| The two coeds were eyeing Stan in a way that made him more scared than excited... despite the fact that he had not a stitch on, and was bound hand and foot to the queen-sized bed in his own bedroom. How he got this way, he only dimly recalls, whether by reason of heavily drugged stupor, or total disbelief.
Stan was a grad student and the house manager of a legacy guy's boarding house that has held students for over 100 years. He had a suite in the basement all to himself, but he made a point to spend some time up in the common room, because it was the hub of social activity and Stan wanted to make himself available to the guys and to make them feel at home. Girls were hanging out up there all the time, and Lydia and Helene no less than any others. So when they asked to come over during fall break to use the big screen to watch a video they planned to rent, Stan had no reason to suspect anything untoward. He said, "No problem. The house is usually unlocked, so just make yourself at home." When the girls got there, they had brought groceries enough to feed the whole house had it been full rather than totally empty for the holiday. Home-cooked meals are few and far between in a college town, and Stan couldn't say no when they asked him to join them. He found himself eating the most fantastic plate of blackened grouper with julienned vegetables, served al dente with a cilantro-peach salsa and couscous and an authentic Chianti. At first Stan resisted the wine because the girls were underage, and his religion encouraged respect for the laws of the land. But because the girls had worked so hard and because they were so enthusiastic about waiting on him, Stan gave in.
The first inkling that Stan had that anything was wrong was when he noticed that Helene had poured 3 glasses, but his was the only one that needed refilling. To check his suspicion, Stan proposed a toast and glasses clinked around the table, but as Stan upended his, he studied the smiles and the eyes that didn't quite match the mirth of the moment. And their glasses seemed just as full after the toast as before. But he mentally waved it away as paranoia. Women tend to be careful not to seem the lush in his circles, so he suspected no hidden agenda, and certainly not a spiked $30 bottle of wine.
As Stan came to consciousness, he began to realize how wrong that assumption had been. He looked down at his naked form stretched over the comforter. Despite the erotic overtones of the situation, the chill of the room was affecting his flesh with goosebumps and some, well, shrinkage. He really was a little scared and very unsure of what these two had in mind. "Uh, Lydia, what are you doing? Is this some sort of sorority initiation that I've never heard of?"
"Well, Stan," Lydia lectured, "it's simple, really. We have decided that we've had quite enough of the amateurish fumblings of the little boys at this school and would like to become acquainted (the emphasis and inflection she applied to this word gave it a decidedly X-rated sound) with a true man." And as closing punctuation to her presentation, she looked directly at Stan's still-shrunken unit. A furrow creased her brow and she looked to Helene, seated at the end of the bed, as if for reassurance. "You see, Stan, one of the waiters at the Chapter House is gay and was gossiping with the sisters about the endowment of the men on campus. He, of course has a more, shall we say, circumspect (again, an innocent word used quite nastily) in his fact-finding because he showers with the guys after working out at the Rec Center. So we commissioned him to find the guy on campus with the most impressive equipment, and you are him, buddy."
Stan was a little surprised. He honestly thought that has soft 6 inches was pretty average, but being a religious and very hetero guy, he never had much cause to find out what average really was. Once the reality of the situation became clear, Stan said, "Look, girls, I am flattered, really. But I am saving myself for my wife, and furthermore this is pretty solidly against my religion. This can't happen. Old-fashioned as this may sound to you, I am a 29 year-old virgin and I cannot do anything of a sexual nature with you girls." But they weren't responding at all. "I'm not kidding." he followed, a little more weakly. The girls glowered and Helene said, "You have no choice in the matter, Stan."
Helene, the statuesque basketball player, emboldened by finding her voice said, "Uh, Lyddie, are we going to chat all night or are we going to ride Stan's Harley-Pole, according to the plan? If you hadn't noticed, we have a bit of a problem before us. The evening's activities require this big fella to be HARD." Stan's dismay over the situation was keeping his shrunken tool flaccid; despite Helene's rough handling. Lydia sprung up from her seat at the bedside and unzipped a duffel bag filled with what seemed, to Stan's brief glimpse, some hardware, dog toys and Halloween costumes. "I've got just the thing." Lydia purred. In the briefest of moments, Lydia had put out half a dozen scented candles and shed her fetching miniskirt and cotton top for a clingy, nearly sheer nightgown, loosely laced up the front.
