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JH PARTY young man one the college
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Contains adult themes and explicit sex. Read at your own risk.
Comments and suggestions welcome. Flames cheerfully ignored.
For personal use only - if you repost, please include this header.
Copyright 1995, by Javahead
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Note:
This one is heavy on development, and saves the sex to the end. It's
also one I would *not* like to live out in real life. In fact, even
as a fantasy, I found it at least as disturbing as arousing.
But several things jelled at once when I was thinking about
possibilities - and I had to write it to keep get it out of my system.
I have a hard time being objective about this one. But if it doesn't
disturb you, I didn't get it right.
Javahead
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"Party Girl"
by
Javahead
"Was it worth waiting for?"
I turned and mimed applause. She was an image of cool elegance,
slender in a snug-fitting black slip dress. No - with
her olive skin, she didn't need them.
As I helped her into her coat, I realized that the dress was
*all* she was wearing; the dress was thin enough that I would
have noticed bra strap or lines.
I swallowed. "Are you *sure* you want to go the party? I could
call Rob and give him our regrets, and we could settle down here
. . ."
She cut me off with a laugh. "Down boy! Public party first,
private party later." She danced lightly out of range of my mock
grab, and laughed again.
===
I offered her my arm as walked towards the house. Though we were
early, the closer parking was already taken. Laughter drifted
around from the terrace in the rear.
"Remember, don't let me drink too much." Her expression was half
serious.
Shelly has almost no capacity for drinking - even a glass of wine
turns her giddy; it also tends to make her very, very, horny.
More than two, though, and she gets sleepy, almost comatose.
I laughed at her. "One or two, no more. I have plans for you,
my dear." She made a face back at me as I put on my best leer.
I *would* keep an eye on her, not that she usually needs it;
she'd learned the hard way how little tolerance her body has for
drinking.
===
A man, one of the Rob had hired to help with
the party, let us in. After a brief detour upstairs to leave the
coats in one of the spare bedrooms, we threaded our way through
the mob in the living room to join the even larger mob on the
terrace. There must have been over 50 people there already.
Rob waved us a welcome without interrupting his conversation; we
waved back, and moved on. Most of the guests were people I
didn't recognize.
"Do you want to dance?"
Shelly shook her head. "Maybe later. I'd like to circulate a
bit and meet people, first."
Wine glasses in hand, we did just that. Before long, a female
friend claimed her, and I wandered over to join the group
listening to the band. Looking back, I could see the two women
now had several in attendance.
Somehow, I found myself roped into a heated political discussion,
the kind that usually ends with some variation of "I guess
they're *all* crooks!" I didn't get to hear the end of this one,
though - just as it started to reach the loud stage, Shelly
reappeared and pulled me out onto the dance floor.
Though she was enjoying herself, she wasn't dancing with her
usual careful restraint. I took in her flushed expression and
raw, almost predatory, dancing style with a frown.
"Shelly, just how much wine did you drink?"
She giggled at my worried expression. "I know, I know - I've had
all the wine I need. Don't worry, dear - I only had two glasses,
and I'm switching to punch after this. You'd better switch, too
- you're going to need all your strength later."
Though she tried her best, Shelly's face isn't really built for
dirty leers. Though I was delighted by the sentiment, it took
all my willpower not to laugh at her.
Instead, I steered her towards the buffet. She wasn't hungry,
but did accept a tall glass of the milky-looking orange punch.
She sipped, then took a much bigger drink.
"This is good!"
I *did* laugh at the pleased surprise in her voice, and got a
glass for myself. I had to agree with her - it *was* good:
creamy, mildly orange flavored, and slightly fizzy. I sipped
mine slowly, then laughed again when I saw that she had finished
her first glass and was asking for a refill.
"Ready to go home, Shelly?"
"Let me sit down and listen to the music for a while. And you
can help yourself to some of the food that I see you drooling
at." She laughed back at me as my stomach gave a rumble.
I walked her to the nearest seat before returning to the buffet.
She gave me her empty glass to take back.
"What was in that punch? My really likes it."
The bartender gave a shrug. "Nothing hard to find - a quart of
orange sherbet, a big bottle of ginger ale, two bottles of cheap
sparkling wine."
I suddenly lost all interest in the buffet. Even at that
dilution, Shelly had just finished the equivalent of at least
three more normal-sized glasses of wine. If I didn't get her
home soon I'd have to carry her.
Even in the short time I'd been gone, it had started to affect
her. She swayed visibly when she stood, and clung to my arm
desperately as I led her back towards the house.
"I need to lie down for a while. I'm sorry, honey. I didn't
mean to make such an idiot of myself." Her voice was muted and
more than a little slurred.
"Shh, sweetheart. Not your fault. Can you stay awake long
enough for me to get you home?"
"I'll try." Her voice sounded doubtful.
Rob must have a sixth sense - he met us before we'd covered half
the distance to the house and took her other arm.
"What happened?"
"Your punch - she didn't know it was spiked. I need to get her
somewhere to lie down."
He looked thoughtful. "If we can get her up the stairs, the
spare bedroom next to the coatroom is empty. If she doesn't feel
better later, you can spend the night there."
Despite our worries, Shelly stayed awake long enough to make it
to the bedroom. With a final, worried look, Rob headed back
down.
