Ass to Mouth: Servant to the Aristocracy
Brad wasn't exactly gay, but he wasn't exactly straight either. Brad was 44, slender and neat. He worked in Brampton, Massachusetts at the bookstore on the campus of Forester College. He loved his job, loved the gorgeous New England fall weather, loved the old stone buildings, the stunning autumn leaves that spread like fire across the rolling hills of this old town.
'The fall air is crisp this morning,' Brad thought to himself as he walked briskly across the leaf-littered mall of the campus. Dawn was only just breaking, and he saw just a few students wrapped in fashionable fall coats, walking whisper-quiet to their early morning classes. Brad smiled, enjoying the sheer idyll of this place. It was like a living poster, so idyllic as to seem unreasonable. But sure enough, classic old brick classroom buildings with stone gargoyles regularly inhaled and belched out idealistic young students, grand old Victorian houses sat perched along sparkling tree-lined streets, bicycles rattled along cobblestone paths. It was out of a book, or a movie.
The demographics of Forester College were fascinating, Brad always thought. There were artsy, idiosyncratic types, dolled-up New York fashionistas, utterly boring Midwestern types, and angry bull dykes. Every type, every stripe. It amused him endlessly. But they all had two things in common: they were all female, and they were all rich as hell. You had to be both, to get into this school. As one of the oldest and most prestigious all-womens' colleges in the Ivy League, Forester had a reputation for being academically rigorous, alarmingly expensive, and socially elite. But as trends changed, so had the social homogeneity of Forester's student body, but those two elements remained unchanged.
The female-only nature of the school had always fascinated Brad. The insular crucible of college has always been the venue of choice for sexual exploration, and Forester was no different. But the distinct lack of male counterparts (at least in sufficient quantity) led to more creative exploration. Brad had seen his share of LUGs (Lesbians Until Graduation) around campus. He heard rumors of group sex, hours of cunnilingus, fisting, dildos. But they were rumors, and Brad chalked it all up to exaggeration and excessive imagination.
Women had always intrigued Brad. Nearly all his closest friends had been women. He'd always felt somewhat asexual, uninterested in men, unromantic about women. He had made love with three women, all awkward minor catastrophes for which he'd blamed himself. He'd also had one gay experience, figuring that failure with women left him no other option. But the brief homosexual affair was an unmitigated disaster, and its attendant sex was even worse.
So Brad had given up on romantic love, and the resultant sex life. He amused himself with books, films, collecting pottery, and his work at the bookstore. But that all changed when Lori arrived.
"Do you need help finding a particular title?" Brad asked helpfully.
Lori's eyes darted over to Brad, surprised by his sudden presence.
"Leave me the fuck alone, you freak," Lori snapped, her snobby New York air announcing itself loudly.
"I'm sorry, just trying to help," Brad stammered, shocked by her tone, though not particularly surprised. He turned to leave.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? You just startled me," Lori almost apologized.
Brad turned back to listen.
"I'm trying to find this book on sexual domination," Lori said without a hint of embarrassment.
Brad did his best to hide his surprise.
"Well, our sexual psychology books are grouped over here," Brad said as he led Lori to the relevant titles. "Did you know the author's name or the book title?"
"Yes, in fact," Lori thrust her hand into her Fendi handbag. "Okay, it's called 'Use and Abuse: The Psychology of Domination' by Arthur Wells."
"Ah, yes, Wells. Okay, let's see. Ah, here it is," Brad pulled the book from the lowest shelf.
"Awesome, thanks," Lori said with uncharacteristic sweetness.
"Sure, glad I could help," Brad smiled.
"I…I suppose you are wondering why I want this particular book," Lori ventured quietly.
"Well, that's none of my business. But this is a bookstore, and it's my job to get people what they need."
Lori nodded. "My name's Lori. What's yours?"
"B-Brad," he stumbled nervously.
"Brad. Nice." Come by this address Friday night at 11pm." Lori produced a small white card from her Fendi purse.
"Excuse me?" Brad asked incredulously. Was it a date? Was it a command?
"You heard me, Brad. 11pm. Don't be late."
Lori put the card into the book on domination book and put it back on the shelf. She gave Brad a wink and left without another word. Brad tried to forget her, and left the mysterious card in the book all day. But finally, on his way out after punching out, Brad made an impulsive turn to the self-help aisle and retrieved the stashed card, hating himself as he did so.
