Origins Pt. 07
Origins Part VII
Continuation of Parts I-VI
It was a quick ride home. I opened the windows, fell into bed. The events of the past few days, the sex, the poor sleep, the adrenaline producing encounter with Viktor, all had left me needing a good sleep, so I slipped beneath a quilt knitted by my country grandmother and slept without interruption until dawn.
I awoke energized. First in my mind was Sharon's offer which I planned to accept without discussion. I was so titillated by the sex that I was envisioning with her plus the image of her standing in the doorway last night that I stroked one out in the shower. Then made a quick breakfast and decided to jump start my research schedule by going to my carrel on campus. This was out of sequence, but I had missed a lot of research time over the past week, and I wanted to stay on schedule, so I picked up a large coffee in the cafeteria and took the elevator to the stacks.
It was a little earlier than usual, but before I had all my gear organized. There it was. Those sounds again. I was hyper-alert, but the banging was much louder than before. I even imagined that I heard Sharon murmuring Viktor's name. Based on our conversation last night, this is not what I expected, but this was hot as hell, and I could feel my cock swelling in my jeans. This was one hot woman. I had fucked her twice. Viktor must have fucked her at least 3 times over 3 hours, and more than 3 times—remembering her gaping asshole. That boy didn't go to a woman's apartment to chit chat. Now, she was back at it at 6:30 this morning. We had already made tentative plans to meet later in the day, which one way or the other would have involved more sex.
What was more, they were really tempting fate. This was loud, uninhibited sex. These carrels gave some privacy, but they only redirected sound, and large noises really carried. If someone knocked a book off a desk at the other end of the area, it could send you into cardiac arrest if you were really engrossed in your work. Also, this area was inhabited by a lot of weird, sexually repressed people. Hard to tell how they would respond, but it could be very embarrassing if someone complained. They were building to a crescendo, and there it was. "Pull them hard, hurt me." This led to some thunderous pounding ending with Viktor shouting, "My God!" I am sure Sharon was making some sounds as well, but Viktor's deep baritone drowned out everything else.
It was probably that day that I fully realized how much of a voyeur I was. I should have felt hurt, mad, and weirdly cheated, and I did, but I was also extremely hard. I just sat at my desk in a daze, vaguely hearing Viktor make his triumphant exit. I was horny as hell, and surely after all that, a quick jerk surely wouldn't have been noticed. As I sat there pondering how I was about to become a perv jerking in the study carrels, I heard a light tap on the door, and a quiet but urgent voice. "Open up, I know you are in there."
I was confused in my feelings, but my cock wasn't confused. I didn't resist as she entered, fell to her knees, and started grabbing at my large western style belt buckle. When she found me rock hard, she pushed me back on my desk and mounted my cock. No surprise, no panties, and her hot slippery snatch once again slid unto my cock. She was crying, her mascara was running, her lipstick smudged and her hair which was in a pigtail arrangement had one of her hair ties pulled loose. It must have been my kinky tastes, but I thought she looked, vulnerable and sexy as hell. She didn't fuck my cock so much as ground one out with her clit on my pubic bone. She had a loose fitting, flowered skirt that reached her ankles, those espadrilles, and a one ply cashmere cardigan which I easily pulled apart. As usual she was braless, but I couldn't deal with her breasts because I was helping her hike her skirt up so that she had greater freedom of movement.
She didn't relent when I came but kept getting herself off on my pubic bone. She was cumming hard, but these were clitoral as opposed to vaginal orgasms, but I wasn't complaining. I was rock hard again with her tongue deep in my throat. I noticed the taste of semen but didn't stop my thrusting that was only slightly impeded by her relentless grinding. Dorothy had said that it was a Viktor ritual to make his women lick his cock and balls completely clean after rounds of sex, and he seldom was once and done. Confused and disgusted as I was, I was still thinking with my cock, and it was responding. While she was trying to wear down my pubic bone, I was probing for the depths of her pussy, and deep it was. When my cock was hard like this, I could twirl it inside a loose vagina for added sensation. I was hard enough to twirl, but I was barely touching the sides. This woman was stretched out. She clearly had just been satisfied by a big-cocked brute. I knew from personal experience that when she ordered her men to pull her nipples, "hard" as she had just done moments ago that she was in the doggy position and was in the height of an overwhelming orgasm. So, why was she here?
She came hard on my pubic bone at least a couple of times, and I eventually came again, but she remained clinging to me. She continued to hump my softened cock with her sloppy pussy, but I was fucked out for the immediate future. Her position squatting on my cock with her feet on the desk would have been uncomfortable even for an athlete, which she was not. She slid off me and moved to my side on the desk nuzzling against me with her hand on my cock. I verbalized my earlier question. "Sharon, why are you here? You are married, you have your stud to satisfy you during your separation. And as I said before, it is not that I am against sharing, but I am not sharing a woman with that jackass."
