You have to love fantasy. If you didn't, you probably wouldn't be here. Fantasy takes our minds places they might not go in every day life. Fantasy takes us out of the dull and mundane and transforms us into a brave new world. Fantasy gets the juices flowing, the mind exploring and acts like a space ship finding a new star system.
Many stories on Literotia have some truth to them, that's what makes them so exciting. How does Alicia get the guts to do some of the naughty things she does in public, how does Richard have such an effect on women? Whatever. It's fantasy, it's exciting, it's fun.
For me, the "Doin the Boss" series has been a work that's 80 percents real life and 20 percent fantasy. I attempt to draw from the world I live and bring it to my readers. Of course, an editor here and there changes things sometimes, and some add a little more flavor, but the majority of what I've written has been from real life exploits and escapades.
Other stories, well, maybe it's 50-50 and some. Still others may only have a string of reality and a large potion of imagination.
So why am I telling you this?
Well, I thought you'd want to know about the following story. It's mostly fiction, at least from my writing it, but it does have a sliver of truth because bits and pieces of it were told to me by a very close friend. She relayed the story, probably second hand and assuredly embellished on her part, but who knows, it might have been her. So in an effort to fully disclose I just wanted to let you know that fantasy with a dose of reality is something that takes the mind wandering down a number of paths.
Here's one of them.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to have had my college paid for, including a summer course in Poitiers, France, with side trips to Paris after my junior year was competed.
No, this wasn't the way my junior year was supposed to start.
And it wouldn't have been a problem if my dad, my stepdad really, hadn't taken off with his secretary and leaving my mom with a pre-nup that sucked. She got the use of our house until its sale, half of the proceeds, and little else. Mom was terrified at her future, and as for me, well, I had expenses.
I know that sounds so selfish, but after the news and hugs the reality set in. Dad wasn't paying for my schooling anymore, there was no France in my immediate future and things that were taken for granted were suddenly a problem. My beater car was going into the winter with nearly bald tires and a battery hanging on by the thinnest of margins.
My sometimes roommate, Tiffany, was anything but helpful. Tiff was a sometimes roommate because she found herself "staying over" at various friends rooms and apartments as her libido warranted. She was always flush with cash, and since she wasn't from a rich family I always assumed it was because some of her "friends" were older, generous guys. The girl had ample physical resources to draw interest from any male who came in contact with her.
I moped around for a couple weeks, finally getting a job in the library. Seven hours a week at minimum wage. What a disaster.
School was going okay, but the financial aid lady was anything but helpful. Because the most recent tax returns said I was from a "wealthy" family, I wasn't eligible for much in the way of aid. Are they nuts? Maybe down the road that would change, but I was in the here and now.
Classes were okay, and my on again, off again boyfriend was somewhat consoling, but I was terrified at having to take on massive college loans to finish my education. Oh, millions have done so, but a friend of mine has a brother who is a lawyer. The guy has been out of school six years, has a good job, and still owes six figures to the loan agency. That wasn't attractive to me.
Tiffany had disappeared Friday after class and I had the place to myself. Roger, my boyfriend, wanted to come over, but all he wanted was a quickie before heading over to the card game going on at a friend's house. The apartment would have provided us some privacy --- Tiffany loved to eavesdrop on Roger and I when we were doing "it" but with her out we have been able to frolic without a voyeur, but I just wasn't up to a bang and go on his part.
So I moped around more. Saturday came, and around 11 a.m. Tiffany arrived, looking as if she'd had a rough night.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but she became very revealing. Over coffee she explained how she'd gone out with a professor whose wife was away. The guy took her dancing a couple towns away to ensure privacy. Somewhere along the line she admitted that the prof was "generous" not only in his grades but with his wallet.
"You were whoring?" I asked without thinking.
Tiffany gave me a look, then said, no, he's just generous. He gives me money to by clothing. Like a loan, except I don't have to pay it back in money. It's like, well, barter.
Deep down I always knew Tiffany was up to something. She had too many affluent friends, and many times after parties or visits with them she'd go on a spending spree the following week. Either that, or she had a huge trust fund or hit the lottery. Now I knew what jackpot(s) she hit.
