Claire and the Frat Boys

Claire probably shouldn't have gone to that frat party. But Sigma Tau was known for throwing good parties, with lots of alcohol and dancing, and as she began her junior year at Lehigh University she was relishing the sudden freedom of not having the pestiferous Sophie around as a permanent nanny or chaperone. It was one thing to be away from parents; it was another and much greater thing to be rid of a sister whose sole mission in life was to deprive her of some innocent fun.

So, yes, she had drunk too much—but that punch seemed so harmless (later she realized it had been laced with plenty of vodka) and so fruity! It was almost like liquid candy. Anyway, you needed something to wash down all the salty munchies that were laid out on tables all around the main room of the frat house. And, yes, there'd been lots of dancing—dirty and otherwise—with whoever was up to the task. And that had had its predictable effect on her.

As she sidled over on unsteady legs to Mark Boyer, the president of the fraternity, she languidly took him by the tie—he insisted on wearing a suit and tie to all parties—and said in his ear, "I think I need someone to cuddle with."

Mark looked down amiably at Claire. He had already enjoyed her a few times and wouldn't have minded another roll in the hay. But at the moment he was more or less involved with Betsy Adams, a big-breasted cheerleader who didn't look favorably upon any straying on his part. So he gave Claire a quick hug and said, "Look, sweetie, I'm otherwise occupied at the moment. How about Bill?"

He nodded in the direction of Bill Callaghan, a burly sophomore whose thirst for female flesh seemed insatiable. Incredibly, Claire had never sampled him, but as she now peered squint-eyed at him she liked what she saw.

"Okay, fine," she said with feigned indifference. "Tell him to come upstairs—I'm sure he knows where."

She sauntered up the stairs to what seemed to be an unoccupied room at the very end of a long hallway leading to the sleeping quarters of the guys who lived in the fraternity. It was pretty sparsely furnished—but its chief object, a king-size bed, was really all that was needed. For it was here that the frat boys led their squeezes when, for whatever reason, they couldn't arrange to have them stay in their own bedrooms.

As Claire entered the room, she weaved a little bit, having to steady herself with the help of a dresser along one wall that didn't seem to contain anything. Giggling and hiccuping, she clumsily doffed her clothes and tossed them over to a nearby easy chair.

It wasn't long before Bill came into the room. Feasting his eyes on the naked Claire, he actually licked his lips in anticipation. He had long heard of her prodigious exploits with other guys and wondered why he hadn't found his way into her body until now.

He had imbibed a fair amount at the party, but that didn't stop him from stripping in minutes and revealing an impressive erection, which he impudently thrust in Claire's direction. "Come and get it, dearie!" he said.

She had enough self-respect to roll her eyes before she fell to her knees and put his cock into her mouth. It tasted pretty good, and Bill's muscle-bound bottom also responded well to her hands as they squeezed his buns. Guys' butts really were awfully cute!

But Bill was impatient, and a few minutes of sucking was all the foreplay he wanted. Lifting her up by the armpits, he all but flung Claire to the bed. She landed in a heap on her back, legs splayed. The parting of her wet labia was all the encouragement Bill needed, and he jumped on top of her and plunged in vigorously.

Claire barely had enough energy—or interest—to lift her legs and bend her knees to accommodate him. Otherwise she lay motionless with arms spread-eagled on the bedsheet while Bill did his business. He relished the warm, wet enfolding of his cock as he grabbed breasts, bottom, and whatever else was in reach of his eager hands. In minutes he grunted out his orgasm.

Bill was, unfortunately, one of those guys who have infinite difficulty with multiple orgasms. It was a defect he grievously lamented, but he reckoned it was just his cross to bear. He might revive after perhaps a full hour of snuggling, but he found to his annoyance that few of his bedmates were willing to wait that long. So it was "one and done" for him.

As he shuffled off the bed, he sensed that he had done little to please Claire. She did not, however, seem to be much interested in any ministrations on his part; and because he had come a lot sooner than he had wanted, he felt a wave of embarrassment overwhelm him. All he could do was grab his clothes and, without bothering to put them on, start making his way naked back to his own bedroom.

