The Big Trickbykromen©
Malcolm tried to open his eyes, they felt like ten pound weights were hanging from each lid. His tongue felt swollen, stuck to the roof of his mouth. He would kill for a drink, let a homeless man piss in his mouth for moisture. The dense pounding in his head was worse than any hangover he ever had. He had no idea how long he had been out, it felt like hours.
After great struggle, he was able to crack open one eyelid to take in his surroundings. He was in a windowless room with a hard-packed dirt floor, lashed to a bondage rack, clad in nothing but his French cut briefs. They were his date underwear.
The last thing he could remember was pulling up to Shay's dorm, ready to put another notch in his belt. He got out his car and set the remote alarm on his car when things went black. He could barely turned his neck to the left or the right so he fought to open his other eye. He blinked a couple of times and tried to adjust to the dark.
He heard a click to his left and saw the wall slide inwards. Three figures entered the room, single file, cloaked in dark robes.
"What the fuck?" He rasped, trying to force his tongue to move. None of the three replied, separating to opposites corners of the room. The tallest one stood next to a large table, covered in a white sheet. The second went to the adjacent wall, hitting a switch, flooding the room with harsh lighting, making Malcolm shut his eye to mask the pain.
The last figure approached Malcolm, standing directly in front of him. It was holding a riding crop in gloved hands, which it tapped lightly. The tender pop of leather on leather made Malcolm very nervous. He tried to to move away as it approached, but the straps that bonded him to the smooth wood held firm.
The figure dropped the crop to the side and removed the hood. Malcolm's eyes widened, a sheet of cold sweat washing over him.
It was three weeks ago, a crisp October night in Atlanta. A light wind blew through the campus, carrying the faints sounds of lovemaking throughout the air to mix with the rest of the evening din. The source of the sound came from a second story window of the Pi Theta sorority house. Upon closer examination, the sound was not lovemaking, but frenzied fucking. Inside, a young coed was crushed deep into her mattress, neck shoved upon her headboard and limbs akimbo. On top of her was a muscular man, pounding his pelvis as deep as he could go; one hand pressed tightly against her breast, the other gripping her calf and pushing it back as far as it could go till her toes were touching the wall overhead.
"Shit, Malcolm," squealed the coed. "Lay up a minute."
"Shut the fuck up, I'm almost there."
Malcolm kept up his rigorous sexual workout, bed frame groaning under the strain. The cooling wind from the open window did nothing to dissipate the stream of sweat running off of him. He shook his head to keep it out of his eyes, grunted in time with the banging headboard. The female moaned under the strain of her forced contortions and his rough grip, not to mention the stabbing pain from his hurried thrusts. Just as the twinge in her thigh marked the beginning of a cramp, he released his grip and pulled out.
She felt the relief of relaxed limbs before she was barraged with bullets of cum, splattering her face and hair. Malcolm groaned as he tugged the remaining seed out of his cock before collapsing on the bed next to her in a panting lump. Shock was quickly replaced by anger as hot semen dripped off her nose, trailed across her lips.
"Motherfucking Asshole!" She disengaged herself from the tangled sheets and jetted across the room to the bathroom she shared with her absent roommate.
Malcolm chuckled, wagging his softening cock back and forth with his hand before wiping the sticky juices clean with her bedsheets, a mix of sweat, blood from a torn hymen, and moistened vagina staining the cotton. Rolling off the bed, he began to get dressed. The deed was done; another notch in his sex belt marked with pride. He looked around for his lucky drawers, a pair of black French cut briefs that he wore the first time he broke his cherry on the head cheerleader back in prep school. He was fastening the buckle on his belt when the door to the bathroom opened. His date came out, fastening her robe, a towel wrapped around her hair. She stared daggers at him, but he just smiled.
"If I wanted to be fucked by a horse, I would have stayed on the carriage ride." She glowered at his casual demeanor. This wasn't the same man that surprised her with flowers in class, left love notes on her car, and treated her to a night on the town less than two hours ago.
"Shit, Latisha" drawled Malcolm. "I didn't know you sorority chicks were into that sort of thing. Maybe next time, you freak." He laughed, stroking himself nonchalantly through his pants before buttoning his shirt.
