Sunday Services at the Academy

"My friends, we will not go, again/ Or ape an ancient rage/ Or stretch the folly of our youth/ To be the shame of age..." G.K. Chesterton

Girls from the Upper West Side of Manhattan can be "progressive," although I wasn't, especially—I thought—when my parents exported me to the Academy in Connecticut. My new stepdad had an exceptional fascination with my 16-year-old, skinny-hipped, obsessively fit body with its 32B-cup puppies. Everyone said I had a cute face; I earned some money modeling severely cut, chaste hair styles. I would have made a smashing novitiate into a religious order.

By the time of this story, I was a senior, just 18; I had had experiences, including sexual, recounted in stories in my book, "The Slave Girl of Spartacus." I had a gang; I felt at home—I had earned it. I didn't hold my exile against my stepfather. I found him kind of handsome and he always pushed money at me. Sometimes, when Mom was out, I left the bathroom door ajar when I was in the bathtub or shower. I know he peeped. That's all he ever did. Great Dad! I never had to use on him the pepper spray I bought.

It's the best-ever moment when you jerk open a guy's belt, zip open his pants, and shove down his pants and BVDs fast and rough, so his freed boner pops up and—if he's not yet had sex—he's yelping in embarrassment even as he moans 'Yes...'

This dick, like a South American sharpened-stake man trap, flies up, with the foreskin drawn way back because he's so horny. His dick is black, or, I guess, dark brown like 80 percent chocolate. Seems so yesterday, but when I was 18, black excited me—so did big. Wow, just popping up, quivering there, no modest cowl: pure sculpted cut of swelling glans penis. And poor Samson-we called him, "Sam," of course-poor Samson Devereaux, now whimpering, arm flung over face.

Im am fully dressed, astride his chest, back to his face, and dominate his lower half like a beach from a pillbox. He's trying to twist his hips and close his legs, but he's too late. I have snatched a fistful of scrotum, inadvertently-sort of-crushing his nuts. No hiding them between his legs. He screams in alarm, now, his hands on my sides, from the back, clutching me... I slowly close my hand, squeezing, fascinated, as the balls swell inside and the skin smooths into a shiny brown fruit.

I can't help experimenting. I'm very scientific. With my other hand, I give a short, sharp slap to his nuts. Playful. Wow! He almost bucks me off—strong torso! Frowning, I wonder what if... and slap him much harder. Will he start crying, do you think?

From behind comes this choked gasp. Big surprise! "Okay, if you gotta," he moans, "if that's what you want..."

You see, you never know! In my fist, his nuts seem to be stirring uneasily. I frown and give them my best whack. Silence. What a guy!

I'm loving his fuzzy pubic hair, running my fingernails through it. I keep wetting my lips at this black dick arched over like a double-recurved bow ready to fire the arrow of truth, its whole under-shaft one achingly stretched muscle. "Sammy!" I exclaim, "you've got such a boner!"

Oops! Got a crystal-clear drop oozing out of his slit. My finger swipes it and rubs it all over the chubby-cheeked little face of his glans penis and round and round that scraggly dot of soft flesh...

Now, take in the new information that this is a gangbang. Which is why Sammy's hands cover his face. My two best girlfriends, Merritt and Hester—well-known with me as the Gorgeous Girl Gang the Academy-are kneeling on either side, holding Sammy's arms and legs. And staring, lips parted, totally fascinated with his erector set.

He knows it. I guess no grown-up girls have seen his manhood. He is gripping my ribs from behind, pleading, "Aw, Ellen, please! Ellen! Not with Hester and..." And so on, very monotonously.

"Stop, then?"

"Nah, I mean, do whatever you want, but...oh, momma..."

What is this? Sherman's march to the sea? We're getting him off!

Merritt's slender white hand reaches over. Her face is flushed, aflame... She closes her fingers around the thick base, pushing down so that the yearning boner thrusts up another inch.

Oh-oh, must be electrified. She is kneeling, ass back on her heels, but suddenly she jerks and starts rocking: "Oh! Oh!"

More crystalline fluid overflows his prick's slit..." I know where this is headed. "Stop!" I order Merritt. "He can't come!"

I hear Sammy's long sigh... "Baby..."

I twist, glancing over my shoulder. The Academy's senior class Helen of Troy, with the face that burned the topless towers of Ilium, has lowered her lips to Sammy's, her shining platinum hair a curtain over the scene, and she seems to be madly kissing him. One hand is shot down inside her own, ahem... panties...

Whatever gets you off, Hester of Troy... Be nice to see her knockers...

I take the bottom of my sweater, lifting it off, toss it. Then jack my bra right over my head—nothing too big in the way, you see. My nipples are crinkled into tiny towers. You'd think they would be no more than beads, but they always have hogged too much room on my breasts—too big, too dark. Now, they stick out half-an-inch or more. I turn all around so Sammy can see one.

I smile at him and get the most beautiful smile! I reach up with both hands and jounce my ice cream scoops just as though I had real boobs. Sammy and I are good.

I know Merritt and Heather are dying to let slip their jumbo boobs. Hey, what can I do? Heather, for Pete's sake, has pink-orange nipples as big as election campaign buttons because the weight of her boobs stretches her titties almost flat.