But as he was leaving, Claire said offhandedly to him, "Anyone else out there?"

Bill paused abruptly at the open door. "What?" he said weakly.

"I want some more," Claire complained. Was this an implicit criticism of his quickness on the trigger? "Are there any other guys?"

"Yeah, there are some guys here," he said cautiously. Of course there were: fourteen young men lived in the fraternity, and there were even one or two others—and a few women—who were still downstairs in the main hall enjoying the final remnants of the party.

"Well," Claire said dreamily, almost falling asleep, "send them in."

"Who?"

"Any of them—all of them," she murmured.

Bill wasn't sure she really meant what he said. But as he padded his way back to his bedroom—which he shared with one Brad Kaufmann—he met his roommate, who had retired early from the party.

Brad looked with mild surprise at the naked Bill, clutching his clothes to his midsection. "What the hell happened to you?"

Brad really didn't need to ask that. Bill's dripping cock told the story.

"You want some action?" Bill said blandly.

Brad's eyebrows rose. "Who with?"

"Claire. Claire Monahan."

"Really?" Now Brad was interested. He too knew of Claire's reputation, and he too had admired her various parts.

"Yeah. You can go in there. I'm done."

Brad couldn't believe his ears. "You're saying she wants me?"

"She wants anyone. She told me to send someone in there. Better go soon before she changes her mind."

Brad got up stiffly from the bed. He was already stripped down to his underwear—all he ever wore to bed—and peeled off his briefs. Then, buck naked, he stalked out of the room.

He wondered if the whole thing were a gag. Maybe there was nobody in the room—or maybe there were just a bunch of other guys who would tease him mercilessly when they saw his rising member and eyes widening in lust.

But sure enough, when he cautiously opened the door, he saw the nude Claire lounging on the bed, legs spread. Her delta seemed wet; some fluid—whether hers or Bill's he couldn't tell—even seemed to be trickling out onto the inside of her thighs.

"Hi," he croaked huskily.

She turned her head indifferently in his direction, gave him a languid smile, and said, "Hi."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He leaped onto her, burying his head between her breasts as he stroked her all over. He paused long over her gorgeous butt, but soon felt such an inexorable urge toward copulation that he mounted her almost frantically.

It was a wonderful sensation, even if his partner seemed pretty unresponsive and almost comatose. She couldn't even bother to lift her legs this time, leaving them splayed as he pummeled her. But enjoyable as this was, Brad began thinking that this gift of the gods—free sex—could be made even more enjoyable by a different procedure.

"Hey, Claire," he said to his half-asleep partner, "do you like it in your butt?"

Her eyes remained closed, but a soft smile broke out on her face. "Sure," she murmured.

Without delay, he pulled out of her and flipped her over onto her stomach. He didn't think she had enough energy to remain in the doggie-style position, but he figured he could manage with her as she was. Before he plunged in, she had the wherewithal to say, "Better use that lube over there."

Whether by accident or design, the one item on the top of the dresser was a bottle of Jergens hand lotion. Brad saw the wisdom of Claire's words, and he got up from the bed and pumped some of the stuff onto his hands. He had somehow not expected to be responsible for this part of the business, and he was a bit squeamish about it; but he figured it was all a part of his ongoing sexual education, and he applied the lotion thoroughly on the appropriate spot.

He was almost salivating as he guided his cock into the tight orifice. It was, indeed, quite tight—even though (although he couldn't have known it) Claire was quite experienced in this act and took in his member without pain or fuss. Brad himself cried out at the novel sensation, and he quickly thrust himself to his full six inches into her. On a sudden inspiration, he reached around her body and seized a breast in each hand. Now he felt totally in charge—as a man should be, he reflected sententiously.

To his regret, he couldn't last more than a few minutes, but the orgasm that was torn out of him almost blew his mind. It was something he would remember for many years—especially since the woman he eventually married adamantly refused to allow him rear entry.

He pulled out so quickly that Claire, for all her near-unconsciousness, winced in pain. He felt bad about that, but all he could now do was stumble out of the room and back to his own bedroom—with a quick detour to the bathroom to wash up.

