Camille Gets the Creeps

Her hips rode him in rhythm, her pristine cheerleader body sheathing him, milking him, encouraging his decrepit body to find its place in hers. To slip deeper into her depths and change her, resizing her tightness to accommodate him. The slapping of their bodies filled the room, the slopping of his angry erection piercing her. The Delamare's only daughter spurred Wilbur on, pushing her tongue into his mouth and wrapping around his.

Fap! Fap! Fap! Fap! Fap! She knew it was the sound of her pussy being fucked, stretched apart, and destroyed, but she didn't care. Now he used her body for his masturbation. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and dug her nails into the paper-thin skin of his chest.

"Pound my pussy," she said, wiping away a curl stuck to her cheek. "Creep."

Her mind lingered to that morning, she'd been about to take her pill, but she'd texted a classmate about a test and... her stomach dropped. I definitely didn't take it. Of course this thought occurred with a cock buried in her, and another cumload packed into her womb.

"She's loving it, I can tell," Wilbur said between deep breaths. Sweat dripped down his nose and into neck folds that'd undoubtedly not seen soap in years.

Try as she might, she couldn't get the last half inside. Wilbur knew he'd only last so long with the beauty. Sure enough, when his calloused hands brushed her clit, she clenched her overstretched folds around him and bucked her hips forward.

"Oh fucking USE me, you slob, fucking CUM inside me!"

The next hundred seconds the two slammed their bodies together in frenzied fucking, Camille uncaring for the damage to her numbly pounded pussy and Wilbur savoring her wet, velvety grip and her bouncing tits she pushed into his waiting mouth.

"UGHHH YOU NASTY LITTLE SLUT, I'LL DO IT!"

"Do what?" she teased, slamming her cunt down on his cock.

"BLOW MY LOAD IN YOU! Turn you into - into a cum-filled slut!"

"You..."

She leaned back, her fingers reaching back to massage his balls. Her nails brushed his pulsing skin, firing nerves in his brain that twirled spots in his vision.

"...wouldn't..."

Through the sprinkling of purple dots, her proud bare breasts dripped with his saliva. He drank up her enviously flat stomach.

"...dare."

She cupped his balls, and it was enough for the old man.

"AGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH! Fuck me!" His soul left his body as he blasted every drop in his balls into the coed, his hips pushing her up into the air, their combined bodies grinding closer together. The entire fabric of his being twisted to gain deeper entry within her, her body clamping down on him and accepting the explosion of cum inside her.

"UGHHH!"

He groaned, her fingers still caressing his sack, his balls jerking upward in every attempt to unload more inside the cheerleader. Pale globs spewed into her, coating every bit of her womb, blasting into her warm, wet slit. The 74-year-old's face scrunched together - he'd had never cum so hard in his life.

For Camille, the view riled her stomach. The rutting slaps of Wilbur's hips against hers filled the house, until he wormed his fingers back onto her clit.

Her legs tensed, and her mind lost clarity, aware only of the throbbing stickiness between her legs and the sparks coming from his calloused hands. She grabbed his wrist, an involuntary shiver racking her body.

"Aaahhh, ahhh!" Her girlish moans ripped through 220 S. Garland's shattered side windows to harden the cock of Wilbur's next door neighbor.

"That's- oh - oh my god, yes - right, right there!" Wordlessly she bucked forward, grinding her hips against his twisted digits and descending into another realm.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming..."

Wilbur didn't let up, strumming her clit until she fell forward on his chest, her fragrant hair falling into his face. Her mind switched off.

"You probably want every big cock out there to use up your little pussy."

"I do. I do. I want them all. I need your big cock."

He snorted. "I KNEW you were a slut the first time I saw you."

Hot shame washed over her face, emanating to every corner of her body. A flushed and sweaty fog fell over her as the mixed load of the two creeps dribbled onto her the smooth skin of her legs.

"I'm - I'm a slut..."

"You're going to dangle that hot body in front of the wrong old man one day and pay the price."

The fog lifted. Sweat glistened on her lower back. Wilbur stared at her, admiring her lower back dimples and the graceful motion in which she stood, born from years of being an athlete. Candlelight bathed her skin in orange hues.

Camille slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders. Her nipples hinted through the fabric. Her mind returned after heaving breaths and stares into the mess below, at dented Campbell soup cans and creased copies of Bad Bitches.