"Ah, we just did that." He slipped into his loafers and sidled around her to make his getaway. Latisha could only glare as he opened the door to her room and left without another glance. She was steaming, mostly pissed at herself for being duped by his suave repertoire. It wasn't the first time he pulled this stunt, but she refused to believe the rumors around campus. After locking the door behind her, she stripped the soiled sheets off the bed.
The roar of a Mazda 3 in the driveway announced his departure. She scooped up the bottle of perfume that he brought for her and ran to the window, chucking it at the departing import. The glass shattered on the gravel, missing his car completely. Malcolm beeped the horn, waving bye as he spent down the driveway.
Latisha slammed the window and returned to the bed. She picked up her cellphone and punched in the numbers. After a couple of rings, someone picked up the line.
"Hey girl, I fucked up bad."
She related the story to the person on the phone, hot tears began to spill down her face. She listened intently for a minute, a sneer slowly replacing the scowl. By the end of the conversation, she was grinning, evil in intent.
"That's why you're my girl," Latisha laughed. "I'll tell the others and get back with you."
Later that night, three members of Pi Theta gathered in the basement of the sorority house. There was Latisha, a bronze skinned beauty that rivaled Beyonce with the exception of much larger breasts; Malcolm's latest victim. In the overstuffed chair, still dressed in her party clothes, sat Chloe. Her line name was Glamazon, for her large frame and muscular build. She was the only girl on the collegiate wrestling team but had the looks to land her a small modeling contract during semester breaks.
The last girl standing by the bar, hair pulled back in a ponytail, tugging at her rumbled pajamas while she mixed a drink was Tracy. Her rimless glasses pushed back on her head as she mixed herself a late night cocktail, she was the most plain of the trio. Spent more time in front of the books instead of the mirror, but had a hidden beauty that few ever saw.
"Thanks for meeting me," said Latisha, fidgeting like her bladder was full.
"The club was dead anyway." Chloe crossed her long legs, picking at a strand of thread on her dress.
"Couldn't it wait till breakfast?" Tracy slurped the overflow from the highball glass before adding a couple of maraschino cherries.
"Time is of the essence on this one." She didn't know how to drop the hammer on her sisters; they would freak out when they find out what occurred only a few hours ago.
"I guess I should explain. Tonight..." She was interrupted by a tapping on the basement door. Everybody looked in the direction of the knocking, counting the taps to indicate the secret signal. After the seventh tap, followed by two long knocks. Latisha strode over to open the door. In bounded a thin man, dressed in purple slacks and matching sport jacket with a scarf wrapped around his neck almost trailing to the floor.
"Hey Babies," squealed the flamboyant guest, doing a pirouette to show off his wardrobe.
"Juicy!" the girls shouted in glee. Juicy was their unofficial sorority sister. The gay male loved the Pi Thetas, but pledging was out of the question. He was always over to the house, cooking scrumptious meals, dishing the dirt on fellow coeds, and using them for models when he designed his over the top fashion designs.
After a minute of hugging and pleasantry, they got down to business. Latisha repeated the events that she relayed to Juicy earlier. Chloe uncrossed her legs and stood up. She strode over to Latisha, towering over her by a couple of inches.
"What did I tell you about Malcolm?" She hissed through the teeth. "You get the highest grades every semester, but you're too stupid to stay away from the son of a bitch?"
"Not you," chimed in Tracy slamming down her drink. "I thought he was never to darken this threshold again."
Juicy stepped between Latisha and Chloe, putting a reassuring hand on their shoulders. "Now, babies. Whats done is done, but I have a plan to end this once and for all.
The one thing that everybody in the room had in common was humiliation at the hands of Malcolm. Tracy was swayed by the only guy that would talk to her Freshman year. She never wore make-up, dressed down, kept to herself. Malcolm was nice to her, always walking her from Biology. They dated for a brief period, going to a movie or studying at night.
When she gave herself to him the last night of the term, he became a beast. He fucked her on the cold metal bleachers of the football stadium, leaving his signature all over her new red blouse, and then refused to give her a ride back across campus. She walked home in a cum-stiffened top; his mark visible to all parties hanging out in front of the dorm. He stopped taking her phone calls, pretending she didn't exist. She couldn't do anything from legal standpoint because the sex was consensual and there is no crime in being an asshole.