By this time, however, there was quite a hubbub in the upstairs hallway. Bill had not been silent about the ready availability of female flesh, and he relayed to his buddies Claire's desire to accommodate "all" the guys who remained. The others were determined to make her keep her word.

And so it began.

There was Henry (who insisted on being called Henry and not Harry or Hank), a lanky senior who held Claire's head in his lap and jerked off in her mouth. He hoped she wouldn't choke on his emission, but she seemed to swallow it without difficulty.

There was Frank, an African American on the basketball team who had never tasted white flesh before, and who first licked Claire's sex and then pounded her while pinning her arms to the bed.

There was Justin, who was something of a nerd—thin and a bit hollow-chested. He approached Claire tentatively, afraid that she might make fun of his physique and his very modest endowment (even though by this time Claire was pretty lifeless). Noticing the goop on her bottom, he decided this was his one and only opportunity for that kind of coitus, and he pleased himself by his own performance.

There was Joseph, a guy who prided himself on his brute strength. He lifted Claire up and impaled her on his cock while remaining standing up. She barely hung on to him as he moved her up and down on his member until he finished.

There were Nick and Walter, who decided to see if Claire was up for some double penetration. Whether she was or not couldn't immediately be ascertained, but they managed it well enough, Nick on his back with his cock in her pussy while Walter thrust himself into her bottom.

And it continued with Mark and Jack and Vince and Tony and Freddie and Peter, each enjoying Claire in his own preferred way, singly or in pairs.

*

Todd Welkin didn't know why he hadn't gone home. The party was essentially over, and he was even helping the guys clean up, even though he didn't live in the frat house. He wasn't naturally sociable, and he wasn't even certain why he had shown up in the first place; but his friend Justin had said that Todd needed to get out more and meet people. Todd wasn't at all certain he wanted to do that, and aside from having a few shots of punch and chatting up with some of the guys (but none of the women), he hadn't done much to come out of his shell.

So he was just about to leave when Justin (now clothed) strolled downstairs and accosted him.

"You still here, guy?" he said breezily. Justin wasn't usually the most chipper fellow in the world, but at the moment he seemed not to have a care in the world.

"I was just about to go," Todd muttered.

"You don't want to go just yet," Justin said with a curious emphasis.

"Why the hell not?" Todd said. "Nothing's going on, and it's late."

"I wouldn't say that," Justin said in that same strange voice. And then he came up to Todd and whispered some things in his ear.

Todd blanched, and then blushed crimson. "You're telling me there's a girl—?"

"Not so loud, guy," Justin said harriedly. "There are still some people here." He was referring in particular to a woman who was hanging around for no particular reason.

"But—you mean she'll just take anybody?" Todd whispered.

"You bet. Golden opportunity, if you ask me."

Todd didn't quite know how to respond to that. He had had a very sheltered upbringing, with strait-laced parents from rural Ohio who made their disapproval of anything smacking of sexual irregularity (interpreted as anything involving sex outside of holy matrimony) undeniably clear. In his first two years at Lehigh, his natural shyness and lack of self-confidence where women were concerned had resulted in a grand total of zero dates, and only a handful of times when he was even in the company of females in a group setting. So the idea of probing a woman's innermost recesses without the need for a laborious courting ritual was highly tempting—but also shameful and demeaning.

But he wasn't certain it was a temptation he could resist.

"Is she—available—now?" he whispered.

"I think so," Justin said casually. "The other guys have already had her."

"What other guys?" Todd said, confused.

"All the other guys," Justin said.

Todd blanched again. This girl sounds like some kind of . . . He didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

"Go on up," Justin said breezily. "Last room on the left."

Todd, his vision blurring a bit, strode stiffly up the stairs. Like Brad, he wondered fleetingly whether Justin was pulling his leg and setting him up for a particularly malicious practical joke. But Justin wasn't like that: in the two years he had known him, he had always been a stand-up guy. And he certainly didn't sound as if he was kidding.

Still, as he extended a shaking hand toward the doorknob of the room in question, he felt strangely that this was a sort of lady-or-the-tiger scenario. Swallowing heavily, he thought, Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He walked into the room and was stunned by what he saw.