There's no explanation for what I just did. For what I said.

Wilbur would've helped her up, but his eyes batted to stay open, his energy drained from their mating. She clenched her legs together, the stickiness of their combined cum threatening to leave a swath on the back of her dress.

Wilbur's coughing fit filled her ears as she hurried out. He waved a piece of paper, stabbing against its scribbled list.

"You fucked the poor boy, but it's high time you took him out for a date!"

She shivered at the thought.

~~~~~

The next day at her apartment she fended off Monica's repeated calls, instead cramming her nose into her biology textbook. She needed a distraction, anything, to make the events at 220 S. Garland disappear from the forefront of her mind.

Was it possible to erase memories? Or bruises? She eyed herself in the mirror, pulling up her running shorts to see a bluish dollop on her hip. Gazing down at her cute toes, bruises dotted her knees. No doubt from that creep fucking me doggystyle. I don't even know the names of all my lifetime sexual partners because of last night. Wait, he called the younger one Alfred. No - Alvin.

She sighed. "There's something seriously wrong with me." She traced the bruises with her nails. These have to be gone by next Monday's volleyball game. A little foundation and it'd be all good.

Her phone buzzed the tenth time that hour. I swear to God, Monica... They poured in, congratulations from the Student Alumni Association for being a Homecoming queen finalist and her ex-boyfriend begging to talk to her.

He'd completely slipped her mind. How much had he heard on the phone? She stopped flexing her calves. He's my ex - like anyone's going to believe him saying I had a devil's threesome. But the thought irked her. I should be happier. That morning she'd soaked in the tub and taken a shower that steamed the whole bathroom, its warm water pulsing against her naked body. What should've been relaxing eased into the thoughts she'd tried to avoid the whole night.

Why am I being careless taking the pill?

Putting myself into situations I 100% don't have to be in. ...Maybe I like... creeps touching me? Nothing would've happened if afro boy - Alvin - told Coach I talked shit about their shack. She rubbed her temple. If the dirty old man, whatever his name, didn't have a huge dick I wouldn't be in any of this mess.

She shook her head and couldn't stop herself. "That's the stupidest logic I've ever heard. He's like 80. He's not the only guy in Fayetteville with a big dick."

She'd seen the basketball players hungrily eyeing her, their shorts doing nothing to hide their size. When'd I become such a slut for dick size?

And... or acting slutty, period? Regardless of what I told him at the end when he'd made me cum, which doesn't count. Pillow talk... with your grandfather, basically.

She wound up back in the shower. She turned the nozzle up, hoping it'd wash away her problems. Her hair clung to her back as she squeezed her legs together.

And I only took him halfway inside. Her face flushed. She pulled a lock of hair from her eyes, which raised her breasts toward the showerhead. She imagined their two mouths suckling her, using her, how their tongues wrapped around and slipped against her nipples. How the older man's gums slurped her youthful flesh, the sickening wet sound soaking her pussy. The visual buckled her knees.

Who'd imagine how the potential future Homecoming queen behaved, offering her body to the lowest dredges of society, gifting her youth and beauty for the promise of her cunt filled? With cum streaming down her smooth thighs with hardly a care in the world. And with her arrogance of taking the pill less and less... without expecting any consequences. It was like I wanted to be knocked up. My tight body stolen from me before I can buy a drink from a bar.

Maybe her Hollywood eliteness was an illusion. If she'd been born on Garland Street in Fayetteville, Arkansas, she'd have lived a completely different life, constantly searching for bigger cocks and wrapping her fine legs around the backs of strange men.

But I'm already doing that now.

The question nagged her. What's his name?

A quick Google search of 220 S. Garland left her shaking her head. Wilbur Coffey. Oh my god. That's literally the oldest sounding name I've ever heard. Like a 1930s Depression era panhandler with suspenders and a straw hat.

"Shit, he may've been alive then," the cheerleader said to herself. The mental math of counting that far back taxed her brain, already frazzled by an upcoming bio test.

So I fucked Alvin and Wilbur. What a pair. She huffed. Time to do something about my predicament. Either call a therapist and explain out loud the things she'd done, or actively avoid the situations she'd fallen victim to. She pulled her phone to her ear.

"Hey Coach—mhmm... yeah, I'm all good. So I'm sorry, I can't do the food stops this week because of Homecoming... Uh huh, I did! Thank you! Like 47% of the vote, yeah... okay, talk to you later. Bye."

I'm going to be okay, she thought, her frown fading for the first time all day.