"Will you be all right, honey?"
She managed a sleepy smile. "I'll be fine after a nap,
sweetheart. Give me an hour or two and I'll feel better. Just
turn out the lights and let me sleep till then." She kicked off
her shoes and scooted onto the bed.
When I checked on her ten minutes later, she was so soundly
asleep that she didn't even stir when I tugged her dress down to
a more decent level; it had risen enough to confirm my guess
about her lack of underwear. I gave her a gentle kiss and headed
downstairs. We obviously weren't going anywhere for a while.
===
Though I tried, I was too distracted to really enjoy the party.
Rather than just wander aimlessly, I took over the indoor bar; it
had the benefit of keeping me too busy to brood. Over the next
couple of hours, the crowd shifted gradually outside, till only a
small, all-male group was left, dividing their attention between
the bar and the television in the far corner.
As the demand on the bar slowed, I had time to notice a minor
oddity; would head upstairs, be gone for a while, then
return to the main group. I shrugged; probably just looking for
an open bathroom. Seemed kind of a long way to go, though.
Finally, one of the relieved me. I headed up to
check on Shelly. At the foot of the stairs, the doorman flagged
me down. I paused.
"How's your wife?"
"I was just heading up to check on her."
"If she's feeling better, you might want to get her home. Some
of these are getting a little raunchy. I heard someone say
there's a woman pulling a train in one of the spare bedrooms. If
you stay, you'll have to listen to them all night long. Or Rob
trying to calm them down."
That explained the back and forth traffic I'd been seeing. But
he was right; she'd be better off at home. I started up the
stairs.
At the top of the stairs, I shook my head wryly; somewhere, a
woman was moaning. I passed the coatroom and turned the corner.
I noticed that Shelly's light was on, and the door was ajar. But
I was in the doorway before I realized that the moans were coming
from here.
After an endless moment of shocked paralysis, I rushed forward.
I hadn't the time - or the mental clarity - to form a coherent
plan; I was operating on the level of reflex. And it was pure
reflex that bludgeoned me to a horrified halt in the doorway.
From the door, I could only see the back of the who had
mounted her, his pants puddled around his ankles. What held me
frozen, though, was the sight of Shelly's heels hooked into her
favorite position behind his knees, urging him in. Her face was
contorted in her familiar, just-before-orgasm rictus; moments
later her heels locked in place and her moans changed to the
choked whimper that signals her release. Before she had
completely finished, a much deeper groan signaled his.
Almost immediately, he was on his feet and pulling his pants up.
He showed no surprise when he turned and saw me in the doorway;
probably, he took me for the next in line. With a friendly nod,
he brushed past me and out before I could get my frozen muscles
to respond.
Shelly lay naked on the bed, her dress a wadded-up ball beside
the pillow. Her face had relaxed again; eyes closed, she seemed
at least half asleep. Her chest still had a faint, post-orgasmic
flush, though, and her dark nipples were erect. I gave a
shuddering gasp and stepped forward, closing the door behind me.
Not too surprisingly, the whole room reeked of sex. As I walked
closer, I could see a white stream of semen running from the
swollen lips of her her vagina. Even now, she didn't seem to be
aware of me.
"Shelly!"
No response.
"*Shelly!*"
When I shook her, her eyes remained closed, though she did mumble
something that might have been my name.
I began to tremble with rage as I stood beside the bed. I could
see it all, playing like a inside my head:
The first stumbling in to find Shelly asleep, her dress above
her hips once more.
His embarrassment changing to arousal.
Knowing Shelly, she was probably already wet - and her normal
sleeping response is to spread her legs in invitation.
His acceptance.
If she's already aroused, Shelly can respond, even orgasm,
without fully waking. I'm sure she gave him a great ride.
And since she was so eager, he probably couldn't resist bragging
to a friend or two. Of course, they had to check it out. And
brag in turn.
I tried to remember how many I'd seen make the trip up the
stairs. Five? More? I couldn't be sure; some had gone up more
than once. At a minimum, her body had been taken - raped - by
half a dozen men.
I stared down at her nude body. Even now, she was so lovely that
it hurt. Her legs were flexed and slightly spread, framing her
ravished sex. Though her inner lips were still swollen and
slightly agape, the pink of her core was by the white
stream that oozed down to form an obscene pool beneath her.
My fists and my jaw were so tightly clenched they were painful.
I tried to think of what to do. Tell Rob. Call the police. Try
to avoid attacking the responsible. Thank God she was on the
pill. Take her to the doctor.
I thought some more. Could we prove rape? I had only seen one
of them with her. And he could claim - truthfully - that she had
enjoyed it. Would the police even bother to file charges? Was
Shelly willing to deal with the smear campaign their lawyers
would hand out?
I reluctantly decided that she'd be happier if I kept quiet.
She could deal with this - to her, it would be no more than a
half-recalled erotic dream; notoriety and a trial we might not
win would be the problem.
("Deal with it? She *enjoyed* it!") a nasty corner of my mind
whispered. One of her hands had slipped down and was sleepily
caressing her slit. With feeling of self-loathing, I realized
that I was erect and throbbing. I turned away just long enough
to pull off my clothes.
I could feel the semen being forced out as I thrust into her. I
took her four more times that night.