Brad weighed his conversation with Lori all week. He despised her manicured appearance, her aloofness, her daddy's money, her presumption. But he found himself frequently aroused thinking about her. He remembered her shapely body, her perfect skin, her well-chosen clothing. Brad masturbated each day that week, an act he'd performed fewer than twenty times in the past ten years. Despite his anger with Lori's presumption, he resolved to see her on Friday.
Friday came, and Brad arrived at the address shortly before 11pm. It was an ancient stone mansion, set back from the street, shrouded by huge willow trees. Candles burned in each window. German luxury cars lined the street in front of the house. Brad shook his head, popped a breath mint, and walked up to the old stone edifice.
Brad knocked solidly on the massive walnut door. It swung open with a slight squeak, and Lori stood before him. She was radiant. A short diaphanous white dress flowed down her slender frame, capped by white calf-length leather boots. Beneath the translucent fabric of her frock was a lovely white bra and high hipped panties. The room behind her was lit by soft candlelight. Brad swallowed hard, his pulse racing. She was the very picture of beguiling feminine sexiness. He felt himself harden in his pants.
"Welcome, Brad, you're right on time. Please, come in."
Lori stepped back, motioning Brad to enter. Nervously, he made his way into the foyer of the grand old mansion. It was stunning, rich, immaculate. It was as if time had frozen in the 1890s, and he was invited to a secret society meeting at Yale or Harvard. Lori took his coat and led him into the grand staircase.
Two gracefully curving staircases descended from the balustrade-lined upper floor, arcing symmetrically to the marble floor before him. Candles burned yellow around the room and along the balustrade above. Then suddenly, human forms appeared in the soft darkness above, moving in careful choreography around the balcony and descending the stairs in perfect synchronicity. He quickly determined that they were all women, and all were dressed in identical gauzy white dresses with matching bras and panties, exactly like Lori. Unlike Lori, however, all the other women wore white masquerade masks, making this slow surreal parade a tour of the anonymous. There were twelve of them, six descending each staircase. They landed on the wide marble floor, spreading out and making a circle around Lori and Brad. The sheer beauty of the space, the lovely women, the manner of their entry, their attire. Brad was speechless.
"This is Brad," Lori announced to the assembled women. "He is our guest tonight."
"Hello, Brad," the group intoned as one.
"Hello, ladies," Brad managed to say, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Brad, would you like any refreshments before we begin? Or do you need to use the restroom?"
"Um, I'm not sure that I…" Brad started, realizing he had no idea why he was there.
"Why don't you freshen up first. There's a bathroom over here. Would you like some wine, or champagne?"
"Uh, no, I'll just use the bathroom," Brad stammered, shuffling toward the nearby powder room. He had to break through the ladies' circle to get there, and he noticed how beautiful each woman was as he neared them.
Brad emptied his bladder, then splashed water on his face. 'What is going on?' Brad thought to himself. Finally, he dried off his hands and face on the towel, and opened the door. He returned nervously to the grand staircase, but the room was empty. Brad became very confused.
"Hello?" he asked, then asked again louder. There was no answer. The rooms on the main floor were all dark, so he ventured up one of the staircases.
"Hello?" Brad called out again. Then he heard giggling coming from the master bedroom. He looked down from the balcony, the grand staircase alight with the soft glow of candlelight. Brad turned and headed for the master suite.
He pushed the huge double doors open. All thirteen women stood in the room. Only Lori stood out, her face uncovered.
"Close the doors behind you, Brad," Lori said coyly, and Brad spun around and did so.
"Brad, do you know why you're here?"
"No, Lori, I do not." Brad's voice trembled.
"You are here, Brad, because we have something you need, and you have something we need."
"What's that?" Brad asked, unwilling to assume the obvious.
"Brad, we are the princesses of this country. We are the brightest and the best. We are the next generation of the most powerful families this nation has ever known. We have sterling futures ahead of us."
"I realize that," Brad said skeptically. This was the kind of primadonna entitlement that he hated most about Forester.
"Brad, women of our prominence can't go having indiscriminate relationships. The wrong liaison, the indiscreet lover, the accidental pregnancy or STD, those things would destroy our futures. What we require is a level of control, a level of discretion, that enables us to enjoy ourselves, and become sexually healthy adults without such grave risk to our families and ourselves. Brad, you are here to entertain and please us. Sexually."
Brad gulped loudly, his fears and fantasies coming true before his eyes.
"Brad, take off your clothes."
Brad froze, wildly turned on, but still unable to believe the situation. Why had she chosen him? Why was she not asking his permission or opinion on such an important matter?
"I said, take off your clothes."