A young woman was lying naked on the bed, curled up in a half-fetal position on top of the bedsheets. He worried that she might be cold, but her rosy skin suggested otherwise. Then he thought with horror that this creature was either comatose or injured in some horrible way—but in fact she seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. From her flowing brown hair to the gentle swell of her bosom to the luscious curves of her bottom and all the way to her small and dainty feet, she was such a quintessential female that his own masculinity seemed crude and ungainly by comparison. His natural bashfulness made it next to impossible even for Todd to reach out to touch her, but at last he did so, shaking her gently by the shoulder.

Her eyes popped open at once, and she rolled over luxuriously on her back. Todd's heart skipped a beat as he now saw her incredible breasts and the dark patch of fur covering her sex, which even from this angle he could see was moist and a bit red. The sleepy smile that she gave him made him weak in the knees.

"What would you like?" she murmured.

"What?" he said, uncomprehending.

"What would you like?" she repeated with greater emphasis. "Front, back, or mouth?"

Heart pounding, mouth dry, Todd could only say, "Just the usual, I guess."

"Well, you'd better undress. Pretty hard to do it with your clothes on."

So this was the real thing. No practical joke, no dream, no hallucination. With clumsy fingers Todd peeled off one article of clothing after another—modestly turning his back on the naked woman on the bed. When he turned around, he saw her gazing at his groin. Her smile broadened.

"Nice package you have there," she said.

He had never thought of his "package" in comparison to other guys, but he figured his seven and a half inches were adequate to the task. So now his organ would be put to the test.

He gently lowered himself on the bed, lying next to his partner. In a shaky voice he said, "May I touch you?"

She laughed shortly at that. "You can do whatever you want."

He refused to take her words literally, but he did reach out and touch those heart-stopping breasts, first with one hand, then with both, then with his mouth and tongue. He was somehow surprised that she started to moan as he did so. Forcing himself toward greater boldness, he extended one hand in the direction of her delta. At first he ran his fingers delightedly through the thick bush, then slipped a few fingers between her labia. The abundance of wetness there made his head spin, and he tentatively inserted his fingers into her vagina. He was rewarded with a louder moan from her, obviously of pleasure, even though the frown that suddenly covered her face almost suggested pain. He continued his stroking until she bit her lower lip, then arched her back and let out a high-pitched squeal.

It was the first time he had ever made a woman come, and he gazed at her almost stupefied, as if he had magically brought a corpse to life.

A dreamy smile had settled on her face, and he figured it was his turn for pleasure. He feared that this thick, stocky body would hurt her, even asphyxiate her, so he made sure to prop himself up on his elbows while he maneuvered himself on top of her. She readily spread her legs for him, and his member was already feeling some of the wetness in her nether regions. With a trembling hand he guided his cock infinitesimally into her.

The initial sensation was so overwhelming that he almost came on the spot. But he managed to control himself as he entered her inch by inch. What he was now feeling was indescribable: an exquisite, almost cosmic sense of union with this creature, a female he didn't know from Eve. That analogy seemed to him highly appropriate, for in this anonymous bedroom on a college campus he nonetheless felt like an Adam enjoying his Eve for the first time.

He wasn't sure how long he could last: already his mind was whirling and he couldn't see straight. He lowered himself a bit more on her, glorying in the feel of her breasts against his chest and her soft cheek against his. He kissed that cheek, as well as her nose and chin and ear and forehead—then finally fused his lips with hers in what he felt was the most intense fusion of body and mind and spirit that it was humanly possible to attain.

And when he came, shooting jolt after jolt of his most precious substance into her innermost recesses, he sensed that this was a transcendent moment in his life, never to be equaled or repeated. He lay on top of her for some time, hoping she didn't mind the weight of his body on hers. But she made no complaint and lay placidly with her eyes closed and a faint smile on her face.

At last he got up from the bed. Now his own nakedness—and hers—were suddenly an embarrassment to him, and he dressed quickly. As he was about to leave, he gave his partner a backward glance. He approached the bed, pulled up a sheet and blanket over her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then, without really aware of what he was doing, he whispered into her ear:

"I love you, whoever you are."

But she already seemed to be asleep.