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Subject: {ASSM} The Great Blowjob {Varkel} [1/5] (MMFF MMfff FFmm mf)
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Date: Fri, 28 Oct 2011 19:10:01 -0400
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The Great Blowjob
a Novelette by Varkel
Fall, 2011


*Part 1 of 5*


"Jesus Christ never whacked off!"

The Dean of Men, a clean-shaven man of forty, stood on the dais facing 
the incoming freshmen.  He surveyed their disparate faces, some callow,
some not.  None of them bore facial hair, though he suspected most had 
shaved at least once.  He grinned and said in an affable manner, "I 
believe that got your attention."

The response was more titters than laughter.  Many pairs of eyes had 
widened.

"Guys," he continued, "you chose this college because of its distinctive
calling.  We are all committed Christians who seek to live and serve in
Christ-like purity and dedication.

"We are a rather small institution with a single dormitory, now enlarged
to three floors, that houses students of both genders.  Freshman girls 
occupy the third floor and boys the second.  On your entrance forms you
all signed the pledge of abstinence, so there should be no problem about
that.

"Many of you have struggled with another, related issue since the onset
of puberty.  I'm speaking of masturbation.  Christ never whacked off!  
Excuse my usage of the vernacular, but this is very important for your 
further development, your growth to leadership.  Abstinence is more than
just refraining from sinful copulation.  You must also avoid self abuse.
Even though some of you in your youthful ignorance may have succumbed to
such odious behavior, that stops here!  You are men now and must 
practice self-restraint."

"I've never done it!" a tall boy shouted proudly from the crowd.

"Praise the Lord," the dean responded.

The other boys shuffled their feet and glanced aside at their neighbors.


* * *


In the same auditorium an hour later the Dean of Women did not mention 
anything of a sexual nature to her charges; she assumed they were all 
shy virgins.

"What you need is pep!" she declared, having reached the "encouragement"
part of her speech.  "You are women now, and so you must decide whether
you are going out for cheer leading or sports like badminton."

"What about the boys?" a slight figure asked.  "They'll live just below
us.  Won't they peek?"

"They aren't that sort," the dean said, "not _our_ young men.  But Satan
is always working to capture souls so I suggest that you all remain 
vigilant."


*  * *                 


After freshman orientation, Dorothy and Linda climbed the stairs to 
their newly assigned dorm room.  They had met just that afternoon.  
Linda, a striking blonde, was a head taller than her room mate, whose 
brunette hair showcased a pale, oval face that was cutely awkward rather
than pretty.  Dorothy felt a measure of intimidation in the presence of
Linda who had the body of a model and the face of a starlet.

"Nothing new here," said the blonde upon entering their shared room.  
"It's just what we saw in the college brochure."

It was a moderately large room with beds, dressers -- two of everything.
A door opened on a bathroom that they shared with the neighboring room.

Dorothy felt a need to comment.  "In fact it _is_ new."  Her eyes 
flicked across the blonde's face.  "The brochure said our floor and the
one below were just finished in the summer.  We're the first to live 
here."

Linda shrugged.  "If you call it living."  She took charge.  "Which bed
do you want?  Or we could trade back and forth."

"Trade back and forth?"

"My sister and I do that all the time."

"Could I have the one near the wall?" Dorothy said.

"That's fine with me.  Why did you chose it?  I hope it's not for some 
defensive notion.  You don't have to fear me.  We're going to be room 
mates for the next four years."

Dorothy had indeed chosen the bed against the wall because she would 
feel safer sleeping there.  But she did not fear the taller girl.  After
all, the Lord would protect her.

"Where are you from?" asked Linda after she sprawled onto the other bed.

"Kansas," Dorothy replied.  "I live on a farm." 

"I'm a city girl myself -- Cleveland," the blonde responded.  "Is it 
true what they say about farm girls?"

"What do they say?"

"Well, that, ah, you learn a lot about sex from watching the animals."

"Except for two cats and a dog, we don't have any animals.  Dad grows 
corn on four hundred acres.  I never learned anything about sex from 
watching my pets.  We don't talk about it at home, but I know the 
basics.  I suppose you do too."

"Yeah, the basics.  But we talked about it at school -- just with other
girls, of course.  We kept track of who was going steady, and we 
wondered what those couples did alone together."

"You see, Linda, talking about it makes you curious, then it's all 
downhill from there.  If you're like me, you won't have sex until you're
married.  So why talk about it?"

"The thing is, I read about it too."

"Trashy novels?  Why do you waste your time with such stuff, Linda?"