Brad tensed at Lori's tone, recognizing it from their encounter at the bookstore. He hated it, but he found himself unable to resist it. Slowly, he peeled his clothing off. The women stood perfectly still, unflinching. Finally, Brad stood before the assembly in only his briefs.
"Remove them, Brad," Lori snapped.
"That's where you're wrong, Brad. Ladies?"
The assembled twelve women suddenly descended on Brad, touching him, caressing his skin, pinching his butt, tugging at his briefs. Brad froze, unable to stand up for himself under their touch. Finally, some pulled them down, and three or four hands fought to stroke his achingly stiff member. Hands caressed his balls, fingernails grazed his buttocks, fingertips toyed his nipples. Brad was awash with arousal so strong his knees became weak.
The women led Brad to the massive bed, and he collapsed on it, trembling. The women parted, and Lori approached him.
"We'll start with the easy part."
Lori pushed him on this his back. She stood on the bed and straddled his face. She lowered her perfectly waxed, unblemished legs around his head, her white pantied crotch inches from his face.
"Gamma, scissors," Lori commanded.
Brad, still in shock, determined that this strange society protected their anonymity through Greek letter code names. The girl named Gamma stepped over, a large pair of shears in her hand. She leaned in, pulled Lori's panties away from her skin, and cut through the crotch fabric. Gamma then cut them at the waist, and pulled the now useless garment from Lori's body. She backed away with scissors and rent fabric in hand.
Brad looked down at Lori's exposed crotch. Her perfectly toned legs gave way to a well-trimmed triangle of light brown pubic hair, well kept well clear of her labia. Those pussy lips, in sharp contrast to Lori's well-crafted appearance, were large, flappy, rubbery looking. It was the kind of pussy high school boys would joke about, call them 'bubble gum lips'. The lips pooched out, exposing an obscenely long clitoris. Even in the candlelight, Brad could see how Lori's cunt glowed with wetness.
"Make me come, Brad."
Lori leaned her bare cunt against Brad's uncertain face. Brad panicked, unfamiliar with the procedures of face-sitting. He sucked in oxygen, feeling Lori's sopping labia against his face.
"I said, make me come. Do it!" Lori hissed, looking down into Brad's wide open eyes.
Brad regrouped and started licking. In truth, he was terrible at eating pussy. But Lori coached him quietly, moaning obviously when he treated her clit the right way, clearing her throat when he ventured into unhelpful parts of her anatomy. Soon he found a rhythm, and Lori rocked herself against Brad's face.
"Suck my clit into your mouth, Brad. Suck it like a dick," Lori grunted.
Brad obeyed, pulling Lori's nearly inch-long clitoris into his mouth. He worked it with his lips and tongue, remembering his brief stint trying to give his one-time gay lover a blowjob.
"That's it, Brad, suck it," Lori muttered as she fucked his face. Brad licked and sucked harder.
Lori came hard against Brad's face, her ass smashed into his chin, her fleshy labia spread from his nose to his chin. Brad's cock ached, and he was surprised, given the bizarre nature of the situation, that none of the other girls had decided to play with it.
Finally, Lori lifted herself off of Brad's face. He sucked in lungsful of air, while Gamma dutifully supplied Lori with a new pair of white panties. Brad laid perfectly still on the bed, afraid to move, still recovering from the experience.
"Sigma," Lori called, still trying to catch her breath.
Another girl emerged from the anonymous group and climbed onto the bed.
"Gamma," Lori said with a whisper.
The girl, still holding the scissors, repeated the destructive process on Sigma's panties.
Sigma was also lovely and thin, with larger breasts than Lori. Her crotch, however, was full and hairy and dark, matching the brunette curls on her head. She turned her back to Brad, lowering herself onto his face ass-first. Brad wondered if a reciprocal '69' was in the offing. His cock twitched.
"Tell Brad what you want, Sigma," Lori said like a teacher giving instruction.
"Brad, eat my ass and pussy at the same time."
"Your ass?" Brad started to complain.
"Eat it!" Sigma shouted with sudden force, and pushed her hairy muff into Brad's mouth.
Brad gave in, licking delicately at her twat, his nose millimeters from Sigma's clean brown anus. He licked deeper, and his nose brushed her hole. Sigma moaned, and grasped his aching cock instinctively. Her fist squeezed him, and he lost in all inhibition. He touched his tongue to Sigma's anus. She bucked. He stroked his tongue across it. She shuddered. Brad totally caved.