Juicy, who use to go by David, a quiet boy on the third floor of the freshman door, became a web sensation overnight due to a snooping Malcolm and his new camera phone. A naled rendition of Dreamgirls in the dorm shower made him the laughing stock of the third floor, confirming what everyone speculated. A public outing on campus that reached his small hometown, resulted in the abolishment of his full scholarship from his family's church, made Juicy wish for the day that Malcolm got his due.
Chloe didn't fall for the charms of Malcolm; her younger sister did. A fraternity party was the scene of the crime, but over 50 independent witnesses saying it was a consensual event. Once again, Malcolm skirted trouble and Chloe sister left school shamed. The other thing the quartet had in common was revenge.
Juicy licked his lips. "What does he have that get you girls all hot in the vajayjay?" His eyes cast a far away look. "I'd like to see for myself, I deserve that much at least."
Chloe shoved him on the shoulder. "Stop getting hot and bothered. What are we going to do about this menace?"
"Bring me a Cosmo and gather round, children." Clapping his hands together and placed himself in the chair that was vacated by Chloe, he unwrapped his extra long scarf and got comfortable. Tracy mixed a fresh drink for her companion and the rest pulled some chairs together to listen to him hatch his scheme. Three hours later as the sun began to rise, the house above them began to stir with life. Juicy took his leave the same way his came and the female trio retired to their rooms with revenge cooling on the brain.
** Malcolm was having one of his narcissistic episodes. He stood in front the mirror after having gotten out the shower, dripping water on the tile floor, towel hung limply by his side. He couldn't help grinning as he admired his bowflex shaped abs, flawless cocoa skin tone, and movie star looks. He wiped away a bead of water from his brow, smoothing a hand over his trimmed goatee, staring as if seeing himself for the first time.
He dropped the towel from his left hand and picked up his flaccid cock. He hefted it, studying it like it was fresh picked produce. In it's limp state, it was something to admire. Almost nine inches with an impressive girth of porn star caliber, tapered with a bulbous head.
He knew he had something special when he exposed himself during a gym class back in prep school. The looks and gasps from his classmates solidified what he assumed; he wielded the Excalibur of cocks. He's never disappointed when those black briefs were peeled down. He would hear the gulp of breath, see the widened eyes, the unconscious swallow of trepidation; he knew right then and there that she would be ruined for others. He was taught in the art of "laying the bone" by his favorite uncle.
"You gotta show those bitches what you're made of," his mentor would school him between gulps of scotch and drags of menthol. "They scream cuz they can't believe their luck."
He made it a rule to only deal with virgin flesh. He dealt with a minor bout of the clap back in his rookie days, vowed never to play with used pussy after that. He kept that promise, hunting down only the unexperienced and naive during his quests. He hated using condoms, they hindered the sensation. He only had three accidents so far, but as long as his father's checkbook was fat, he didn't worry about bastard children.
"They love it." Malcolm thought as he began to apply moisturizer to his chest and arms. He squirted out an extra dollop before painstakingly applying the white cream to his member. He felt himself harden and willed it away.
"Down, boy," He chuckled. "Why waste a good thing?"
A banging on the door interrupted his vanity session. It was one his countless fraternity brothers begging to unload some greasy leftovers and beer. He quickly finished before wrapping the towel around his waist and opening the door. Letting his brother in, he whistled a tune as he sauntered down the hall towards his room.
His Blackberry hummed on the nightstand as he closed the door. He read the name on the faceplate; Shay. She was ranked pretty high of his soon to be conquest, a runners body with a pair of tits that screamed for release from those colorful sports bras she wore around the gym. He let it go to voice mail, wiping the excess moisture from his face and got ready for bed. No need to gorge, he had the rest of the semester to satiate his sexual quota.
Three weeks later, Malcolm was putting the final touches on his appearance before preparing for battle. He decided that Shay was ripe enough for his glorious dicking, plus he noticed the starting quarterback with an open nose, hanging outside her dorm. Shaking out the collar of his coat, he left the house and strolled to his ride with a spring in his step and an itching in his groin. He maneuvered his four-wheeled chariot carefully through campus, the Halloween festivities in full swing. Some of the Houses sponsored a trick or treat for younger children from low income neighborhood; the streets teeming with youngsters dressed in all manners of costume. What would have normally took about five minutes, took twenty. Malcolm got antsy as he got caught at just about every crosswalk.