"There's great literature about love and sex, Dorothy, and I think we 
should know more about it than just the basics."

"To what purpose?  You and your husband will learn all about it on your
wedding night.  Don't you like surprises?"

"What if your new husband is, ah, already experienced?"

"I wouldn't marry such a person.  I want a truly Christian man, 
preferably a minister."

"I wish I were as certain as you, Dorothy.  I think there's a lot more 
to sex than we now think."

"Then let's not think or talk about it, Linda.  Let's just concentrate 
on our studies.  Maybe you should pray and ask Christ to forgive you 
your sinful wondering."

"I pray enough!  And wondering is not sinful!"

"Curiosity killed the cat, as they say back home."

"Have you ever dated a boy, Dorothy?"

"I have friends who are boys, but I've never dated.  What's the point?
I've enjoyed going to movies and Dairy Quick with other kids, some of 
them boys.  But there is no reason to get, ah, personal."

"I've dated a few times, but I never had a steady boy friend.  Mom 
wouldn't allow it.  You know, there's something about the way they smell
and how they smile, like they have a secret."

"You know what that secret is, Linda, and it's sinful."

"I know, I know.  Mom has told me about it, but I can't help it.  I 
sometimes get tingly when I see certain boys at the beach."

"Stop right there, Linda!  I don't like this conversation.  If you 
insist on talking like that, maybe you should get another room mate."

"I'm sorry, Dorothy.  I'll keep my mouth shut about boys and sex.  
Besides, it would be a hassle to get a new room assignment."


* * *


Greg was the boy who had announced at freshman orientation that he had 
never masturbated.  His roommate, Jason, was quite a different story.  
To keep his nerves relaxed and his mind sharp, Jason needed to whack off
at least twice a day.

He asked, "Is it really true, what you said at the assembly about having
never whacked off?"

"Yes, and I'm proud of it.  I'm proud that I have succeeded in resisting
Satan's lure of physical gratification for a sinful deed."

"Oh, come on!  Think about it!  Males mature earlier than modern society
allows them to marry and have sex.  What's a guy to do?"

"Jesus never whacked off, Jason.  Think about _that_."

"I _have_ thought about it.  I don't know that Christ never stroked his
sausage, Greg, despite what everyone says.  How would they know?  There
is no evidence in the New Testament one way or the other.  I understand
your position, although I don't share it.  But don't you think that 
Jesus at age thirteen might have had wet dreams?"

"We don't know about his life at that age."

"Exactly my point, Greg.  For all we know Jesus might have been a 
habitual whacker, and he might also have dicked the village girls.  

"You're not talking like a serious Christian, Jason.  Why did you choose
this college?"

"My dad chose it for me, if you must know.  He's a religious nut who's 
on the board.  I'm a legacy.  About wet dreams, though, didn't you have
them after puberty?"

"I'll tell you the truth, Jason.  One night when I was thirteen Satan 
came to me and I in my sleep was helpless to resist him.  I experienced
a tremendous rush of pleasure, and when I awoke my shorts were sodden 
with my sinful effluent.  But I prevented that from happening again."

"How did you do it?"

"At bed time I would tie a rubber band tightly around my penis to 
prevent blood from enlarging it during sleep.  That worked."

"Ingenious!  But go to such lengths to avoid something that is entirely
natural?  I've wacked off twice a day for the past five years, and 
sometimes I'm very inventive going about it.  No one is hurt.  It's not
like sticking your cock into a girl.  That maybe _is_ a sin and it's 
also dangerous."

"You don't understand, Jason.  The true sin is allowing yourself to have
an involuntary orgasm, and worse yet giving yourself one by hand."

"Orgasm is sinful?  Where in the Bible do you read that?  And don't tell
me about Onan, because that's Old Testament."

"It's part of the Bible, Jason."

"So is the Sermon on the Mount, and I'm not aware that many Christians 
take that to heart."

"Jason, you are obviously a confused sinner.  Let's kneel together and 
pray for your salvation."

"Not now, pal.  I'm going to take a shower -- and whack off."


* * *


"Dorothy, who's that?" asked Linda, the statuesque blonde.

"Do you mean that fellow in the leather jacket?" said Dorothy, the 
petite brunette.

"Yeah, the hot one."

"You don't remember?  We met him last night at the Freshman Barbecue."

"Oh, we did, didn't we?  I thought he looked familiar.  Do you remember
his name?"

"Mmm.  Lesley something.  He's the Dean of Men's son."