After ten minutes of determined licking and sucking Sigma's hairy snatch and asshole, Brad finally brought her to a very vocal orgasm. She came a little, a bitter fluid escaping from her vulva into Brad's mouth. He choked on it, spitting it out onto her smooth buttocks. With little fanfare, Sigma removed herself from the Bed, and Gamma stood by with fresh white panties.
And so it went. Each girl mounted the bed and expressed her personalized stimulation request. For each girl, Gamma cut away their panties. Brad did his best to satisfy them. When finished, Gamma supplied new identical replacement panties.
Brad was utterly exhausted. His cock, which had been painfully erect for the first three or four girls, now sat shriveled and useless. Only Sigma had even touched him sexually, and then only briefly. It was wasn't about him, he had concluded. These women were in it for their own orgasms. His jaw was painfully sore, his tongue tired. Brad could barely move. His back hurt from laying prone for so many hours. He glanced at his watch between Iota and Nu, and it was already 4am. When the thirteenth girl, Gamma herself, pulled her fresh panties on, the sun had already come up.
None of the girls had left. They had stood in a semicircle around the bed, watching each girl in turn be pleasured by Brad. Lori alone had sat down on a divan in the corner. When Gamma had finished, Lori rose and approached the bed. Be here next Friday, 11pm. Things will be different."
With that, the girls filed out of the room in silence. Brad heard doors close throughout the house. The mansion fell silent. Brad fell asleep.
It was nearly noon when Brad awoke. The stench of more than a dozen wet vaginas caked Brad's sore mouth. He felt shame, astonishment, arousal and humiliation all at once. He dressed and walked out of the master suite. The house was empty. The candles had all burned out. None of the women from the past many hours were on the premises. Brad felt chills, and left he mansion quickly.
All week, Brad fantasized about his night. He masturbated three or more times a day, remembering the spicy taste of each pussy, the kinky variations he'd been forced to accommodate, the utter lack of respect he'd been shown. At the bookstore, he watched every customer to see if he could recognize any of them. He ate his lunches on a bench on the mall, watching the stream of female students, hoping to identify one by her walk, her body, her voice. But they all eluded him.
There was no question in Brad's mind. He would return on Friday. It didn't matter what they made him do this time. He'd never felt more important, and less respected, than he had when thirteen girls had face-fucked him all night.
Friday came, and Brad arrived at 10:45. He knocked. Lori answered, dressed in the same angelic attire.
"You're early. We were worried you weren't going to come."
Brad followed Lori to the grand staircase, where the procession was repeated.
"Brad has returned to us. He has accepted his destiny. He will serve us." Lori's voice echoed in the vast marble space.
"We are grateful to you, Brad," the group said in unison.
They led Brad up to the master suite again. This time, they stripped him themselves. Brad stood naked in the middle of the large room.
"Tonight we have something different in mind, Brad."
"Okay. I can handle it."
"We hope you can. Please get on the bed."
Brad sauntered confidently to the monstrous bed. He climbed on, laying on his back as befoore.
"Sigma," Lori commanded.
The familiar shape of Sigma stepped forward. She stood at the foot of the bed facing Brad. Brad sat up, confused.
"Gamma," Lori barked, and the designated servant girl came forward with a box in hand. She opened the box, removed the contents, and set the box down. She helped Sigma attach the object, which Brad eventually recognized as a strap-on dildo. The dildo itself was hot pink, about six inches long, and about an inch and a half in diameter. Gamma finished buckling the straps, and the dildo hung freely from Sigma's crotch.
"Brad, suck my cock," Sigma commanded, her voice bouncing with excitement.
"What?" Brad blurted out.
Sigma said nothing, but climbed onto the bed. She grabbed Brad's face and pulled him to her. She pressed the rubber phallus to his lips. Brad resisted, suddenly fearful of what tonight's agenda might hold.
"Shh," Sigma cooed, stroking his face tenderly. "Suck my cock."
Brad finally opened his mouth, taking the sex toy into his mouth. He wasn't sure what pleasure this would give to Sigma, but so far, he wasn't in any danger.
"Work it, Brad."
Brad played along, sucking the lifeless object with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Finally Lori interrupted.
"Brad, we need you to give yourself to this. Sigma has made her command clear. Get on your hands and knees and suck her cock. Now!"
Lori's tone was terrifying, and Brad obeyed, getting on all fours. Sigma got onto her knees, and Brad sucked her dildo like his life depended on it. The abusive tone turned him on, and stiff cock swayed from between his legs as he worked Sigma's shaft.
"Nu," Lori said.
Nu, a petite girl with red hair, stepped forward. Gamma wordlessly attached her strap-on dildo. Nu mounted the bed behind Brad. Brad stopped sucking, looking back at the girl nervously.
