Hurricane Relief

"I don't know about this global warming business," Billie Sue mused, taking her tongue out of my mouth where I always want it after she has rimmed me so I can taste myself. "My daddy says it's just left wing b.s. and he's a righteous, Christian man, at least on Sunday mornings. On Sunday afternoons when Miss Samantha lets him in the back door of her house and then her body, not so much. Still, he's a great daddy, just a hypocrite—and he makes the best hop-n-john you've ever eaten. But I don't think he's right about climate change. I feel so sorry for all those people who lost everything in Harvey and Irma. The news tonight said that Maria might have knocked out electricity in Puerto Rico for a year. There has to be something we can do to help."

Hmm, I thought, two orgasms, one right after the other, leaving me wet and with that warm glow that you can't describe but know if you've ever experienced a double dip. "I have an idea," I announced, raising myself on an elbow and ruffling Billie Sue's hair. "Why don't we call Jay at Nu Epsilon and have him arrange a game of bullseyes for next Saturday night. We could charge admission with all profits going to the Red Cross. The timing would be perfect because football is at home against some really weak team that we're going to crush and everybody will to be ready to party."

Here's the conversation that followed:

Billie Sue: "I could really get into that," she said, "doing something that I love to do and raising money for a good cause at the same time. But there have to be rules. First, no smoking—the smell makes me sick. Second, no alcohol. If I'm going to do this, I going to be in it to win it and I don't want to deal with a frat boy who can't get it up. And where are we going to do this? I don't think the Dean's office would exactly promote this as a healthy, on-campus activity. And how much would we charge?"

"I agree about the smoking and the drinking," I said thinking quickly. "And the location is no problem. Jay's grandparents have a big house about five miles off campus. They're on some kind of a world cruise and I'm sure he'd let us use it. About admission, let's really put on a show and make a pile of money for hurricane relief. How about $50 to watch, $75 if you watch and beat off, and $100 to participate, with everything going to charity?"

Billie Sue: "O.K., but we're going to need somebody to watch for that second category since a lot of guys and girls are going to come-or should I say cum-expecting to watch and then do more. What's a definition for 'masturbate'? I say the minute a hand goes into your pants or panties, you're paying $75. By the way, what exactly is the contest?"

"It's to see which of us can get the most cum out of their team in half an hour, the one who's rubbing her butt against a dick or the one who's fingering her guys holes. Nobody is naked. Guys have to wear white briefs or light colored speedos, so we can measure the size bullseyes accurately. We wear panties. Also, no reaching around. It only counts if the guy cums through his contact our asses or middle fingers. Neither of us can use our mouths and hands. I'm not worried about people jacking or jilling off and not paying. I say honor system. Remember, we're not doing this to raise money for dildos and expensive toys. We're doing this to help people who have lost everything."

Billie Sue: "Even if we don't need a watcher, we are going to need some help. We'll need somebody to collect the money, somebody to collect the car keys and make sure there's a designated driver in case there's drinking or smoking before our "fans" get there. And here are three big questions: are we going to have a fluffer, a taster, and are we going to offer to clean up the players?"

Absolutely, we're going to offer all three services, but we only need two people. We need a fluffer so we can run up the score with the biggest possible cums. But he or she has to be really good. I hope Jay will help us with the teams, but when he tells participants the rules you know that they're going to be very careful about storing up for two or three days. So watch out for hair triggers that could lower scores if you're fluffed too much. How about saying that you can only fluff the next guy up and then only until the first drop of pre-cum appears in the slit the his dick or you taste the sweet nectar. Then you have to stop. I've got a gay friend who would love to be the fluffer. As a matter of fact, I'll offer him the job if he pays $100. I'm sure he will. To be fair, we ought to have a taster. I don't want any faking with yogurt or pee. But the taster can be the same person who cleans up and that's a service we just have to offer to be polite. Clean up means licking all the cum off the guy's dick, pubes, and balls and sucking whatever you can out of his briefs."

Billie Sue: "Lots of students are going to be there who aren't straight, so we ought to have both a girl and a guy as clean up artists. I don't know about the guy, but Martha from down the hall would be perfect for the job. If I've heard her tell me once how much she loves the taste of cum, I've heard it fifty times. I'll offer her the same deal: all the cum you can eat for $100. She'll be all over that. Here's another idea. Let's have fluffing taking place in one room (charging $25 extra), the competition in the biggest room in the house, and tasting and clean up in a third (charging another $25). That way if you want to follow one particular guy from beginning to end you can, and we'll earn more money."

"We shouldn't forget the measurer. It's time for Clem and his calipers, but we need to agree on the rules for who wins. It's the number of cums multiplied by the dimension of the bullseyes in, let's say, half an hour that says who the winner is. How many players are we going to entertain? By the way, what's the prize for winning?

Billie Sue: "The number of players is a good one. In half an hour I don't think we'll need more than fifteen a side particularly if we have a fluffer. Remember that we're going to have to finish all the players just as a courtesy even if time runs out. The real prize is doing something good for a bunch of people who didn't do anything wrong and are suffering terribly, But let's just say between us, and we could advertise this so the audience could choose sides, that the loser is the sex slave of the winner for a week—rimming, strap-ons, golden showers, anything goes but no kinky stuff like whips or chains."

"Sounds good. Now for the big question. Do you want to get your ass rubbed by fifteen dicks or do you want stick your finger up fifteen asses and massage fifteen prostates? Personally, I don't care. Just thinking about either one makes me wet, which I am right now. I need the magic tongue in me again."

Billie Sue (laughing): "Then you shall have it, but I don't care either. Tongue or finger I'm going to beat your butt and pee in your mouth for a week. Let's flip a coin." Out came the ceremonial Susan B. Anthony dollar (naturally). I flipped it, Billie Sue called heads, but it came up tails.

"Well, if you really don't care, I'll finger. I like to see a guy's legs shake when the big moment arrives and want to see if I can make a couple of them scream. It's too bad, though, that nobody will see the launch. That can be spectacular. I'll also call Jay, tell him what's up, and see if he can help us. As for the pee, I'd be careful about bragging too much. I love drinking you pee but I'm going to win and when I do I'm taking out the dildo, the big one with the ribbing on it, and use it in your hole until you tear up and beg me to stop. Like last time, Miss Know-It-All. So there."

Seconds later, I felt her tongue in my ass and knew it was going to be a good day for me, but, sadly, not so good for many people in Houston, Jacksonville, or Puerto Rico.

I had an exam to take and a term paper to write, but when I saw Billie Sue three days later, I had great news for her. Jay had outdone himself. Not only had he gotten his grandparents' house and started to sell tickets to the big event, but he had lots of volunteers willing to play. "It's funny," he told me, "but once the guys with small dicks who think they're big shooters found out that they weren't going to have to be naked, they couldn't wait to sign up. And you're right. Some of the players have already stopped everything. If a couple of them don't blow in their dreams it could be to be quite a show." He also told me that there were just about as many guys who wanted to be fingered as who wanted to rub. I was a little surprised by that. But his really big news was that he had used a contact on the fraternity council to call a porn producer who had agreed to contribute $5,000 to "such a good cause" in exchange for the right to have three cameras film. He's thinking of calling the video "The Surge to help Flood Victims." He also promised to pixelate anybody who didn't want their face shown but nobody has asked for this yet.

Aaron, my gay friend said yes immediately. As a matter of fact, he said he'd contribute $200 for the "honor" of fluffing and hoped people would see his face. All he asked was that he be allowed to jerk off while he was doing the deed. Martha also agreed to taste and clean up, but did say that she would probably wear a mask so her friends wouldn't know she was in the film. Such modesty.

To be continued...