"Then that makes him Lesley Simmons.  I think he's a senior."

Dorothy giggled.  "Funny you can remember his father's name!"

"I like older men."

The brunette giggled again.  "If he's a senior he qualifies.  Hold it, I
just remembered.  He's the dean's _step_son.  His name is Lesley 
Sylvester.  Uh-oh!  Here he comes."

The girls were strolling hand-in-hand across the quadrangle toward their
dorm, returning from supper at the cafeteria.  The early evening was 
cool in late spring.  The man in question had departed a group of male 
students and approached them on an intersecting course.  In addition to
the leather jacket, fully open down the front, he wore jeans and well 
scuffed riding boots.  He was a hands-width taller than Linda, herself 
no little girl, slim with a sharp-planed face and blue eyes.

Intercepting them, he smiled, gaze lingering on the tall blonde.  "I was
hoping I'd get to see you again, and here you are!"  His voice was a 
resonant baritone.

Linda almost squeaked.  "You ... you did?"  Her face reddened brightly.

Dorothy possessed more aplomb.  "We met you last night," she said with a
smile.  "In case you don't remember, she's Linda Clayborne and I'm 
Dorothy Firstwell.  We're freshmen."

"Oh, I remember.  I wanted to ask Linda if it was she I saw at the 
Senior Fellowship Tuesday night."

"No," said the blonde in a low voice.

The brunette explained, "We didn't get here until Wednesday."

"That's good," he said.  "I didn't attend it either."

Both girls blinked at him.  "That's silly," said Dorothy.

"It was meant to be funny."

Linda managed a weak laugh.

Dorothy said pertly, "Like your leather jacket and riding boots?"

He developed a wounded look.  "What's wrong with them?"

"In late spring?"

He smiled broadly.  "You afraid I'll get too hot?  The fact is I've been
riding my motorcycle."

Linda declared, "I think they look dashing."  Her face brightened again.

"She likes you," said Dorothy unnecessarily.

"And I like her," he responded, looking into Linda's eyes but no longer
smiling.  "May I give you a call at the Freshman Dorm later on?  Say in
a day or two, after you've settled in?"

The blonde's eyes widened and lips parted.  The question clearly stunned
her.  She managed to stammer, "If ... if you ... really want to.  But I
don't know the number."

The smiled again.  "Oh, I'll get the number.  Not allowing freshmen to 
have cell phones is stupid, isn't it?"

Dorothy said primly, "It's so we can study."

"So they say," he seemed to agree, "but we have lots of things to 
study."  He produced another beaming smile just for Linda.  "I'll talk 
to you later."

She simpered, "P-please do."

He turned and walked away, whistling _Yes, Sir, She's my Baby_, which 
neither of the girls recognized.  They resumed their stroll to the dorm.

Dorothy repeated mockingly, "'P-please do.'"

"Oh, wow!"  Linda pulled the brunette against her.  "Do you believe 
that?  I've practically got my first date."

Dorothy pushed herself away from the blonde and shook her head.  "That 
boy is dangerous, I tell you!"

"Oh, honey, he is _so_ not a boy!"


* * *


"Oh god, oh god, that feels _so_ good!"  Lacey Carter smiled lazily up 
at Blake Bingham, whose extended arms supported his head and shoulders 
above hers.  She was a plump blonde with shoulder-length hair, large 
breasts, wide hips, and cellulose beginning at age 39 but no stretch 
marks.  Her heart-shaped face was attractive though not exactly pretty.

"Are you coming again?" asked Blake, panting a little at the fast pace.
He was 36, clean-shaven with brown hair and well-built.

"We're both about to," announced Claire Bingham, lying on the same float
with Lacey, so close that her upper arm concealed Blake's hand on the 
arm that support his chest.  She was slim but curvy at 38, having 
married Blake when she was 24.  Her head was thrown back on the float 
edge, brown hair trailing in the water.

Fred Carter's hips lay atop Claire's, plunging at a moderate pace.  His
upper torso was twisted to the right, supported by that elbow, while his
left hand squeezed Claire's ample tit.  He was now 36, the same age as 
Blake, having married Lacey when she was 25 in a double wedding with 
Blake.  Now he mumbled something.

"I know what you said," declared Lacey with a frown.  "Don't call us 
bitches."

He explained, "I said, 'Lucky bitches.'"

Claire emitted her soprano giggle.  "Don't be jealous."

Blake remarked, "I thought you said you broads were coming."

Claire was still giggling.  "What if we'd rather argue?"

