Trust Fund Baby Pt. 14

College dorm facilities have a clearly established hierarchy, and even though I had usurped some of the thunder of the jocks, by virtue of the financial assistance I provided to the fraternity, they were still next in line for the premium girls, after myself and Joe. The football team were on top of the heap, closely followed by the Lacrosse team and then the Track and Field athletes.

Fortunately for me, our RA, Joe, willingly exchanged the well-being of the young women under his protection. He offered to perform ID checks on all of the glory-hole girls, and to ensure that any transgendered occupants of the closet were clearly identified as such, in exchange for two blow-jobs per night. Satisfied that I was completely safe from any potential under-age encounters, I began to participate in the glory-hole events.

It was around this time in my life, having just turned twenty-three, that I started to lose count of my sexual partners. The alcohol and the sheer number of glory-hole encounters, that involved oral, vaginal and anal sex with anonymous partners, made it difficult to know exactly who I was busting a nut into, rendering a true count virtually impossible.

I wore a condom for all vaginal and anal penetration, but went bare-back for blow-jobs, and once everybody got to know my sexual preferences, they encouraged me to back up to the hole, and enjoy an anonymous rim-job. Analingus is a fairly mainstream sexual practice among my generation, and with the alcohol dimming their inhibitions, there was never any shortage of female volunteers.

Despite losing count of my sexual partners, I did focus on ensuring that every co-ed that I hooked up with, ate my ass. Occasionally after a glory-hole blow-job, I would circulate the room trying to find the young lady by matching the shade of lipgloss that was left on my cock-head, to her lips.

I was still enjoying the sexual services of Betsy and Gina, although the dynamic changed from our original plan, which was the occasional threesome, to a total and all-encompassing domination of Gina. Every week, with Betsy's assistance, I put Gina through an increasingly humiliating experience, forcing her to endure untold subjugation before handing her the appropriate denominations of Traveler's Checks, the notes in the Memo section indicating what she had done to earn the money.

As Gina's Women's Studies course progressed, and the empowerment of women became the central theme, her internal struggle progressed to the point that she appeared to be verging on a nervous breakdown. A better man would have ceased her weekly torment, and encouraged her to seek help amongst the myriad of resources available to the Freshman class.

I guess I was still reeling from the shit Madison heaped upon me, because I continually sought to punish women, and Gina was an easy target. I gave her to the RA first, as payment for the age-verification system he had in place. Having first convinced Joe that the potential blowback for him was lessened by having one girl responsible for his two nightly blow-jobs, I sweetened the pot by allowing him three cum-shots per evening.

Around this time I also befriended the kicker of the High School Football Team, Nick. Nick and I had a lot in common. He had lost both of his parents at a young age and had channeled his anger into the subjugation of young women, although his position as kicker on the team didn't afford him the same opportunities as the more glamorous positions of Quarterback and Wide Receiver. For this reason, I took him under my wing, introduced him to Gina and the rest is history.

Nick abused the shit out of Gina, pushing her much harder than I ever did, and even though she begged me to set her free of him, I enjoyed watching her mental fragility as he demeaned her in new and interesting ways. I could see the hate in her eyes as he took her beyond her limits on a daily basis, but I never reined him in.

I was also using Gina to accommodate Joe's blow-job needs, and in order to prevent boredom, I opened up her pussy for his enjoyment, and a few weeks later her anus. Of course, being a man, it didn't take that many weeks for Joe to tire of his three-hole fuck-toy, at which point I introduced him to Gina's analingus skills. By the end of the first semester, just before Gina dropped out due to her fragile mental state, Joe and Nick were taking her down to the gender-neutral shower block on a nightly basis, whereupon they sold access to all three of her holes, for twenty dollars a shot.

I got into drugs around this time, MDMA primarily, although I didn't furnish the narcotics for other people, choosing to ingest three or four hits just before I arrived at the frat house. Some nights, as my status as VIP afforded me access to just about every female attendee, I would get taken care of by three or four different women, and as the months went by, they seemed less concerned with their reputations, and would openly engage in lewd behavior with me.