~~~~~

Wilbur had resisted the urge to yell all day. But enough was enough.

"You call that finding a job? Cut it out!" Alvin had run around his house all morning with one of the fallen pickets, waving it in the air like a sword. His shirt lay discarded in one of the hundreds of muddy holes out back, and the ginger's afro flopped in a pile of sweat atop his head.

The mailman tipped his blue cap and tossed the newspaper to Wilbur, who fumbled it along the hole gaping in the porch.

"What's he on?"

Wilbur sighed as he bent over. "Hell, if I knew I'd take it."

His head pulsed with a headache from sunup to sundown because of Alvin. The twenty-year-old sat still for hours, often unblinking, and Wilbur hadn't wanked off for longer than he could remember. He didn't see relief in the near future for his poor balls unless the mystery girl decided to show up or if Alvin left.

"Focus, boy," he said, holding up Alvin's scribbled list. "Horsing around ain't paying the bills or getting a gal."

"But I have a woman, Mr. Wilbur. I just don't know her name."

"Ha! Me neither. Now go on and turn the clothesline." Lord willing it'll keep him busy for two minutes.

Wilbur shuffled to the unbroken planks on the porch and flipped open the newspaper. He muttered the headlines.

"Little Rock Man Evades Manhunt." A gaunt man with hair curling over his glasses lay below the headline. "Criminals these days... what a dork!"

"Gas Prices Surge." The upended, cracked pavement of his driveway a few feet away bore a smudge of leaked motor oil. He dug into his hearing aid. It'd been fifteen - no, twenty years since he'd sold the family El Camino preparing for Y2K.

Just as he was about to toss the paper into the hole, a picture caught his eye.

"It can't be..." It was her, the girl who'd worked him and Alvin silly, draining both their balls in the night of rampant, sweaty fucking. The slut with BOTH of our cock snot inside her.

"University of Arkansas Homecoming King, Queen Finalists Announced."

His eyes skipped over the blurb about the Homecoming king finalists - three frat guys in collared shirts, to her picture.

Camille Delamare was announced as a finalist for U of A's Homecoming queen Friday. Delamare, a Los Angeles native and Razorbacks cheerleader, represents the Delta Zeta sorority.

"I'm just thrilled to be recognized with such an honor," the junior biology major said. "I'm incredibly humbled to be the first Delta Zeta homecoming queen finalist in three years."

According to student association staff, Delamare's percentage of the semifinal vote represented the highest total in university history. The student body voted for the finalists after the homecoming court was announced last week.

Delamare asked Razorback fans to attend tonight's volleyball game versus Missouri State. "We can always use your support, and our volleyball team deserves a rowdy atmosphere."

The final Homecoming vote will occur in person 9 P.M. Friday night at the Student Union.

Wilbur lingered on her smile. If only people knew what type of broad she really is!

He hawked a loogie onto the yellow papers in the hole, spit misting his belly.