Lacey said, "That's the great advantage of the missionary."

Claire's giggle continued.  "Right.  Who can talk with a cock in her 
mouth?"

Lacey declared, "Not me.  Mamma said don't talk with my mouth full."

Claire laughed shortly.  "But a pussy full is all right."

"Oh, yes!"

"I know you think so.  You like two cocks at once."

"The fuller the better.  If they're not too long."

Claire said with feeling, "Long or short, fat or lean, just give me 
cock."

"Huh!  You forget Malcolm Longeon at Phi Delta Tau."

"'Long John.'  You're right."  Claire shivered.  "Only one place to take
a cock that long."

"Now they've started bragging," said Blake, slowing his pace.

Fred demanded, "What place?"

Both women spoke in harmony: "Up your ass."

Blake said, "An ass is deeper than a pussy?"

Lacey answered, "Ass has no cervix to get banged.  That hurts some 
women.  Like me."

"Long John would hurt anybody," said Claire.  "Did we ever tell you guys
how glad we are you're big but not too big?"

Fred asked curiously, "How big was Long John?"

"About like your forearm."

"Jesus Christ!"

Claire giggled.  "It almost gave me religion too."

Blake wondered, "He was a member of Phi ... of that fraternity?"

"Actually he was the janitor, but of course the guys liked to watch him
fuck."

"That's interesting.  You know, you girls never have talked much about 
those parties.  How many fraternities did you, ah ..."

"Fuck?" suggested Claire.  "All of them.  In three years."

"Wow!  Real party girls!"

Lacey sighed.  "You know what we were, Blake.  Until you two made us 
honest."

Claire giggled.  "Honest husband-swappers, you mean."

"What were you?" asked Fred.

"Whores," Lacey said flatly.

"I knew that," said Blake, hips still pumping slowly.

"Guess I did too," said Fred.  "How much did they pay you -- by the 
party or the guy?"

"It's odd," said Lacey after a moment.  "We thought it was okay as long
as it was the frat that paid us, instead of the individual guys.  The 
going rate was a hundred bucks each per party, which is cheap as hell if
you think nowadays it won't buy one quickie.  But we got all the 
hundred.  And no taxes."

"That was 16 years ago," said Claire, adding, "And the frat guys were 
clean."

"And we loved fucking, couldn't get too much."

"Still love it.  Come up a little, Fred."

But Blake's interest had grown.  "How long did you fuck in the frats, 
three years?"

"Almost," said Lacey.  "We started in our freshman year.  My first one 
was the New Year's party.  Only a few guys hadn't gone home.  I thought,
'Wow, what awesome fun!'  When I admitted I liked it, they put me down 
for the next one, told me I'd get twice the cocks."

"Claire was there too?"

Lacey glanced at the younger woman, who was grimacing in approaching 
climax.  "She was a year ahead of me, you know.  We didn't meet till 
some time in the spring.  I liked her right away.  She was a sweetheart
who loved cock as much as I did.  Sometimes we fucked for hours.  Oh 
god!  Push a little harder, will you, Blake?"

Wavelets criss-crossed the pool as the common float began to undulate.
Lacey screamed softly, not so much as to excite interest beyond the 
Bingham's back yard, enclosed as it was in high hedges.  Her lower tones
harmonized with Claire's moans.


* * *


With the temperature in the mid-80s, it was the warmest day of spring so
far.  A few people were taking lunch on the cafeteria's old-fashioned 
veranda, mostly professors and other adults.  Dorothy and Linda emerged
from the cafeteria and threaded their way through the diners clustered 
around the door.

Continuing a conversation begun inside, Linda said, "How did your place
get flooded?  Do you live in a river bottom?"

"Close," said Dorothy, "but it would've been no problem except for the 
dam gates."

As she spoke, she was passing a table where a woman was rising with a 
tray containing the remains of her meal.  She was of early middle-age, 
wearing a skirted business suit with a ruffled blouse.

Eyes narrowing, her face snapped around to the girl.  "What did you say,
young lady?"

Dorothy recognized her as the Dean of Women, who had addressed the 
freshmen just yesterday, and stammered, "I-I ... I was talking to 
_her_."  She tilted her head toward Linda.

"I'm sure you weren't talking to _me_!" said the woman with a sneer.  
"It's what you said I want repeated."

Under attack by authority, Dorothy could remember nothing.  Her mind had
gone blank.  "I don't know what I said."

The dean nodded with a scowl.  "I wouldn't know either!  Young lady, did
you forget where you are?"