I even took a couple of college students back to my house on occasion, although this created unnecessary tension with my house-pets, and I decided to separate the two social groups. Of course, being the era of Instagram and Facebook, it wasn't long before there were pictures of me circulating on the various social media sites. I never understood the co-eds' fascination with my Orange Lamborghini, but nearly every young college student that stepped into my garage wanted me to bend her over the trunk of the exotic car, and take some erotic photos. Invariably this would lead to sex, and I got balls-deep inside so many young hotties inside my five-car garage.

I was over Gina by this time, and she had developed a bad drug habit, using heroin to numb her pain. Joe and Nick still used her as they saw fit, although in completely different ways. Joe employed Gina as his sex-toy, and was busting a nut inside her several times a day. Nick, in contrast, enjoyed humiliating the young co-ed, constantly finding new ways to demean her.

One memorable example occurred at the Quarterback's twentieth birthday party. As we gathered in the team locker room, Nick forced Gina to dress up as a kitten, complete with a long black tail attached to a butt-plug. In front of the entire High School Football Team, Nick put Gina through a series of demeaning agility tests before producing a saucer of milk for her to drink. As soon as Gina got down on all fours to lap away at her treat, Nick knelt by her side, unzipped his pants and began to masturbate furiously.

I think Gina knew what his intent was, because she flashed him a defiant glare, which was uncharacteristic of her, in her beat-down state. Nick didn't stop jerking off, but slapped Gina hard across the face with his spare hand. The noise echoed around the locker room, which should have spurred the gathering of young males into action, in her defense. However, the entire team looked in my direction for guidance, and as Gina's face reddened from the slap, I declined to intervene.

"Lap up your treat, Gina," I said, dispassionately, just before Nick ejaculated into the saucer.

Tears welled up in Gina's eyes as she lowered her lips to the saucer and began to slurp up its contents, which now included the very unappetizing globs of Nick's semen. Emboldened by my lack of intervention one of the linebackers stepped forward, his erect cock already in his hand. Kneeling on the other side of Gina, he began to jerk off, erupting a few seconds later into her saucer.

"Who is next?" I asked, as I fished my stiffening cock from my pants. "Don't be shy guys."

I kept Gina on all fours with her face in the saucer for almost an hour, enough time for the entire team to blow their loads, with several of them coming back for a second cum-shot. By the time the guys were satisfied, all of the milk had been ingested, and the saucer contained a disgusting mixture of congealed semen.

"Eat," I ordered the distraught young woman. "Or I will let everyone butt-fuck you."

As a murmur of approval reverberated around the locker room, Gina seemed to weigh her options, and then, with tears streaming down her face, she lowered her lips into the revolting mess and began to eat it.

Reveling in her submission to me, I began to show off, making idiotic threats to the young woman.

"You better lap up every drop, Gina," I taunted. "Or I will urinate on you in front of everyone."

There was a subdued approval to that remark from the guys, as I had clearly crossed the line for some of them.

"Gina is my fuck-toy," I continued. "Next weekend I am going to take her to get a huge tattoo. I am going to emblazon Pete's Toy between her ass-cheeks. Fuck, I might even brand the bitch as mine."

A few of the guys couldn't stomach the sight of Gina's disgusting meal, and several of them seemed shocked by my threats, and the locker room emptied slowly.

Once the demeaning act was over, I handed Gina twenty dollars, knowing that she would use it to buy some heroin. By this time in our dysfunctional relationship, I was still giving her money on a regular basis, but I felt that it was safer to use the anonymous method of payment, cash. I gave Gina just enough money to support her drug habit, and always made her beg me for it, naked and on her knees, dispensing twenty dollars at a time.

Once she was high, Gina was down for anything, and Joe and Nick hosted regular, spur of the moment gang-bangs in the gender-neutral showers. I was there the night that the paramedics showed up, to find an unconscious Gina in the shower block reeling from the after affects of a drug-overdose. She had semen dripping from all three of her orifices, and reeked of urine, as each participant in the impromptu gang-bang had pissed on her after blowing their loads.