"I know that it is complicated, but I know that right now, I want you, and I will do anything you ask. Just tell me what to do." She was starting to sniffle again. And by now, the carrel area was becoming active with all my prudish, gossiping neighbors. Since I was trying to keep an easy peace with this crew, some of whom had already complained that I pounded my typewriter too hard, I wanted to exit as quietly as possible. I gave her my bandanna, motioned for her to wipe her tears and running mascara. I whispered, "let's go back to my place." I opened the door carefully, and quickly led her out into the main corridor which took us out of the library. Once in the Union, I steered her to adjacent restrooms that allowed us to clean up more efficiently. My skivvies were soaked with our juices, so I folded them into my back pocket. But as I did so, I couldn't help but think about the state of her gaping pussy which gave me a twitch.
Since I was driving against traffic, we were back to my bungalow before eight with Sharon practically sitting in my lap. My working-class neighbors were long gone, but the stay-at-home wives were out puttering in their yards. My neighbor, Mrs. Chafens, the refugee from the West Virginia mining wars, waved at me with a bemused expression on her face while she continued to rake her leaves, and I entered the house with Sharon humping my leg.
Once in the house, Sharon drug me into the bedroom jerking at my belt buckle all the way. Once near the bed, she fell to her knees and licked every part of my package available to her. I was at attention at once, and she was on top riding me like a galloping cowgirl. Her pussy was still gaping, but to the extent it was loose, it was equally hot and wet. Importantly, it still had enough purchase on my cock to give me plenty of pleasure. Her face was flushed from the exertion and excitement, and soon she gave me the command that proved it. "Pull my nipples, pull them hard." I didn't last long after that and came with her as she collapsed on my chest clinging to me with her pussy still spasming periodically as she fell into a deep sleep. I couldn't help trying to estimate how many times she had fucked this morning, and it still wasn't 8:30. She was so light that I was comfortable with her sleeping on my chest, and I rhythmically stroked her firm, cute butt while I tried to get this situation organized.
In a previous life, I could have easily managed both these situations—the lurking menace of the Iron Horseman, and the immediate threat posed by Viktor. All was necessary was to haul a couple of my old and very violent friends from my younger days into the High Cherokee and let things develop. I had often played this role before in a different setting. The group I hung with, like a lot of late adolescent males of that era, had their violent tendencies incessantly torqued by their sexual frustration. It didn't take much to set them off, and usually, their main entertainment was to physically harm someone. Free love was still on the horizon. Unfortunately, as a group and individually, they were so big and well-practiced that few would take the bait.
This is where I came in. At a dance hall or bar, usually in another working-class neighborhood or suburb, I would make a point of walking to the other end of the dance floor and asking the prettiest girl to dance. I would walk back to my group after the dance and socialize with my buds for a while, and then go back for another. Sometimes I would have to maneuver my way between her admirers to get close enough to ask her to dance. The first couple of times, the object of my desire would think this was sweet or funny, but on the third or fourth time, they would become fearful. "Are you crazy." "No, just asking the most beautiful woman in the room to dance." "Do you know who these guys are?" "I think so, I think that big guy over there was the starting tackle for the local high school, and as I recall, you were one of the cheerleaders." This would usually get a look. "Do I know you? You seem like a nice guy, and I don't want to see you get into any kind of trouble." "Let me worry about that. I have always wanted to get to know you better."
This would continue for much of the evening until the group around her became bigger and bigger and more hostile. Until finally, when I returned for another dance, I would be barred entry into her protective shell by one of the more intimidating members of her entourage. Usually a hulk, this guy would be angry but equally incredulous that this average sized person was flirting so aggressively--not only with their Venus but also with certain pain and suffering.
Meanwhile, my crew which had been watching the proceedings with ever growing interest would be edging toward the group. When the inevitable push, or punch came, things would get ugly for the home team. I would often receive a good lick, but so long as I could survive the first punch, I was usually safe and would hang back while my boys worked their magic. But the dance would be over, and after the initial thrust and beatdown, we would sidle off to our cars to avoid the inevitable confrontation with the police. Later, we would all congregate in the parking lot of a drive-in restaurant, mix cheap whisky in our cokes, and congratulate ourselves on another victory. Beyond the bonding that takes place through these encounters, I gained some notoriety. First, as someone willing to risk harm for the group, but second as someone silly enough, sissy enough to spend all the time dancing. Years later, lost in thought, an image of those days would spark into my consciousness, and I would burst out in wondrous laughter. Why didn't her defenders just ask her to dance?
But these weren't the old days, and most of my people had scattered to the wind-- dead in body or mind from Vietnam, or jail or both. Those left over were married to some rolling sloven having had 3 or 4 kids in a small interval while my bud scrambled to pay the bills on working class wages. This was going to require some ingenuity. Fuck the Iron Horseman. If you were going to hangout in dives, you had to learn how to manage situations like this. However, Viktor was another issue. He was in my milieu. He was hard to avoid. It might have made more sense just to walk away, but I wasn't going to let that lard ass make me give up some crazy, wild ass pussy.
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