Finally, he pulled up to the Shay's dorm. Parking was ridiculous and he was forced to go to the back to find a spot. Getting out of the car, he popped an Altoid and check his image for the umpteenth time. Right as he was standing up, he felt a crushing weight against the nape of his neck and everything went black.
When he came to, he was in the earthen dungeon, staring in horror at a glowering Latisha. To her right stood Tracy, a black medical bag clutched in her hands. Chloe stood on the left, wielding a Barry Bonds edition ash bat, next to the table covered with a white sheet.
"Oh No?" quipped Latisha. "What, you expected someone else?" She took the riding crop and traced a circle around his nipple, tapping lightly on it to make it rise. "How many women have you fucked and left in the exhaust of your pussy mobile."
"Hey, whatever misunderstanding we had.." he searched for the words to make things right, but couldn't get his brain to function.
"Boo, what we had," Latisha moved closer, drawing the crop across his dry lips. "Was no misunderstanding."
She turned to a cloaked Tracy, clicking her fingers to snap her out of a daydream. Tracy fumbled with the bag, setting it on the floor and rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for. Producing a hypodermic needle, alcohol swab, and a brown vial, she approached Malcolm who began to struggle even more.
The door slid open again and another person scurried into the room.
"I know you aren't starting without me," lisped the hooded figure.
"No, ma'am," replied Tracy. "Just prepping the patient." "Patient?" Malcolm jerked around but the bonds held firm. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Tracy didn't answer him, instead slapped on his forearm, looking for a vein.
"Shouldn't you tie him off first?" asked Latisha.
"Oh shit." Tracy reached under her robe and pulled out some surgical tubing, handing it to her cohort who quickly wrapped it around his elbow.
Quickly, a vein popped up and Tracy continued, injecting the syringe in the bottle, drawing a small amount. She wiped his arm with the swab and before he could protest jabbed the amber liquid into his vein.
Malcolm moaned, not from the pain, but from the apprehension of what would happen. He didn't know if he was poisoned, drugged, or both, but the increasing warmth in his arm scared the daylights out of him, his black underwear soaking with his own urine.
Tracy pulled out a tape recorder and a stethoscope. As she measured his heartbeat, she began to speak.
"10:15. Subjects heartbeat strong, pupils still normal." She turned to the rest of the group. "We have about five minutes."
"Perfect," said Chloe. "More than enough time to explain."
Malcolm eyes darted back and forth the room and the people surrounding him. Other than Latisha, none of the others revealed themselves, but it was obvious who they were. He sowed a multitude of flesh since arriving here, too many to remember, but he was about to reap, severely.
Latisha stepped forward again with the riding crop.
"Malcolm, you have a gift," she ran the leather fob over the outline of his groin. "But, you have no idea how to use it."
"Please." He begged before she shut him up with a smack on the mouth.
"In your famous words, 'Shut the fuck up, I'm almost there.'" She continued. "You, like to fuck. You enjoy it, as long as you can get your nuts off. You have no idea how many women you have hurt. While you may not have raped us, you did abuse us." She began tapping the crop against his thickening member. "You didn't just tear out our hymens, you took our hearts along with it."
Malcolm felt the warmth spread throughout his body, centering on his dick as if someone laced his groin with icy-hot. He began to squirm, pushing his pelvis away from the board.
"Oh my," drawled Juicy from the background. Everyone, including Malcolm followed the sound of his voice and then his masked stare to see what made him speak up. Five pairs of eyes looked down at Malcolm's crotch, the head of his cock protruding from the waistband of his briefs. There room fell silent except for the panicked breathing of their captor. Malcolm felt nothing but heat as he hardened before the room. He had no control over it, could only watch with the rest of room as he pushed father out from the constricting material.
Tracy checked her watch and breathed into the recorder. "10:19. Subject fully engorged. Automated gestures starting."
"What did you stick me with?"
"My thesis." Tracy began to explain. "It's a rouge compound that I've been testing out, sorta like Viagra, but a much bigger beast." She laughed. "To even compare it to the thrill pill is an insult."