"Uh, uh ..."

"CLC insists that you wipe out the bad habits you brought with you and 
adopt proper Christian habits.  In particular you must not curse 
anything, not ever.  The curse words that are so familiar you can't 
remember saying them must be stricken from your vocabulary.  Do you 
understand what I'm saying?"

"I, uh ..."  The girl straightened her shoulders.  "Ma'am, I understand
what you said but I don't understand why."

The woman sniffed.  "Believe me, you will before the semester is 
finished."  Whirling, she carried her tray into the building.

Dorothy immediately continued down the veranda steps and waited for 
Linda to draw abreast.  Wide-eyed, she regarded her friend.  "Do you 
have any idea what that was all about?"

Linda's hand covered her mouth, trying to suppress giggles.  "'Dam 
gates,'" she quoted.

The brunette's gaze became introspective.  After a moment she breathed,
"_Damn_ gates!  She thought I was cussing."

The blonde could not suppress her mirth.  Frankly laughing, she managed
to say, "I'll bet what she heard was, 'Would've been no problem except 
for that damn _Bill_ Gates' -- that is, if she's a Windows user."

Dorothy nodded slowly.  "You're probably right, but good heavens!  I 
never cuss."

"I know that, but _she_ surely doesn't."  Linda giggled again.  "She's 
certain to remember you the next time she sees you."

The brunette turned around to face the cafeteria.  "I ought to find her
and explain."

The blonde sniffed.  "She's just like my mother: you wouldn't get a word
in edgewise."

Linda started for the dorm and called over her shoulder with another 
giggle, "Just stay away from my innocent self, you little Christian 
foul-mouth!"


* * *


The kids, having met and become a familiar group over the previous week,
were walking across the quadrangle to the dorm after lunch the next day.

"It looks like rain," said Jason, holding up an open palm as through to
capture a drop.

"No question about that," responded Linda.  "Let's hurry.  I want to get
my umbrella."

"What for?" asked Greg.

"I'm going to the library to cram for Monday's exam."

"Hey, guys," said Dorothy, "that's more than a rain storm coming.  Look
at the sky.  It's dark green."

Greg shrugged.  "So it'll be a cloud burst."

"I'm from Kansas, guys.  I know my weather.  We'd better get to some 
kind of shelter."

"Are you predicting a hurricane?"

"You city guys are so dumb!  Look!  There's a spout nearing the ground.
We're in for a tornado!"

The others respected Dorothy, despite her diminutive figure.  They broke
into a run for the dorm.

Jason glanced at the sky before entering the door.

"The funnel's gone," he said.

"Don't let that fool you," Dorothy insisted.  "Conditions are right for
a tornado."

Jason and Greg clambered up the stairs to their room on the second floor
while the girls took the elevator to theirs on the third.

"The A/C is out!" Jason exclaimed.  "I thought it felt close in the 
hallway."

"What now?" said Greg.  "The windows don't open.  This place will turn 
into a sauna."

"We could strip down," Jason said with a grin.

"Sure, why not?"  Greg immediately began to undress.

Jason did not expect this response.  "Isn't it against your religion to
display your stuff?"

"There is nothing sinful about nudity.  I learned that in junior high."

"Who told you that?"

"Coach Clark," Greg responded after dropping his undershorts to stand 
nude.  "Coach insisted that all us guys swim naked in the pool.  I 
didn't want to until he told me it was healthy and not sinful."

"Hah!  I knew a coach like that in junior high.  He'd have us line up 
then measure our dicks.  We all had woodies by the time he was finished.
He gave us a lame excuse about it, but most of us knew that he just 
wanted to handle our dicks."

"Coach Clark was a Christian man.  He would never take advantage of us 
like that, even if he was attracted to adolescent males bodies."

"Was he?"

"I think so.  He said that some boys can be prettier than girls.  But he
never touched me, except a few times on the thigh and chest."

"I bet he was queer like my coach.  Mine got caught sucking the cock of
a thirteen year old.  He was sent off to prison, and I think he's still
there."

"So now we're naked," Greg observed, glancing casually at Jason's modest
member.

"You're better hung than I, Greg.  You must dangle four inches."

"So what?  Would you make comments on the shape of my nose or the length
of my toes?  We're all God's creatures regardless of skin color and the
condition of our body."

"You mean people don't have differences?"

"Not in God's eyes."

"Well, they sure do in mine!" Jason declared.  "How hard do you get?  
Some guys with dongs like yours just swell with blood and don't get any
longer.  I don't dangle much but my erection grows to over six inches."