"I don't think his wife gives him much, he's always so randy," said Tiffany, smiling. "At the club we were dancing forever. Then we rested, drinking and talking, and all of a sudden he asked me to rub his cock under the table. He had a hard on before you could say hello. I played with him for a little and he surprised me again. He wanted a blow job!"
I looked incredulously at her.
"You didn't."
"Well...not there. I excused myself to use the rest room and wondered whether we should make a beeline to the car for some quick head, but he had other ideas. When I came out of the bathroom he was there, waiting. He whisked me out the back door and into an alley. His trousers were already unzipped!"
OMG! Tiffany was a real tart!
"We moved down the alley a bit from the door and he pushed me to my haunches. Out popped Mr. Lucky, and, well, you know..."
I looked at the girl. "And, well, what happened?"
"I made the professor a happy guy, I'll tell you. I licked that dick of his and then began to suck it...went from licking the lolly to swallowing the sausage. It was so very naughty, right in the dirty alley. It was so hot, so erotic. I hardly had to do any work because he was all over me. I bet after about a minute his hands were cupping my head and I was getting a protein shake."
Tiffany sort of smiled at the thought of her actions.
"That wasn't the best of it."
"What," I questioned.
"Well, if you must know, he, well, you know, held me there for a bit, cleaning his whanger, he likes that. I just finished it off, cleaned it, swallowed his stuff, you know. He helped me too my feet when I heard them."
"Heard who?"
"I guess a couple guys had come out back to get a smoke --- they were smoking anyway outside the door. When I looked over they were politely clapping. Oh, it was humiliating. And even more so because we had to walk past them to get back into the place. One of them asked if I enjoyed my desert, while the other patted me on the bottom. It was very embarrassing!"
Tiffany said the exchange in the alley with the guys only made the professor hotter. They danced a little, but then went over to a local no-tell motel where he laid the wood to her from various angles. "He must have taken a blue pill, because he was hard as a rock and able to rumble for hours. I am sore from him. But what was really hot was his wife calling him on the cell phone. He said he had to take it, and for me to be quiet.
"The two of them talked for a bit, and he motioned me over to suck on him while he was wishing her a good night's sleep."
I wanted to think she was telling a tale, but I know Tiffany was telling me the truth. She had been a bad, bad girl last night. Today she had a nice gift from the professor in her pocketbook.
She left me at the table, amazed, as she went off to the shower.
Over the next couple weeks I didn't hear anything about the professor or any other lover for that matter as Tiffany was immersed in a all encompassing biology lab project. The girl had brains, and when she put her mind to something, she could come out with an A with a little work. It was just that sometimes she didn't want to work.
But in biology, Mrs. Craig was a stern task master. Tiffany couldn't use her charms to flirt her way to a grade, or whatever. She had to do some old fashioned studying and hard work to get a grade.
On my end, money was tighter each week. When the family was together, dad would send me little gifts every so often. For a birthday, I'd get a VISA card for a couple hundred bucks, while every so often a card to one of the music sites, bookstores or big box stores would come as a surprise. Since the breakup and the start of the arguing it would be merely a card.
Obviously Dad was pissed at Mom, and I was now demoted into a bargaining chip or something. Whatever, the cash stopped flowing and I was on my own. It was quite a shock to my system. Items that I had taken a no brain approach to purchasing the past had now become a luxury. I went on the cheap when buying toiletries and fun purchases became a thing of the past.
I found myself going on dates with absolute duds merely to get a movie and dinner. Guys I never would have considered dating were on the dance card, and getting into a solo relationship was a definite no in that it would limit things. Oh, Roger and I got together once in a while, but we weren't a thing anymore.
My lifestyle was totally crimped and it was disheartening to attempt to balance bills.
When my loan application was rejected, something I never expected, I was totally distraught. Apparently my separated parents made way too much money, yet that application didn't take into consideration they were quarreling and none was coming my way. My student advisor offered up some high interest loans which I knew I'd have to take. But it still pissed me off that I was in this situation.
