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Nine Of Clubs


Well, I wrote about my experience with the Queen of Spades last time. But I was one of sixteen guys (out of thirty-five in the fraternity that year) who participated that Friday. After “the queen” left my room, Dave came in, freed me, and gave me a sheet with questions on it. “Fill it out downstairs now in the dining room.”

The dining room was the one room where there was a large table, obviously with multiple chairs, where we could write. I found out shortly that after the girls dressed they were handed a clipboard with their sheets and were directed to the upstairs parlor. Again, this was supposed to be done according to our card assignment, and keep it anonymous. Well, for the most part at least.

I’m sitting there circling responses, marking my sheet and Biff was sitting across the table. Tom was to his left. There were two others already there from our cohort, the others drifting in shortly. Biff--no it wasn’t his real name, but we all had “guy” handles that we went by in the house—anyhow, Biff makes the comment, “ Well, that proves to me they’re not all the same in the dark.”

There were a couple of snide comments and chuckles from the rest of us, but we filled out our sheets and slipped them in the box, going through the motions of “this is a study!” to validate ourselves and our fucking.

A tally appeared on the bulletin board on Monday, two additional copies were circulating in our house, and I presumed the same at the sorority. I happened to see Biff when he scanned the report and he was hiding poorly being upset. “Fuckin’ liar,” was his terse response as he slapped the wall.

I picked up the top sheet and flipped to the Queen of Spades for my evaluation. “Size: average length, width. Shape: mostly straight, small curve to right. Hardness: not flexible, but not steel either. Smell:” It went through the list. We had one too: nipple size (mouth full), breast size (spilled out of my hands), tongue technique, etc. It was strange how cold, clinical it was coming across, but then that’s the way the questions were designed.

While I wasn’t majoring in journalism, I’d picked up two related courses and thought I’d try to pump Biff for more juice.

Okay, I’m sure the girls did too, but by now in our house all us guys knew which card identified whom. So I checked the Nine of Clubs. Width: wrapped my hand around almost twice. Length: center of palm to tip of finger. Now we’ve all had gym. We’ve all participated on the court holding our pride against other houses. And we all showered off together. Biff was hung, pure and simple. He’s more likely to frighten women off than not. I’ve never seen him full, but in the shower he certainly got ribbed by the gang.

I was in the beat-up corner stuffed chair, my usual haunt, “reading and noting” when he took a break from books that evening. He sat down next to me with a soda, and we were basically alone. “Okay, Clubs,” I quipped, “what was it really.”

He looked at me startled, then his eyes hardened. He scanned the room. “That bitch was no stranger to fucking,” he started. “I was lying there trussed like we all were, since this night was supposed to be about ‘earning her confidence, letting her take her pleasure.’ There I am, half full as she comes in the door. When the door closed behind her, I could here her. ‘Holy Sh’ she got out and stopped. I flexed a little to let it bounce, fill it some more, and I swear I could hear her lick her lips.”

He took a swallow. “She sat right down on the bed next to me, reached over and wrapped her hand around me, standing me up. She covered about half. Nice grip, by the way, knew how to hold it, then she started to squeeze, to just short of pain. I yelled, ‘Careful!’ and she laughed, and not nicely.

“Her dry hand started jacking me. Dry. It didn’t feel good. I could feel the skin pulling at the helmet. This bitch knew exactly what she was doing. A minute later, she spit on her hand and kept jacking. Then she stripped. She didn’t take off her clothes, she jumped out of them. She climbed back on the bed and sat on my knees, on!, straddling me with her fleshy ass. It didn’t feel good. She wasn’t thin, not with that padding.

“Anyhow, she grabs my cock again and tries to firm it up. I’d gotten softer, and she bent down, wrapped her lips around my cock and pretended to bite. She didn’t break skin, but it hurt. Then her tongue swirled around the head. While that felt good, with everything else, the pressure on the knees, the worrisome teeth, I didn’t get too excited. Oh yeah, her tits were long enough to hang down and rub her nips on my thighs. Hard as pebbles, surrounded by soft pillows.

“So she’s sitting there, both hands—BOTH—around my cock and she starts to jack and suck hard, like she was going to pull my jism out of me whether I liked it or not. She took one hand and started friggin’ herself, pretty aggressively too.”

“Sounds like she likes it rough,” I cut in. “You couldn’t move, could you? You couldn’t reach her?”

“Nah, my hands couldn’t reach my hips.”

“Hair. How long was it? Did it stroke you?”

“Couldn’t feel it, but it could have been up or in a pony tail.” I nodded and sat back, downing some coffee. “While she never got gentle, after a bit she wasn’t quite as hard, as aggressive. Her mouth really started to feel good, really effective, and I could feel myself getting harder, filling out. She nuzzled her nose into my crotch a couple times. I could hear her inhaling, getting my scent, nibbling my balls. She got off me at one point and shoved my legs apart and sucked my balls. Almost hurt, it was strong.
“She had some oil someplace, because she got some on her hands and used it to jack me while she was frigging herself. The oil helped me, I’ll admit that. Anyhow, she got me to where I was about ready to shoot. I was groaning and starting to buck, and she stopped jacking me—kept frigging herself—and squeezed my cock head hard till I settled down.

“When I stopped moaning, she got some more oil, jacked me some till I was hard again, then climbed aboard.”

“So now you could actually grab her tits?” I asked.

“No, she flipped around, facing away. She pointed my pole into her lips, stroked it around a bit. She didn’t get it in right away because she couldn’t. Average my ass!” he smirked proudly. “She got her cunt on my cock and pushed for a minute before the head slipped in. Damn, she was tight. I wondered how often she gets some.”

“You think she was a virgin??!!” I was stunned.

“Oh, no,” he said, matter of factly. “Definitely not. But doesn’t get much, I imagine. I possibly could be persuaded to change that, if some things were to change. Anyhow, once she got me in—she almost yelled as it popped through—she sat on me a minute, leaning on her hand on my knees again, then slowly started to move. I mean slowly! I could feel her folds inside crease over me, slowly opening as she moved. Up, down. Circle left, circle right, down again.

“About halfway in she seemed to play quite a bit. She must have been catching her g-spot with the catch under my head, and she started frigging herself again. Then she began to buck a bit more, and got me three-quarters in when I could feel her cervix like a tongue around my head, teasing. The feeling got real strong in me and I suddenly bucked.

“I was all the way in, I could feel her frigging herself, and she screamed. I felt her cunt spasm down on me real strong. I was afraid to move in that vise. Then she went beserk! She was frigging herself, she was slamming onto me, I was bucking against her, the bed was squeeking. She was incoherent with whatever she was saying, and I was groaning. Yeah, she was sucking it out of me. I warned her I was coming, and she clenched down as she bounced on me. I filled her good, real good. She finally caught her breath and rolled off when the bell rang. I could feel my spunk roll out of her down my balls.”

“What? No condom?”

“Nope. They were right there. She didn’t use it. I’ll admit, it felt damn good.” He took another long drink. “Hope she is on the pill.

“She licked it off, kissed it, and gave it a squeeze before she picked up her clothes and walked out.” He paused again. “I just hope I draw her when we do round two. Payback’s a bitch.”

Two days later Fran, one of the sisters, hinted that her house had a new “gold book,” you know, one of those books that are kept just for the sisters.

End of Story