Merritt, shouldn't you be back in your stall at the dairy, now? Milking time? I mean, I am a very refined Academy girl, just have to work on these feelings of envy. Merritt has sublimely pendulous hangers. Sammy sees them; his glance meets Merritt's, explodes in a super nova of arousal. I ought to slap his balls, again.

Then, her cheek is against his smooth brown thighs, tongue darting at this balls. Her hands are on either side of his hips, clawing After a moment, I see her soft knockers pressed to his thighs and she is rubbing her nipples against him. Fuck her!

I still command the joy stick. No release till I say so! He sure is fussing! I hear babbling pleas: yes, yes, oh, no, no..."

Aren't dicks the damnedest thing?

How can I work out the logistics of getting my clit sucked?

I can't.

I catch Merritt's eyes, grab her slender, well-manicured hand, shove it inside the waistband of my pants.

She gasps, "Oh!"

And then, "Ellen!"

And then, breathy, "Really, Ellen? Your puss-puss?"

No, just dig the lint out of my belly button.

Merritt's high-IQ fingers find my clitoris and know that as long as it is swelling, and wet, keep doing what you are doing.

Here, I begin a flashback to distract you as the Sunday service for Sammy, in violation of the Geneva Accords, goes on teasing until he is ready for a straitjacket.

With Merritt and Hester, I rescued Sammy from the senior guy gang that had taken him into the beautiful autumn woods of Connecticut for his initiation. I happened to know, heard, what was going to go down. They say that schoolyards are a war zone. Not sure, but boarding academies, at least mine, made perfectly clear why William Golding wrote "The Lord of the Flies." Course those were English boys and a long time ago.

So, I got my girl gang and tailed them. In a clearing beside the Housatonic River, maybe half a mile from campus, they had stopped. The silliness began. First, Sam had to strip. This was stupid. The boys all saw each other naked in the showers at gym. Even stupider, this moment was known as the supposedly awful moment in coming of age at the Academy. Why?

But there was Sam, looking the part, his lips trembling. He was shaking his head, whining. After a moment, his hands went to his belt. When his trousers, along with his underwear, slid down to his ankles, we girls were mesmerized. But why the boys?

They said absolutely nothing; they stood staring at what Sammy had, staring and frowning, scrutinizing. Predictably, Sam looked ashen. Then, we noticed that his dick had started to swell. Still the guys stared straight at it. Sam's hands were moving spasmodically, little jerks, and I realized he was battling to keep himself from covering his package.

Okay, there was a certain boy-logic, here. He was being examined as a man. And someone had figured out that when a teenage boy has it "out there," the focus of attention for the first time in his life, he gets aroused. I could understand that.

The silent scene went on. Hester and Merritt and I were getting a little congested in our panties. I heard Sammy bleating: "Please, guys! Enough, okay? Please..." His thing kept levitating. The guys kept staring, not a smile.

Finally, someone said, "Okay, he's in." And then snapped, quickly, "No! Stay there!"

And then, "Guys, we've got to do something to get this down, before he goes back to campus. Don't we!" And quickly, "Shut up, Sam!"

Usually, the initiation ended, here. Stupid guy thing. All buddies, laughing, heading back for the Academy. But for Sammy, I had heard, it was going to be different. Everyone, guys and girls, whispered how amazingly well-hung Sam was. Never underestimate male competitiveness.

Sammy was going to get "poled." They already had lifted him, three on a side, supporting his body horizontal, legs wrenched wide apart. Amazingly, his dick still was stiff. The next step was to find a suitable "pole"—but out here, a modest tree trunk—and, on a count, swing Sammy's body back, then fast forward, on the count of "one!" so his balls slammed hard into the pole. I later heard that sometimes the count was three, sometimes 10. I bet no one walked away from 10! Probably squirming on the ground, weeping, then eventually crawling off to find cover and nurse himself.

We three girls stepped out and started to stride toward them.

When a guy spotted us, he shouted, "Hey! No girls! This is a guy's initiation! Get lost!"

We kept coming. More voices protested. The guys holding Sammy dropped him. Now, there were witnesses. We walked right up and I said, "We're taking the prisoner. He's assigned to us. Disperse!"

"Hey, fuck off, Melville!" said one guy, though tentatively, like a question. When I turned to face him, he lowered his face.

So, naturally, I started screaming, deliberately and unnervingly loud, because guys hate screaming women, "You fuck off, Billy! This isn't going to happen! Want to come and discuss poling with the headmaster? One of our only black students? Want to have your dick measured by the headmaster, Billy?"

I didn't think I would be assaulted. Academy boys had names like Martin Lewis Minefield and Silverton ("Swift") Scatterleaf. A definite background and view of their future. Didn't include assault and battery charges and newspaper stories about planning a poling of our African-American student. Not good on college applications, either.

"Forget this shit," said Adolphus Quackenbeak (making up the names, but you get the idea), I'm going back for a beer. It's hot as shit for October!"

As we walked, Sammy talked nonstop. He had nothing to do with this! So embarrassing. We didn't see 'anything,' did we?"