Tiffany never seemed to have money problems, and she didn't come from a well to do family. She had student loans, yet she still had cash to buy new clothes without having to pinch pennies. I guess her, ahem, friends, helped her out. That was so wrong, but it was right for her I guess.
I flat out asked her, finally, while I was in a state of despair, if she could clue me in on a professor or guy who might be generous with his cash. She laughed. "You aren't honing in my territory, sweetie..."
"But...I mean, I'm not a whore but I need some really help, you know."
"No."
"Please."
"Still no....but let me think about some options. Maybe there's a way."
We joked around a little, talked about this and that, but nothing more came of our little conversation.
At least, not for another two weeks. I began to hate school, adding to the list of things I was hating these days.
I will remember it forever like it was yesterday. Tiffany came home from class just after lunch, harried, and told me to sit down. She looked me over, shushed me and then asked if I could keep a secret, a deep, dark secret. Totally secret, no questions asked.
Nodding yes, I wondered what was up.
"You want to make some money, well, there's an opening for someone with your special talents," said my roommate. "But it won't be easy money. You will have to work for it, a few jobs so to speak. Profitable jobs."
"What would I have to do?"
She looked me over and then popped the question. "How many guys have you gone down on?"
"You mean, given a blow job?" I asked, embarrassed at the question.
Tiffany gave me a sly smile. "Yup...sucked off, blown, given head to...how many?"
I can't really say what emotion had overcome me. Here I was talking intimate talk with my roommate, something we had done before, but not like this. Tiffany would talk about her conquests. I once told her that I'd given Tom MacDonald a blow job in the stairwell outside the student union during the evening....and was nearly caught.
We had a laugh about that. That led to our telling our most embarrassing stories, as I think I was biding time in answering her question. Finally I did. Swallowing hard, I looked at the floor then at Tiffany before quietly saying, "Seven."
We spoke about the places we'd given head. Bedrooms of course, cars too. But that stairwell was tame as opposed to Tiffany's giving Brad Dawson a sloppy blow job in a hotel window....and they knew they were being seen. So bad, Tiffany was and is...
"Do you like giving head?" wondered Tiffany, staring at me intently as I sat back in my chair.
"Well, yea, but...well, you know, I like a romantic evening with candles and kissing and hugging and holding and, well, yes, sucking on a guy. I really like, you know, 69."
"You are bad, girl!" joked my roommate.
We spoke of things, dancing around the subject at hand. Money. I thought the worst, that she was going to hit be about whoring myself out for guys on a street corner or something. It was naughty, but nothing like that.
Tiffany started to explain the scenario. Right off the bat she admitted it was wrong, terrible and disgusting. But it was also profitable.
Listening, I knew it was bad, very bad. I have to admit I was appalled, but intrigued. It was wrong, bad, but a way to help with the finances. Once over the shock, I wanted to hear more.
After she finished her tale, I thought for a minute. 'And they won't know who we are? There's absolutely no chance of that?"
"It's like you are a super hero, complete with a hidden identity. Only one guy will know you, and he only knows me, barely. When I was brought into this, like you, last year, we all promised secrecy. I've done this three times, made a lot of money, and nobody knows I am involved except the one guy, the girl who got me into this, and now you."
"Who is she?"
Tiffany said it was private, a girl who graduated over the summer, and was gone. The contact had called her, asked for a "Show" and Tiffany thought of me as a new cohort.
So, you ask, what was the, uh, Show?
Disgusting. Despicable. Degrading.
But of so very profitable.
As Tiffany explained, it was a rich boy fraternity house at a college about 50 miles away. She and I would go there, spend several hours there in a competition, then leave...with money in our pockets. We wouldn't have sex, we'd, well, have a blow job competition. She and I.
Winner gets $2,500, loser $1,000. No sharing of the pot.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We'd go to the frat house, made up completely different that we'd normally look, wearing a wig, some falsies to give the illusion of bigger boobs and loose fitting clothing. We'd pick guys to suck off, in private, and whichever of us blew the most guys in a 69 minute competition would be declared the winner and get the $2,500. The loser got $1,000. It was as simple as that.