"Suck me," Sigma said forcefully, and Brad returned to sucking her latex boner.
Gamma squirted lubricant onto Brad's rectum. Nu slipped her dildo into Brad's tight anus, and he yelped in surprise. But Nu wouldn't let go, and she started to thrust into him. Brad's innards shuddered at the sudden intrusion. His asshole seared with pain, and his erection vanished immediately. But he kept at Sigma's cock in his mouth.
Each girl took a turn, each with her own dildo. Some fucked Brad's mouth, others fucked his tender ass. The hours wore on. Brad's rectum was very sore. His jaw ached from sucking fake cocks. When Gamma's turn came, she produced a dildo of frightful proportions. It was massive, at least ten inches long, and easily three inches thick. He tried desperately to get it in his mouth, but his exhausted jaw couldn't part wide enough. So Gamma moved behind him. She lubed up the huge dildo and his ass, now gaping and stretched. She worked it in slowly. Brad couldn't even stay upright. With his ass in the air, he rested his head on the bed. Gamma pushed slowly into him, millimeters at a time. The pain was excruciating. Finally Gamma was fully inside him. Brad felt his organs get moved aside as the preposterously sized phallus took up his entire colon. Brad felt tears well up, and he cried briefly, as twelve lovely ladies watched on.
Brad eventually passed out from the pain and the exhaustion, before Gamma had had her fill.
Brad woke up in a fog. He lay naked on the bed. The room was empty. His ass hurt like hell. He rose, barely able to walk. He collected his clothes and left the mansion, his face burning with shame.
The following Friday, Brad arrived at the mansion at 10pm. He hadn't been officially invited back, and he was an hour early. Lori answered the door, still in street clothes.
"What are you doing here, Brad?"
Brad let himself in to the house.
"Brad, you're early!"
Brad took off his clothes.
"Where are they?" Brad asked.
"They're getting ready, Brad. Jesus, you have no respect for the ritual. Get your fucking clothes back on. Come back at 11."
Lori walked away. Brad, ashamed, got dressed and left.
That night, Brad was raped in ways he had never imagined. He sucked huge dildos, sucked wet vaginas, licked assholes, sucked toes and feet. Gamma even peed on him. He sobbed as she stood over him, releasing her urine across his chest, while some nameless woman pounded his stretched-out ass with Gamma's huge dildo. Iota slapped his balls and bit his cock. In the rare instances where Brad developed an erection, someone made sure he didn't keep it long. They humiliated him. Until he cried.
He licked the urine from Gamma's twat. Sigma had earlier defecated without fully wiping, almost certainly on purpose, and forced Brad to lick her ass clean. Lori wrapped rubber bands around his cock and balls, turning them blue until they hurt. Nu fucked his ass and then forced him to lick the dildo clean. It was a spiraling, bizarre, humiliating cycle of abuse to Brad's body. Brad passed out again, but the party went on, using his mouth and ass even as he lay unconscious.
Brad awoke after noon. He hurt all over. His mouth tasted dreadful. They had left the rubber bands on his genitals, and they were swollen and purple and painful. He pulled them off, and immediately his cock swelled to horrific size as the blood flow returned. Brad could only lay on the bed and sob, his cock pulsing as if to mock him.
The door opened behind him, and he heard soft footfalls. He lifted his head to see Gamma standing there, completely naked. She didn't have on her mask, and he could finally see her face. She was gorgeous. He thought she looked familiar, but he was just happy to see an unmasked face. Her breasts were large and shapely.
Wordlessly, Gamma knelt down next to Brad on the bed and took his engorged phallus in her hand. Tenderly, she stroked it. Slowly she put it in her mouth. The stimulation was incredible. After endless hours of selflessly giving himself to these women, with no direct stimulation, he was finally being touched for his own enjoyment. Gamma sucked him tenderly, but quickly. After so much pent-up sexual tension, Brad didn't last long. He exploded into Gamma's mouth, more than he'd ever come in his life. Gamma swallowed what she could, jerking him off on the the floor to empty him out.
Brad cried as he came, so frustrated at not having been allowed to come, so satisfied to have finally done it. The orgasm was incredible. Gamma smiled as he thrust against her hand, his seemingly non-stop flow of semen still going. Finally, when a massive pool of ejaculate had accumulated on the floor (Gamma's first swallow notwithstanding), Gamma let go and left the room in silence. Brad fell back asleep dreaming about what this strange society of women had in mind for him next.