"We saw everything," said Heather with a reassuring little smile.

"All of it," said Merritt. "Wow!"

"Aw, shit! I don't know how that happened! You can't tell anyone..."

"Everyone knows already," said Heather kindly.

"You have a problem," I said sincerely.

"What problem? No, I don't think so."

"Oh, you do," said Merritt confidently.

"You know why that happened," asked Heather, severe now.

"What? Oh, you mean...?"

"What?" I asked, incredulous. "You ask what? You want me to say it, Sammy?"

"Naw..."

"You're way too horny for your own good, Sammy," I said.

"Way, way too horny," clucked Merritt, shaking her head ruefully.

Sammy talked on, but we ignored him. He had nothing worth saying. We knew where we were going. Not to our rooms, which guys would come to check. Over the Academy's stables (of course!) was the little apartment for the trainer/instructor. I happened to know he was out of town because I asked to ride my special horse on Saturday and he said he wouldn't be back till Tuesday. Someone was coming to feed and water.

Important thing was that his apartment would be empty and he hung the key on a nail. Privacy.

Climbing the musty stairs, with old straps and bridles and crops on nails at both sides, the whole place smelling of straw and sweet horse shit, we were on either side of Sammy, holding him. He was docile, broken. "Where we going?" he asked, glancing from me to Heather and back.

I said: "We are going to take care of your problem."

He jerked to a halt. "Wait! What you going to do?" he asked. I heard terror in his voice.

Oh, my God! I quickly, said, "No, Sammy, you idiot!" I let my hand slip down, cover his bulge. Wow! He did have it bad. I looked in his eyes, my face close to his, and breathed: "We're go to make nice!" I was rubbing his lump.

Merritt's to-die-for-cute face was as close on the other side. She took the back of his head, turned his face to her, slowly and fully kissed him.

"Oh..." It was the longest release of breath ever recorded. It was the Kamikaze, the Divine Wind... It was his last breath as a kid.

And so, as Sunday services ensued on the floor of the trainer's living room, on a none-too-soft, none-too-clean rug, I could not believe how long his hard-on had lasted and lowered my face—because Sammy's pleas had become incoherent, something about hanging by the balls—and my lips slid over his slick black bone of lust. I lowered my face, lifted it.

My tongue flicked the underside of the fat head. I raised and lowered my face, worshipping the rod. My tongue swirled and lapped and buffered it; the thing was made of titanium.

We made him cry. Didn't matter. We'd never tell.

As soon as my mouth came off, with a soft "plop," Heather's replaced it going down till her lips touched his hair, then slowly came up. Then, Merritt, with her platinum hair spreading over his dark belly as her face went down. And then me...

I guess we implicitly agreed on a porn film finish. I had dismounted and was beside Sammy; Merritt was on the other. We had Sammy's legs wide open and in his fork Heather laid and administered the final tongue work.

The pink tip of her tongue rose on Sammy's shaft, twitched the weeping head, with tears of pre-cum to break your heart. Quick trips around the meat standing at attention. Her white fist sliding up and down, rolling up the reddened cowl, then hauling it far down. Her lips giving the throbbing head a rapid back-and-forth kissing.

It began with a despairing moan that seemed so long. Then, his hips jacked so fiercely Heather had to whip back her face. Still, her hand encircled the brown club of flesh, pumping with heartless ferocity. Sammy screamed, "No!" loud enough to scare the horses.

I rolled onto my tummy and put my face close to Sammy's, gazing into his frantic eyes.

His hand went behind my head and pulled my lips down on his. Ouch! Hard!

After just a moment, I pulled away to see, and let him see, his cum gouts fired off. A gob reached my cheek! So sweet!

As Sammy jerked his hips sideways, he shot one right onto Merritt's big boob. I was jealous.

Heather was savagely milking Sammy's prick. I felt his body jerk stiff and he started a high-pitched shriek. I thought: Shit, if anyone is downstairs, they're going to call the police—maybe break down door with a pickaxe. Maybe fire at the lock with a shotgun from our competition shooting shed.

I clapped a hand over Sammy's mouth just in time and with the other yanked Merritt's hand off Sammy's martyred hard-on.

"Enough! Great job!" I said.

She had a lot to learn as a dick wrangler! I added, in a bossy tone, "Now lick him clean, but gently!"

She frowned, shrugged, and began work on the tilting monster. Once, Only once, Sammy gave a convulsive jerk and I reproachfully looked at Merritt. She made a funny, guilty face, and went to work on the shaft.

"I think this ought to solve Sammy's problem," said Heather judiciously.

"Of, I think so," I said, nodding.

Later, Sammy lay naked, shot dead, eyes closed, a smile on his face. My lips lazily groomed his warm, flaccid prick. Merritt was on task, pretty face over his, moving in for tender kisses.

Heather had managed to strip. She lay beside me, legs lolling open, fingers working in the high grass at her belly, other hand clapped on my bare ass, presumably for arousal. I was watching Sammy's sedate balls stirring as though in their sleep. Heather suddenly shoved a long finger far up my asshole, and I yelped. But Heather she was coming, so...

Just a Sunday afternoon at our chaste, disciplined New England boarding school.