"Again, so what?  I think I'll take a shower and cool off."

"That's what I had in mind.  It's getting really stuffy in this room."

The boys walked toward the bath room.

"I'm first," Greg said.

"Let's share," Jason retorted.

"The shower stall is not large enough, and besides you don't have pure 
intentions in that suggestion."

As they entered the bath room, Jason was struck with a variation on a 
thought, that it takes impurity to notice it.  Before he could voice it,
a terrible howling arouse from outside.  The building shuddered 
violently and the ceiling tiles fell upon them in a shower of white 
dust.

The room tilted backward and the far wall ripped off.  They glimpsed the
brick wall of an adjacent building dimly through thick rain and flying 
trash.  Overwhelmed by the unbelievable violence, they did not 
immediately record in their minds the sudden appearance of Linda and 
Dorothy.  The girls had fallen into the wreck of the bath room from the
floor above.  They were clad in panties and bras.

Instinctively all four clung together as they felt an unmistakable lift
off the ground.  Mouths agape, they registered the impossible situation
of soaring into the air, swirling as they went, and the certainty of 
their impending deaths.  Fierce wind shuffled the walls and debris 
around them.  Cold rain drenched their bodies until some large object 
fell upon them.  They did not die, lying in a hollow under it, and 
continued to fly in the storm's vortex.  Although none of them realized
it yet, no one had suffered more than mild cuts and abrasions.

"This is so unfair!" Linda screamed.  "Why aren't we dead?  God is 
cruelly playing with us."

"God is merciful!" Dorothy insisted.  "There is a purpose for what's 
happening."

They had been swirling in the air for a while before Linda noticed the 
boys' nakedness.

"Is this God's purpose too?" she cried, pulling Dorothy's head down to 
view Greg's flaccid penis.

"He's circumcised," the smaller girl remarked, mouth under Linda's ear.
"That's common in America."

"Is that all you have to say, Dorothy?  His ... his ... _thing_ is 
visible."

"He's naked, that's why.  It's nothing special, considering the 
situation.  Besides, we're about to die, you know."

Jason and Greg had been gazing at the girls in wordless shock during 
those couple of minutes.  Jason had sprouted an erection.

"We're not dead yet," he said, placing a hand on one of Linda's fulsome
thighs.

"You beast!" Linda shouted, turning her hips away.

"God has a purpose," Dorothy cried.  "I wonder what it is."

"Whatever it is," Greg muttered, almost to himself considering the 
noise, "I hope He let's us know soon."

But Dorothy heard him.  "Be careful what you pray for."

Implausible minutes passed as they spun in the vortex.  Greg and Dorothy
began to pray.  Linda, stupefied, watched as Jason masturbated and did 
not flinch as he extended a hand to feel her abundant breast.

His ejaculation, which landed on her panties and thigh, failed to elicit
a response, because with a sudden crash they and the remnant of the 
building hit the ground.  Though actually unhurt, all four lost 
consciousness in the crash.


* * *


"Folks, this is what I call _real fucking_!"

Two couples, the Binghams and the Carters, occupied the Carter's 
king-sized bed.  The two women were in position for mutual 
sixty-nine, with Claire Bingham, the brunette, atop Lacey Carter, 
the blonde, who lay on her back upon thick pillows.  The men knelt at 
either end of the ensemble.  Blake Bingham, the speaker, had thrust his
cock into Lacey's pussy, which Claire was licking.  At the other end 
Fred Carter's cock was in his wife's mouth, having just departed Claire.

No physical inhibitions remained among this foursome.  They had already
executed a round this morning in which the men had penetrated one 
woman's bottom together, alternating in the other's, while the neglected
female knelt behind them to suckle balls.  They were all in their late 
thirties, each woman, as appropriate to greater experience, being 
slightly older than her man.

Fred, slower of mind but who did, as he said, "eventually get there," 
agreed.  "It really is!  You'd think they'd have a name for this position."

Claire, mouth temporarily free, raised her head.  "Don't they call it 
the 'two-backed beast?'"

"I've heard that," mused Blake, "but I think it means just a single 
couple doing the missionary."

Lacey pushed Fred back far enough to say, "I read a fuck story where the
whores called it the 'Big H.'"  She immediately recaptured the turgid 
cock.

"I get it," said Fred. "You gals are the crossbar."

"Whatever you call it," said Blake, "I call it _real_ fucking."

"Well, it is that," said Claire, "when Fred puts it back in the right 
place."