"Sounds like I have a volleyball game to go to."

~~~~~

Bud Walton Arena's lights dimmed as the smattering of red-clad fans in the lower bowl raised their arms toward the ceiling. Those in the aisles hurried to their seats.

"Wooooo Pig Sooiee!" The rapturous calls echoed to the rafters, below the program's Final Four banners. The women's volleyball team bounced out of their locker room and gave high fives to fans leaning over the rails. Rap music blared, its bass thumping from the four-sided scoreboard above the court.

The Arkansas cheerleaders' white skirts twirled in motion as the volleyball game unfolded behind them. "Go Hogs!" they cheered, fluffing their white and red pom poms together.

Camille's hair stood out from the sea of blondes. She raised her pom-poms and stepped forward, a slit of her toned midriff showing to the crowd. Her calves flexed, and she moved on the baseline with an athletic ease born from years of training. In the line of coeds, each the jewel of mostly Arkansas or Texas cities, she knew she was the hottest.

At the first timeout, the cheer team spilled onto the floor and took their places. Male cheerleaders threw the girls upward with ease, grasping their shoes with both hands and guiding them to the floor in a singular motion.

The hair rose on her neck. She shuddered, even amongst her friends. The bright lights offered none of their usual warmth. A pair of washed-out sweatpants ambled down the stairs. The drawstring dragged along the steps, brushing fans in the face. Each step jostled his man boobs which hung outside his half-zipped jacket.

She squinted. Its shoulder patch, formerly white, was smudged with dirt. FPY? No, FPW. Fayetteville Port Workers? His eyes drifted down to the meat contoured to the man's thigh.

Fayetteville Pussy Wrecker? My god.

He's here.

In the bright lights of Walton Arena, he was far more hideous than she'd ever imagined. She'd reworked him into a rosy cheeked Santa figure in her revisionist memory. A mistake - yes, but an honest one... instead what waddled to his seat turned the cheerleader's stomach.

He whipped out binoculars and stared at the girls. He licked his lips as he peered through the lenses.

Please don't see me. The squad's dance motions synced, their pom-poms making clean red and white lines. Sweat collected on her brow. A drop traced down the curve of her lower back. I never sweat this much.

She gazed upward. She couldn't tell who he looked at.

At least he's not jerking off in public. He's just scratching his knee - what -NO way it's that long. No way in hell. But a part of her knew better. She knew better than anyone.

Her coach waved her over and handed her keys. "Cam! Get our chant signs, will ya? The crowd's not into the game tonight."

You have no idea.

The keys jangled the entire way to the women's locker room. She leaned against the wall next to her locker. She focused on her breathing. In and out. Just relax. As her deep breaths eased her anxiety and her pounding heart, a voice hissed at her.

"I need to talk to you!"

She turned. Two eyes peered at her through a ventilation grate, no more than five feet away. The silhouette was unmistakable. The old man... Wilbur.

How in the absolute HELL had he managed that!

He shrugged, as if he read her mind. "I don't wear this jacket for style."

She gazed around the locker room. It never felt so empty.

"I'll call the cops, you're fucking insane. You can't stalk me like this!"

"You think pigs could find me in here? HA! It'd be Where's Wilbur in here. Saw in the paper you're Homecoming queen."

She rose. "Learn to read."

"You'd be a perfect date for Alvin, you see, since you two are so familiar now." She shuddered and hurried past rows of lockers.

"No? Fine, I guess I'll just have to show your coach the video."

She froze. "Th- the what?"

"Don't worry, he won't be mad. You really went above and beyond feeding us." He smacked his lips. "I loved seeing what kind of broad you are. And getting my fill. 'Course Alvin had further ideas."

No... no... no... This can't be happening. She blushed crimson. Any moment Coach would burst in and spot her talking to the creep in the ventilation grate. The keys felt clammy in her grasp. Shit, the chant signs.

She put a hand on her hip. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He pressed a card sized screen to the grate, and she didn't budge. A digital camera? After a few fumbling attempts to press play, Wilbur cursed, finally hitting it. The sounds riled her stomach. A voice unmistakably her own screamed from the device.

"Oh fucking USE me, you slob, fucking CUM inside me!"

Her girlish moans and the slapping of skin confirmed the worst. Her ears turned bright pink.

My life's fucking over. I'm dead. There's no way out of this.

"Listen I didn't want to use this anymore than you want to see it. Frankly, I found it nasty the twerp filmed it... 'course, I haven't complained watching it."

Her breathing quickened, and she gazed back to the locker room entrance, emblazoned with the words 'Arkansas Razorbacks' in block letters. The lights felt brighter, the shouting and whistles and squeaks of the volleyball game only dragging on for so much longer before her coach scrambled in to find her talking to a creep of an old man. If he didn't stagger off like a rat in the darkness first. With that video and my life in his clutches.

His body odor wrinkled her nose. Did he roll in rotten cheese? She breathed deeply - through her mouth.

"That's the only copy?" Light from the screen illuminated Wilbur's glazed eyes and bat-like ears in the shaft. "What do you want?"

"Alvin won't leave until he gets a date, and with Homecoming coming up..."

She shook her head. "No, absolutely not. That's not happening." She twiddled a lock of hair in her fingers, wishing he'd just disappear. Just go away so she could return to her normal life and perform with the rest of the squad.

Come on, I'm not helpless here. He's just a dirty old man, like puddy in my hands.

Camille's perfume covered him in an aromatic cloud, a hint of fresh daisies he snorted in, his eyes dropping from the screen to the girl's hips. She eased up the bottom of her top, exposing more of her tanned midriff.