace the glistening wet pinkness of her pussy was on proud display.

Conventional wisdom was that the feline scourge of Scrotum City was insane. But, as Selfridge knew, insanity was a relative concept. There were even those who would consider an individual who took on a new identity at night, stalking villains while dressed in a turtleneck Fraternity jumper pulled up over his face with mouth and eye holes cut out, insane. What mattered wasn't intentions, but outcomes. And the outcome with The Panther was the efficient accumulation of wealth through the enslavement of men to a testicle-swelling addictive substance. She wasn't some old woman rambling on at the bus stop about the United Nations being infiltrate by lizard creatures from Alpha Centauri. Labelling her as insane was just not helpful.

Selfridge took up a new position outside the window of the sorority's main dormitory. These girls were shameless. Patty Cake was sitting cross-legged at a computer screen. She was wearing a see-through nightie and no panties. She was looking at a picture of a rather handsome nude man with a large stiff cock. And she was masturbating.

"Barry Townsend's sent us another nude photo of himself," she informed the other four girls who were lazing on their beds in various states of undress, either watching television or reading. "I think it's about time we paid him back by sneaking him into our room and giving his lovely big cock a friendly sucking."

"I wonder if he'd like to bugger my bottom with his beautiful boner," mused red-headed Molly Ringworm, sitting down hard on her bright blue butt plug.

The Panther had been recruiting girls from the sorority for what she called her Pussy Posse. Selfridge could see how innocent and helpless the girls were, and this stiffened his resolve. His resolve wasn't the only thing that it stiffened though.

My mind must be alert, and my body ready to respond to any danger, Selfridge told himself, as he pulled down his pants and began stroking his hot hard cock. It was simply a matter of dealing with a physical liability and clearing his mind of distracting fantasies about Patty and Molly kissing each other wetly around his cock while he slid a lubricated finger right up into each of their assholes as the other two girls spanked his arse and accused him of assassinating President Kennedy. He groaned and squirmed, squeezing his fist hard around his prick as he played with his balls with his other hand.

"What's that?" asked Molly, looking over Patty's shoulder.

"Something seems to be happening on the security camera," she replied. "I'll zoom in."

"Jeez, not again!" exclaimed Molly. "It's Pratman spanking his monkey outside the window."

*          *          *

Professor Basingstoke was a dignified gentleman in his early fifties with a bushy head of grey hair and a Mark Twain moustache. He was sitting in his study smoking a pipe and leafing through the latest copy of Nude Scientist, a girlie magazine which only featured young women scientists. This month's centrefold was a 27 year old chemist who lay back with her lab coat open to reveal her generous pale breasts. Her pubic region was coyly concealed by a beaker full of copper sulphate.

Basingstoke was a leading expert in the field of quantum particle physics. It is well known that certain subatomic particles behave differently depending on how they are being observed. Basingstoke had deepened understanding of this phenomenon. He had discovered that these particles act nervous when being observed by Republicans. Now he was working on the theory that they held wild parties when nobody at all was observing them. Unfortunately, so far, he'd been unable to find a conclusive way to test this hypothesis.

Of course this work was familiar only to other academics, but he was known to the general public as the author of the humorous bestseller 101 Uses for Schrödinger's Cat.

"What's that?" he asked himself, looking up from Miss January's pert nipples, as a grappling iron clanked loudly over the metal railing of his balcony.

*          *          *

"Wank off to our porn site like everyone else, you cheapskate!" yelled the Alpha Sigma Sigma girls as they chased Selfridge across the campus. He'd pulled up his pants so that he could run, but his cock was still poking out of his fly bouncing around in the chilly night air. The girls were a warm-blooded lot and didn't seem to be too trouble by the fact that their asses and pussies were bare and their tits were falling out of their flimsy nighties.

Selfridge had a lucky escape when the college gridiron team jogged past on their way to the showers and greeted the girls with a chorus of wolf whistles.

"Want some company in the showers?" Patty asked. "After all those cocks aren't going to suck themselves."

The football players looked a bit nervous, especially when the girls stripped them of all of their clothes before they'd even reached the cover of the change rooms, but they knew they were in for a good time.

Image courtesy of Girls Out West

And Selfridge felt relieved. He could stop running.

But then he noticed some dark shapes moving around on one of the balconies of the staff living quarters. The Panther and her Pussy Posse. It could be noone else. He began to run once more, this time in the direction of that building's lift.

*          *          *

The windows crashed open and in strode a maleficent and magnificent figure. Her eyes spat fire and her body moved like a dark tide in its covering of inky velvet. This covering did nothing to hide the sway of her flesh. Her deep pink nipples stood out stiff with arousal through the holes cut in the cloth. And her sexual juices were flowing so freely that it looked as if she had just pissed down her leg.

"Get a whiff of your prey, girls," she purred to her companions. She was accompanied by five young women, who now dropped the long black cloaks which had provided them with camouflage as they slid through the night to reveal the skimpiest of leopard skin bikinis.

"What do you l-l-l-l-adies want?" Makepiece wanted to know.

"Just relax, honey," The Panther suggested soothingly. "Think of yourself as a cow, and these charming ladies as milk maids."