We were promised anonymity. She spoke about the three times she had done the deed, and nobody knew who she was. The guys at the frat house kept quiet, because each had several thousands of dollars at risk....apparently to be involved they had each posted a sort of bond to secure their silence.
A bunch of the frat would get a blow job, all would get to compete whether they got blown or not, and if they spoke about it they'd lose a bunch of cash.
I thought about it, thought about the money, and asked Tiffany when I would have to make a decision.
"Right away, there's a commitment and if you don't feel you can do it I have to try to find someone else or cancel."
I asked when we'd do it.
"Tonight?"
"WHAT!!!! Tonight? You have to be kidding."
"Yes, I had another girl but she's backing out. You are it, you are my competitor if you want the money."
I remembered that movie about the proposal that was indecent. I thought about what my mother would say. I thought about the money. I thought about my recent financial struggles. I thought about what my parents would think, how they were sending me directly to Hell.
I said yes.
For the next two hours we joked and prepped ourselves like we were going to a prom. I use I would have to make my nail polish I'd never use, I sliced off a lot of my eye brows. I selected a blonde wig from Tiffany's hidden collection.
I asked her at least three times whether sex was really involved. She assured me I wouldn't be on some lay-away plan there. It was oral sex, for 69 minutes. Best cock sucker wins the big money, but the loser (she said that would be me) would still get some nice cash.
"These guys are horny and rich, a perfect combination. There's no guarantee of a tip, but I haven't left the frat house without one," said Tiffany, who admitted to having participated in three of these extravaganzas. "I'm a two-time winner, and one-time loser."
My mind was going a mile a minute as we got into our outfits. Twice I thought about backing out, but the money was clearly an incentive. A couple hours work and I'd make more than I would in several weeks of working on campus. It would go a long way toward easing my financial mind. And Tiffany said there would be other opportunities if things went well.
A new identity, a deep breath, and we were on our way. Along the drive Tiffany gave me the particulars.
There were usually about 20 guys at the frat house. Each knew he might or might not get a blow job, and each was sworn to secrecy. Apparently once a guy blabbed and was not only expelled from the frat but he also was given some attitude adjustment from a couple big guys you don't want to meet in a dark alley.
He went to the administration but no matter how much coercion happened nobody collaborated his "crazy ass" story and the frat program survived.
Tiffany related the rules of the night. Each of us would have a little card. We'd take the card and circulate through the downstairs seating area that was part living room, part bar. The guys would be there, probably watching sports on the two televisions or playing cards or something. We'd circulate through the room, each observing the frat guys with an eye out toward getting a competitive edge.
"Hey, some guys look really horny. Or maybe cute. Who cares?" said Tiffany, giving out more information that I would have expected, given we were in competition with each other. "In any event, we have five minutes to circulate, and then select our first, uh, date. We each will have a room upstairs, and we go up and do our thing. When the guy is done, remember, he has to cum from the blow job. No sex, no hand job. You have to blow him. When he's done we have the guy initial your form, give you a grade, and downstairs we go."
Once downstairs we'd look for a new date, selecting a guy who meets our requirements, whatever they were. The clock would start once the door closed with out first date.
"But how will I know if I pick a guy who has been with you?"
Tiffany gave a sly smile. "You won't. And the guy can't tell you or give you any indication he's been with someone. That's part of the suspense and intrigue."
Ah, the competition. Select the wrong guy and it's going to be curtains on winning, as even horny frat guys will have trouble getting off twice quickly. I had to smile at the thought that went into this little escapade.
"Once the 69 minutes are over an air horn will sound. You are free to finish the guy or come back downstairs...your choice. We compare sheets and the winner wins and the loser, that's you, loses."
Simple as pie.
We parked in a supermarket parking lot next to a Land Rover. A good looking guy got out and walked over to Tiffany's side of the car. "Welcome, ladies!" said the guy, who turned out to be the frat president and the only guy who knew how to contact Tiffany. He called her Sharon, and she introduced me as Courtney, and asked if we were ready for our competition
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