Blake, at the moment in the right place, pushed harder and faster.  "Is
this where you want it too, Lacey?"

The woman's hips quivered and she moaned nasally.  After a long moment 
Fred announced, "She just came again."

"How do you know?" said Blake.

"She bit me."  With a grimace Fred transferred to the pussy of Claire, 
who issued a series of soprano grunts.

"Ever notice," said Blake, "when one comes, the other is right behind 
her?"

"Yeah.  Then they do it again, the lucky bitches."

Indeed the fucking was "real" in the Carter's big bed as climaxes 
approached also for the men.  The two couples had been an item for over
15 years, following each other from university to job to job, currently
owning adjacent houses in the southern city of Walton, swapping 
partners, cars and even homes with wild abandon, childless so far, 
amusing each other with a corrupted quote: "Those who fuck together stay
together."

But downstairs a forgotten television was tuned to a local station that
had interrupted its regular programming.  On the screen the announcer's
face was contorted in horror as he read from the teleprompter.  "The 
high risk forecast is confirmed.  Tornado streams are ravaging our 
state.  A tornado is on the ground in Leesville, just southwest of 
Walton, and has already devastated the Christian Leadership College 
there.  Half a large dormitory is reported missing, simply lifted away.
This is a very powerful storm and is staying on the ground as it 
approaches Walton.  Anyone who has not evacuated from the city is in 
great danger.  You are strongly advised to take shelter in a basement or
a room without windows.  Go there immediately.  This station is 
temporarily shutting --"

The screen went black as house power failed.  Upstairs the bedroom grew
dark and the wind howled in the eaves, but the two men were immersed in
the throes of rising orgasm while the women were already riding waves of
ecstasy, seeing stars and hearing bells.  Judging by real sounds, a 
freight train was approaching at 60 MPH, but it only added to the mutual 
intensity.

Suddenly with a crash louder than thunder the room brightened as the 
roof above them vanished.  The bed itself was snatched into the air.  
The fierce acceleration toppled the two men onto their sides, pressing 
them forcefully into the mattress, just as each was climaxing, their 
second time today.

Men and women immediately clutched each others' bodies with one arm and
took fistfuls of the bedcover with the other.  Daring to peep, they 
could see only a violent fog.  The bed rocked and spun while rotating 
about some nearby center.  The wind shrieked and pulled the breath from
their noses while a curiously thin rain stung their eyes.  They could 
breathe only by turning their faces downwind.  Brief glances showed the
air around them full of debris: miscellany such as shingles and chunks 
of colorful insulation and recognizable objects like pots, pans, 
children's toys, a leather sofa, a mahogany table and even a small 
automobile.

They hung onto each other and the bed, expecting to die at any moment.
Soon the bed's spinning and rocking eased but the rotation increased so
that centrifugal force threatened to throw them into the air.  The sound
lowered in intensity.  Experimentally Blake yelled, "This must be a 
tornado."

Lacey turned toward him and found she could breathe.  She screeched, 
"Are you sure?"

"What else could it be?"

Claire's expression was full of awe.  She called, "Sorry to hear it.  
With over a hundred men I never had sex like that!"

Lacey sneered.  "Don't let it spoil you, honey."

Claire giggled, a tinkle above the storm.  "You suppose another hundred
would do it?"

"Maybe at the same time."  Lacey added her own laugh.

Fred's expression was fearful.  He yelled, "Where are we?"

Lacey, his wife, sneered again.  "In the heart of a tornado.  Where 
else?"

"But what's keeping us in the air?"

Blake stuck his arm out past the edge of the bed and said, "Feel that."

Gingerly Fred obeyed.  His eyes widened.  "The wind's blowing _up_."

Blake nodded.  "Makes sense.  Tornadoes suck stuff off the ground."

"Stuff like us," Lacey agreed.

Claire grinned hugely.  "You mean this is just a big blowjob?"

Blake shook his head at her.

Lacey fell in with her friend.  "Hey guys, stick your cocks over the 
side and give them satisfaction."

Claire pretended apprehension.  "No, no, Fred; she's just kidding.  That
wind would suck him off."

Everyone laughed but Fred.  "What's the matter with you people?  God 
knows how high we are.  We'll probably get dropped on our heads any 
minute."

"Hold on to my legs," Blake directed.  When willing hands clutched them,
he slid his face slowly past the edge of the bed but returned 
momentarily.  "We're pretty high.  Take a look.  You can see the ground
down through a narrow, twisting funnel."