That event created an enormous amount of heat on campus, some of it directed my way. I was interviewed by a Newport Beach Police Detective after my name was included on a list that was in Gina's possession. Joe and Nick were also on the handwritten list, and while the Detective was focused on whether the three of us were complicit in Gina's drug overdose, I recognized the possibility that she had started a retribution list.

Gina's overdose also resulted in an increased law-enforcement presence in the dorms, in an attempt to keep a lid on the illegal alcohol consumption by those under the age of twenty-one. The police officers also checked campus IDs on a regular basis, and not willing to draw additional attention to myself, I stopped hanging around Saddleback College.

Within just a few weeks I really missed the unbridled access to young pussy, and around this time my accountant kept recommending that I open a business, preferably one that involved cash, like a laundromat or a car wash. I had heard that the local strip club, "The Main Attraction," was for sale, although I had a feeling that it wasn't particularly profitable. However, the lure of top shelf pussy was too much of a temptation for me to resist, and I ended up buying the club, at a deep discount, renaming it "Top Shelf Pussy" on a whim.

I asked Olivia to manage it for me, not because I trusted her business acumen, but because I knew that she could set up some of the young dancers on dates with me. It became readily apparent that the strip club was not profitable, poorly run, and hard to staff, as employee morale was very low. I held several meetings to establish what the girls needed from me, and made some immediate changes.

I increased the cover-charge two-fold, which immediately reduced the number of voyeurs that hung out in the club without buying drinks or lap-dances. I allowed the girls to adopt an independent pricing structure, and allowed cops and firefighters free entry and cheap drinks.

The young men in uniform were very respectful and protective of the girls, and added a level of security to the club that made it feel very safe. Once we had established some mutual trust, I turned a blind eye to any sexual activity that occurred in the VIP rooms, charging a higher entrance fee to the luxuriously appointed private dance areas, but still allowing the police and firefighters free entry.

Of course, they still had to pay the dancers for any sexual favors, but the business relationship was a win-win. I radically improved the pay structure for the dancers, and introduced profit-sharing and free financial advice.

Most dancers just want a safe, clean environment in which to ply their wares, and with upwards of a dozen armed cops in the club on most nights, it felt very secure. Once in a while there was a flare-up, but most of the time, after a twelve hour shift patrolling the mean streets of Southern California, the Police Officers came in, had a couple of beers, and busted a nut before heading home to recuperate for the next day

Once word got around that I ran a safe, clean club, where girls earnings were essentially limitless, I had an endless stream of hot chicks trying to work there. Interviews were fun, needless to say, and it was during this induction process that I got my sexual needs taken care of.

Fortunately for me, Olivia had a very hands-on managerial style, and was not afraid to offer advice when she felt that I was making decisions with my little head, which was probably most of the time. I was so immersed in the procurement of top-shelf pussy, that I ignored the more important aspects of running a strip-club, like profitability and variety. At one point, Olivia walked me over to the photo board, a centralized location where we kept the proof of age on file for random inspection by law enforcement.

"Notice anything strange?" Olivia asked, as we stood together perusing the board, which contained a photo-copy of each of the dancers' IDs, and a recent head-shot with their stage name.

"Oh, Jesus," I said immediately, upon recognizing that the girls all bore a startling resemblance to each other.

I turned the hiring process over to Olivia that day, after realizing that every single dancer in my club was a tall, skinny, platinum-blonde, with nearly all of them possessing blue eyes.

"A successful club needs variety," she assured me. "Not just a harem of blue-eyed blondes for your enjoyment."

I still did the final interview, during which I had the girls dance for me, and then offer me a sample of what was available in the VIP room. By the time they got to me the girls had already basically been hired, but Olivia did a fantastic job of alluding to the fact that they didn't want to fail this part of the process, having come this far.

As you can imagine, stripping is not a pre-meditated vocation, and for many of these young women, dancing naked for men was their last chance to make money. Blessed with great looks and rocking little bodies, they desperately needed this employment, and most were willing to do whatever it took, to get hired. It was actually fairly simple when you looked at it. I wanted them to suck my cock for a few minutes and then I wanted a loving, enthusiastic rim-job. After I had enjoyed the visual of the young girl on her knees with her beautiful face between my buttocks, I would bust a nut, either in them or on them, depending on my mood.