She put a CD in the player of strange South American drum music and she began to conform her movements to the slow rhythms. As she flowed around the bed, the candlelight showed Stan parts of Lydia's body that he had truly never seen on any woman. Her hips rotated symmetrically, smoothly. The muscles of her stomach were flexing downward, like a neon arrow to an unknown destination. Her well-shaped rear was almost disproportionately large, but all the more exotic for that. He tried to close his eyes but whenever he tried, he felt a riding crop against his thigh, compliments of Helene. Lydia was well-earning her degree in Dance, he thought. She knew her body so well that it was as if she wanted him to know every muscle, every curve vicariously through her motions. Stan's excitement began to take shape, but the effects of the drugged wine were working against his arousal.
After several minutes of this modern-day Dance of the Seven Veils, Helene's impatience came to a head. With a stern slap of the crop directly on Stan's still-soft armament, Lydia yammered, "This is taking too long, but I know what no man can resist. Come over here, Lyddie." Lydia stood in front of where Helene sat, at the foot of the bed. Helene eagerly, assertively unlaced and pulled the filmy excuse for a nightie over Lydia's head. Lydia was not surprised, but now she seemed to be more than a little nervous. Helene whispered something breathily up to her, as if to calm her nerves, but instead she shivered. Helene, her head even with Lydia's sweat-slick abdomen, wrapped her arms around Lydia's waist and drew her to the edge of the bed, between her knees. Helene placed light kisses over Lydia's naval and worked upward. With her neck craned up, and her tongue fully extended, Helene could just draw the pink tip along the crease under each of Lydia's swollen, heaving breasts.
A sigh and a shudder emanated as if from that spot and rippled through her now-wobbly figure. Helene manipulated Lydia's dark, supple limbs so that she was bent at the waist and leaning on end of the bed with her hands, facing Stan. Helene sat on the floor, facing away from Stan, looking directly at the now steamy lips, crowning the splayed legs of the brown dancer. Again, she kissed along Lydia's inner thighs, hungrily upward, as if seeking nourishment. As Helene reached her goal, the tip of her tongue insistently parted Lydia's swollen gates. With a squeal like a doorchime, the doors swung wide, loosing the store of woman-honey contained within. As Helene vigorously bathed her face in the fragrant she-oil, the last vestiges of Lydia's resistance crumbled and she ground her hips onto the twitching tongue and loudly sucking mouth of the tall woman.
Just as Helene was about to send her friend into orbit, Lydia let out a gasp and stepped back a full pace. "What is it?" Helene asked with apparent frustration. "Look!" Lydia said, pointing at the bed behind Helene. As she turned, she remembered that they were there for another purpose and there it was. That monster of a flagpole, swaying with arousal as if in a stiff wind instead. Stan seemed a little in shock himself, almost as if transfixed by the beauty of the thing instead of by the sweet shock of his first girl-on-girl experience unfolding so hotly at his feet. "Well, Stanley, what a frightening piece of equipment you have there." Helene teased.
"You first, my sweet." she said to Lydia, with a playful pinch. "After all, this was your brainstorm." Lydia, after reaching into her bag of goodies, nearly drooling with desire, crawled over Helene to sit on her feet between the bound and spread legs of the defenseless virgin. "Now Stanley, so far we haven't actually touched you, but before we do, I want to relieve you of the responsibility of taking any further steps to resist. We may have time to properly break your resistance later, but for now, you'll have to take this gag so that you can't cry out, futile though it may be." It took both of them, but they got the gag in his mouth. It was one of those top-drawer Bondage gags with a means to breathe through easily. Lydia had ordered it from the same catalog she got the rest of her goodies a couple of weeks before, just for this occasion. But she did get some other things that she didn't tell Helene about for later...
Once Stan's gag was in place, Lydia snuggled up to the hefty length of Stan's fresh sausage and let it settle between her now aching breasts. She slowly leaned forward and embraced the organ between their torsos and wriggled with excitement and anticipation, in hopes that Stan was half as on fire as she was, despite his hesitations. Lydia wanted his full assent, but she needed her pipes to be thoroughly cleaned NOW. She could wait no longer, already so well moistened by Helene's ministrations. Lydia planted her feet on either side of Stan's hips and pushed her slit against the base of his quivering tower. Grasping it, as if to pull herself up by it, she greased the underside of his cock with her sweetness as she stood up over him. Lydia was surprised anew by his size when she realized how little she had to bend her knees to find the plum at the top of his tree.