Claire and Lacey approached the edge while Fred caught their legs.  
"Wow, he's right," said Lacey.

"No, he isn't," said Claire.  "All you can see is trash and dust 
whirling around."

"Huh!  That's what the ground looks like," said Blake.

"I need to pee," said Lacey.

"Go ahead," said Blake.  "Bed's already wet."

"Hold it as long as you can," Claire countered.  "We might have to sleep
in this bed."

"We'll grab on to you," offered Blake, "if you want to pee over the 
edge."

"But the wind's blowing _up_," said Lacey.  "It might still get on the 
bed."

"I've got an idea," said Claire.  "Catch that commode."

Through a vagary of the wind a white porcelain toilet seat, trailing a 
length of pipe but minus the water tank, approached them, slowly 
spinning.

"What good would that do?" Fred scoffed.  "It's not connected to 
anything."

"What'll we catch it with anyway?" mused Blake.  "Unless it comes a lot
closer ..."

Tantalizingly the commode swung near then fell away.  Fred pointed at 
something beyond it.  "That looks like a six pack of beer and I'm 
thirsty."

"We can't catch that either," Blake grumbled.

But without effort of theirs the object wafted near and fell among them.
Indeed it proved to be a six pack of 12 oz. beer bottles.  Fred grabbed
it up, jerked a bottle from the plastic wrapper and twisted off the cap
explosively.  Obviously the tornado ride had agitated the beer, which 
sprayed widely, a gout of it drenching Claire's ample chest in foam.  
While Fred swigged half the remainer, Blake and Lacey bent to lick 
Claire's breasts clean.  Fred passed the bottle to Claire.  "It's warm 
but it's wet."

She said, "How about a fresh one?"

Lacey backed away, licking her lips with a sneer.  "I can't believe 
you're afraid of his germs after swallowing his jizz for 15 years."

"Longer than that," said Claire.  She took the bottle, finished it off 
and burped in harmony with Fred while Blake and Lacey shared another 
bottle.


* * *


Five miles away, whirling in an earlier funnel cloud, the four students
lay in blank confusion, their limbs entangled.  They had regained 
consciousness but seemed unable to think.  Above stretched a dark cloud,
filled with debris and gray whorls.  Ragged stubs of drywall framed them
on three sides.  Whenever their platform rotated its open side to the 
wind, fiercely driven rain smashed into their bodies, tearing the breath
from their throats until they turned their heads away.  Their world 
rolled and twisted, flinging them back and forth.

How long they endured that condition no one was ever able to say.  After
a while they sustained an even greater shock than before, but a moment 
later they realized movement had ceased.  The rain died away along with
the wind.  Having braced into positions that seemed to bear up under the
onslaught, none of the students dared to move for several minutes.  
Gradually the world became quiet.

Greg raised his head to look around.  Apparently all four of them lay 
beneath a long piece of furniture, one end of which was perched on an 
overturned chair, the other on a pile of books, that supported the thing
with enough clearance for them underneath it.

Jason, of course naked as he, was atop Dorothy in the missionary 
position, their bodies aligned opposite Greg and Linda, whose eyes were
open, staring into Greg's.  He realized she was whimpering.

The two girls wore only brassieres and panties; apparently they had been
relaxing in their bedroom.

Where were they now?  The carpet upon which he lay was wet but clearly 
pinkish.  Jason's bedroom had been decorated with tan carpet.  But 
before the world ended, he and Jason had been standing in the bathroom,
which had a tile floor.  He shook his head.  At least they were alive.

Linda coughed and raised her head to regard him inquiringly.

"We're alive!" Greg exclaimed.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"This certainly doesn't resemble the heaven I've heard about."

Linda's eyes actually twinkled.  "I thought we were about to die."

Jason had rolled onto his elbow partly off Dorothy.  "It feels like we 
must have landed."

Dorothy warned, "Listen!"

They paused.  The wind picked up and resumed its howl.  A wall of rain 
passed over them, though the furniture item above mostly protected them.

Eyes huge, Jason screamed, "The tornado is coming back!"

"They don't _do_ that!" yelled Dorothy.  "It's another one."

Wind from a different direction shoved them and blew away the three 
protecting walls.  Greg wrapped his arms around his head and assumed the
fetal position.  Suddenly he felt more than heard a huge thump pass 
through the ground.  The item of furniture lifted up but fell back, 
still covering them.  They hunkered down and dared not move until some 
time had passed and Greg realized he heard voices.

"Come on, Jason," he said; "help me get this furniture off us."


(1 of 5)

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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