Olivia set the tone for the interview, advising the applicants of my sexual proclivities, and encouraging them to present themselves to me at their very best. We held the interviews at the strip-club, albeit in the off-hours, so there was always a hair stylist and make-up team available, to pretty the girls up for their big moment. The club had a huge walk-in closet full of lingerie and fantasy wear, and while the girls had complete autonomy when it came to the music selection and clothing that they wore, Olivia was a big part of the process.

Aware of my obsession with youth, she often coached the girls into appearing before me dressed as schoolgirls or cheerleaders. I tried to hold interviews every few days, and they became one of the highlights of my week.

I had two interviews this morning, spaced two hours apart so that each applicant had sufficient time to make a good impression. As I showered before work, having declined my morning blow-job in order to more accurately assess the sexuality of the applicants, I had a raging hard-on. My house-pets were conditioned to constantly offer me sexual favors, and it became increasingly difficult to decline as the interview time approached.

I was very proud of myself by the time Olivia and I got into my bright Orange Lamborghini, as I had been awake for three hours without busting a nut. Even though the relationship between Olivia and I had transitioned into a non-sexual one, she knew that I enjoyed the anticipation of release, and so she began to tease me as we drove towards my club.

Initially it was verbal stimulation, a series of provocative suggestions on what I could ask the applicants to do, in order to earn their place on the roster. However, once I was erect, Olivia placed her dainty hand on my crotch, gently squeezing my nut-sack and raking her nails across my erect shaft, as I tried to concentrate on driving. Before long I was leaking pre-cum, and by the time I pulled into my designated parking spot, the inside of my briefs were wet.

"Looks like you are ready, Pete," Olivia said cheerfully, as we entered the dimly-lit club.

The place was pretty much empty as we weren't open for business yet. California permits licensed drinking establishments to open at 6am, but I wasn't going after the morning drinkers, preferring to attract the more established, upmarket businessmen, who were more apt to open their wallets. While we accepted credit cards, I offered a twenty percent discount for cash, and this was the primary method of payment. I had two ATMs in the club, and the average cash disbursement from each was twenty grand a week, most of which you have to assume was spent within the strip-club.

Olivia and I entered my office, and there were two Manila envelopes on my desk, containing the head-shots and resumes of the prospective dancers. Truth be known, by the time the applicants had reached this stage of the process, they were as good as hired. I only actually interviewed them to let them know that I was the Big Kahuna, and to see them perform, which usually resulted in some action for me.

"Two opposite ends of the spectrum, this morning," Olivia informed me, as I opened the sealed envelopes.

Olivia's summation was accurate, and I quickly realized that I had a seasoned pro and a complete newbie, vying for my attention this morning.

Lisa Neville was first, although she danced using the stage name Jade, which was surprisingly unoriginal. She was currently employed at a rival strip-club in my local area, and had lots of experience dancing and escorting. Jade was a tall, skinny blonde, with long platinum hair and perfect enhanced breasts, just my type. We had a plethora of blondes in the club, but at least Jade's eyes were a deep shade of green, which accounted for her name choice.

Jade showed up exactly on time, which was a rarity in the world of exotic dancers, and was beautifully presented. She was wearing a tiny two-piece green bikini with matching stripper heels, her hair and make-up had been professionally done, and she was scented with an intoxicating perfume. My cock stiffened as she sauntered into my office, and I made zero attempt to hide it, as I arose from the large leather chair behind my desk.

Jade's eyes met mine briefly before she lowered her gaze to my crotch, and seductively licked her lips. The absence of pretense was evident from the second she entered, made only more obvious as she spoke.

"Hi, I am Jade," she said sweetly, as I extended my hand for a professional greeting.

"And you handsome?" she said, as she rounded my huge desk, "you must be Pete. Although Olivia told me that you prefer to be addressed as Papa," she added playfully.