Her outer lips held the fleshy knob greedily, but as soon as she put her weight on it, her breath caught with a sharp bolt of pain straight from her crotch through her chest. The first inch was the worst, but every inch to follow cost her dearly in squeals escaping her mouth and years from her lifespan, she suspected. And his pole remained precisely that. Hard and straight as a steel rod, an unyielding totem of pleasure and pain. How much could she take in? Minutes pass and still she bore down, rather like birthing a child in reverse. Stan seemed flushed with pain and desire mingled when she looked at him, but she had thought only for the weight of her own mixed ecstasy. When Lydia began to feel dizzy, she reached down at the roots of Stan's tree only to find less bared length than her fist could hold. How much of him did she have on board? Eight inches? Nine? Either way, that was something like the length of her own hand and forearm. She got a mental picture of her arm inside her, up to the elbow and nearly laughed out loud.
When Lydia stopped her downward pressure, Stan exhaled in relief. They sat like that for a while, Lydia basking in a satisfaction not unlike the fullness after a good, large meal. But as that glow subsided, she felt an itch deep within her depths. She started with the slightest of twitches in her hips, like a child riding a 25-cent drugstore pony. A smile crossed her face as she saw a swooning flutter strike Stan's eyelids, but she assumed a more determined pace and technique. For every inch she relinquished of his length, she took back half an inch, then again. Over and over she repeated this pattern, climbing back up his length, until she once again held his plum between her labia. Then, with all the courage she could muster, she hungrily took his entire length in one violent, screaming thrust. And then she repeated the cycle. On the fifth pass, Stan started to thrash his head and buck his hips dangerously for someone of his length and angle of penetration. Lydia's ecstatic release started instantly and continued in slowly decaying waves, the last of which saw an eruption from Stan's flesh mountain that nearly unseated Lydia from her perch – 29 years of pent-up longing freed on the world to do its worst.
Stan looked down at the lithe, dark-haired, dark-eyed, brown-skinned dancer sleeping next to him. He was pretty sure he fainted as a result of her efforts. His orgasm felt like he had turned his abdominal organs inside out. His prick felt as if it had lost all form forever and was just a chunk of lifeless flesh. As Lydia snuggled against him unconsciously, Stan stole a look at her intoxicating skin and the curves under it. He had known girls whose bust was bigger than hers, but never without being on the verge the of sagginess. Each breast was the perfect reflection of the other and as round as mathematically possible. He had always been a leg man, but the largeness of her well-muscled butt held a strange fascination and excitement for him. He suspected that his days as a leg man were over. At the moment, he thought he might never get an erection again, but he couldn't stop feeding the flutter in his chest by admiring this lovely specimen blissfully clinging to him. A slight motion in the shadows between the candles broke him from his reverie. "Ding-ding. Round two." said Helene as she stood from the chair against the wall.
Stan had never paid Helene much attention as a woman. She was not very close to his type – which incidentally had just become slim, olive-skinned dancers with well-developed glutes. Helene was, well, very strong; in personality and body. And she was tall – 6'5 – an Amazon was not far from it, really. To her credit, her proportions were very good. Despite the hardcore upper-body workout required by the women's basketball team, her breasts were quite staggering. If they were a shade below a DD-cup, he would eat his hat. It always seemed to Stan that Helene had overcompensated for the male attention her bust drew by being a bit abrupt with men. Probably not fully lesbian or even officially bi-, but in any case, Helene wasn't the "girliest" of girls he'd met. As these thoughts flashed through Stan's mind, Helene leaned over Lydia and scooped her up and gently laid her on the couch across from the bed. Lydia was so exhausted, she didn't noticeably stir. When she returned to the bedside, Helene clucked her tongue at the now lifeless bit of flesh dangling from Stan's crotch. "Shame about that, really. It just makes my job tougher and yours a bit more painful." She cooed with unusual coyness. "But I suppose we'll have to make the best of it."