"A c-c-c-cow?" stammered the professor. "What kind of bull is this?"

"Yes, you're right," she smiled, reaching out and stroking the crotch of his pants, "you are a bull, aren't you? You are a one man sperm bank and we are about to make a withdrawal. Get him girls!"

"I'll take his left leg!" said Duchess.

"I'll take the right!" said Marie.

"His right arm will be my responsibility," said Frou-Frou.

"Let me take the left," said Abigail.

"And I," declared Amelia, "shall sit on his face."

"Not yet, Amelia," ordered The Panther. "For now your duty is to supervise the removal of his clothes."

The next thing the professor knew he was pinned to the floor and his shirt buttons were being undone. The girl's g-strings didn't do much to cover their pussies. In their horniness Frou-Frou and Abigail were rubbing the bare damp flesh of their aroused cunts against  the palms of his hands as they rested their virtually bare bottoms on his wrists.

"Just expose the relevant parts," insisted The Panther. "We don't have time to strip him completely.

Amelia pulled open his shirt and lifted the t-shirt beneath. Then she smiled wickedly and began licking his nipples.

"Duchess. Marie. You get his pants down," The Panther ordered.

The professor felt his pants being unzipped and pulled down, and then down came his underpants allowing his now rock hard cock to slap up against this belly.

Then a wet mouth engulfed his prick. He didn't know if it was Duchess's or Marie's.

At that moment the door burst open with a loud crunching sound. Fratman had kicked it open.

"Don't worry, Professor," he shouted. "Fratman has arrived just in the nick of time to rescue you!"

"That's very kind of you," said the professor. "But I don't think I'm going to need rescuing for the next few minutes. Perhaps give me ten minutes and then come back, hey?"

"You don't realise how dangerous these vermin are," insisted Fratman.

"Well," said the professor philosophically, "some dangers are best faced head on."

"So we meet again, my fine furry feline friend," declared Fratman, addressing the Panther.

"So now I'm your friend am I?" she wanted to know.

"Well, actually I meant that ironically," he qualified.

"Fuck off, Fratman!" she spat contemptuously.

"I can't allow you to rape this poor defenceless old man," Fratman insisted.

"It's only rape if I don't give my consent," pointed out the professor.

"Perhaps, Professor, you won't mind waiting while we take care of this ill-mannered interloper," The Panther suggested.

"Not at all," replied the professor. "Do what you must."

The girls grabbed Fratman and threw him to the ground. Amelia held his mouth open while The Panther squatted down over his face and began wanking. Frou-Frou and Abigail, who were holding down his arms, leant forward and began sucking on their mistress's stiff nipples.

"Oh, yeah-h-h," she moaned and her belly spasmed as a powerful stream of liquid shot out of her cunt, filling Fratman's mouth and splashing all over his face and hair and chest. It felt like he was being pissed on, but the clear liquid had a slightly creamy taste like coconut milk.

"Now, Fratman, we are more than friends. You have joined the brotherhood of those who have drunk my cunt juice!" she declared triumphantly.

Fratman felt a warm sensation spreading throughout his body. He noticed for the first time how stiff his cock was and he felt an overwhelming desire to lick the Pussy Posse all over. He wanted to stick his tongue up their noses and in their ears and lick out their assholes. He wanted to perform hours and hours of acupressure massage on their soft young bodies using only the head of his cock. He wanted to perform uninhibited nude dance routines for their grandmothers while they pleasured their own withered flesh. Permutations of polymorphous perversity pervaded every part of his being, and meanwhile his balls grew ever larger.

Meanwhile, the Panther and the Pussy Posse had returned their attentions to the professor. He was drinking down the Cream shooting out of the Panther's pussy like a man who'd just spent a week in the desert. And the girls were taking turns sucking and wanking his cock. And, like Fratman, he now had prodigiously large balls.

"Grab the bucket!" cried The Panther, and soon Frou-Frou was pointing the professor's cock into the receptacle as it erupted in a torrent of thick juicy jism. Soon the bucket was full to overflowing, and the professor was lying back on the floor exhausted and pale.

Through his erotic haze, Fratman realised he had to act quickly if he were going to do his duty as a superhero. He jumped up and started to run towards The Panther and her cohorts. But it isn't easy to run with balls the size of mangos. And it is very painful when the attempt causes you to fall over and land on those massive balls.

"Fuck!" cried Fratman. "That smarts."

Then he had an idea. He started to masturbate. He grabbed his stiff cock and began stroking forcefully.

The girls put the professor to bed and redonned their cloaks. Then they and The Panther turned toward the window.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" moaned Fratman as he came, shooting a massive slick of cum all over the study floor.

"Woah!" cried The Panther as she slipped in all the cum.

"Woah!" cried the Pussy Posse as they did likewise.

Trying to right themselves they leaned towards the open window, their feet pedalling but finding no steady purchase. And so it was that they slid out onto the balcony and fell over the railing, plummeting to the ground below.

The girls all ended up in hospital. Once mended they would all take up residence in The Big House.

The next day Fratman read the headlines in the Scrotum City Herald. They read :

WANKER ACCIDENTALLY HELPS POLICE IN ARREST OF THE PANTHER.