Stan hadn't noticed before, but he now saw that Helene had changed out of her street clothes and was wearing a very long silk robe. It reminded him of the way that the robe photos in the Victoria's Secret catalog were his favorite for some strange reason. He guessed that it was just that hint at the unknown treasure beneath that turned him on. Helene interrupted his reverie by saying, "I have had my eye on you and I intend to have my way with you, and I am not afraid to use the riding crop again if you misbehave. And believe me, you have only felt the softest of swats from me." With a glance at the glowing splotches on his legs, he nodded assiduously. "First, this gag must go, on the condition that you will stay silent until I tell you otherwise or ask you a question. Agreed?" Again, Stan nodded. Once the gag was removed, Helene sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled heavily, nearly sighing. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked shyly, as if she had not moments before been giving him orders like a drill sergeant. "Do you find me attractive? I know that you try not to think about women like that, with your religion and all, but hypothetically would you?"
"Ye-yess!" Stan stammered hoarsely. Helene reached over to the bedside table and put a glass of water to his lips. After gulping half the glass, Stan continued, "You're a knockout. The guys are always chasing you, so why do you ask?"
"Yeah the sleazy ones chase me, never the nice guys like you." She replied with a nervous glance toward the sleeping figure on the couch. "All I have is attitude, no poise. And I can't afford to let the façade slip, or I'll lose my last line of defense against the bums. I just don't feel comfortable talking about this, not even with her." she said with another cautious look toward Lydia. "Trust me," said Stan with a throaty bedroom baritone, "you're fantastic. And I'd say the same untied." he added with a comforting grin. "Thanks." she said with a light kiss on his cheek, "Now let's have some fun."
"By Hera!" Stan said wide-eyed, "That's a Wonder Woman costume you're wearing!" He had glimpsed a red knee-length boot below Helene's robe as she stood up from his bedside where he was still tightly bound. Fists now on hips, Helene replied, "I may take back those nice things I just said about you, you jerk!" she said, but the heat of her put-on anger sounded more like genuine disappointment. She was really looking forward to this, thought Stan. "Well, no point in waiting any longer." Helene said as she reached in the duffel bag of goodies at the foot of the bed and drew out a golden headband and slid it into her hair, a fair approximation of Linda Carter's long brown locks. She then slid her robe off, letting it drop to the floor. Has she been totally naked, covered in motor oil, with nipple clamps he could not have been more turned on. It was like every adolescent fantasy he had ever had, from puberty on, had come alive three feet away. But sometimes the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. He could have cried for the loss of his erection. And likely would have if Helene wasn't wearing that rather feline grin.
"Why Steve Trevor," she cooed, "you have been bad. It looks like I will have to use the Lasso of Truth to get your attention." With that, Helene unhooked the golden lasso from her belt and began to wind it tightly around the base of Stan's cock. She kept winding and winding until the last 4 inches, including the dark head, were purple and stiff and twice as wide as the rest. "Now tell the truth – how does this feel?" she demurely commanded as she popped those 4 inches into her mouth, rather like a breath mint. In fact, Stan began to imagine that his extremely hard cockhead felt, well, minty and cool. He dismissed is as a fancy, but the feeling would not go away. Helene paused in her ministrations and arched an eyebrow up at Stan.
When he said nothing, she pulled her head away from his head, and with a pop, his hardening shaft fell back to earth. "I asked you a question! How does it feel? "Minty-fresh, your Highness." He quickly responded. Her flash of temper subsided into a cool smirk. "Very good. And for each correct answer, I will unravel one coil of my lasso. As she did, the swelling shaft quickly adjusted and began to twitch. She put another fistful of Altoids in her mouth and started crunching. While the bits were still rather sharp, she resumed her work on the top of his member. Sucking very hard, he felt the small sharp edges of the mints try to cut through his skin. With a girlish squeal, he cried out, threw his head back and clenched his teeth. But despite his acute pain, his prick has found it's purpose again and was straining mightily against the Golden Lasso and the furiously working mouth of this Amazon princess. "I submit, Wonder Woman. I can't take any more. I'll do whatever you want, just release me from the lasso." Seeing the slices of flesh straining through the Lasso, she did just that.