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Played With

Assistant Dean for Student Affairs Vanessa Congi, carefully carrying the two “grande” lattes, managed to open the rear door of the dance building with one gloved finger and started up the long corridor. Studio W, Studio V . . . She couldn’t remember the last time she had been through here. As she looked into the little windows on the closed doors of the empty rooms, she noted that these studios at the end were a little smaller than the rest but were still fully equipped, with wall-length mirrors, all-around barres on the other three sides, and usually a piano.

She looked into the window for Studio T, where Tami said she’d be, and saw no one. But it was a little window and her view was mostly blocked. Again using a gloved finger, she hooked onto the door latch and opened it and, looking down at the coffees, walked slowly into the room, her boots tacking onto the fine-paneled floor. She told herself she was probably breaking two rules: bringing in food and wearing street shoes. She passed a piano and what looked like a freestanding overhead beam apparatus, six feet high, like gymnasts swing from.

She heard breathing from the corner and imagined Tami must be exerting herself. But then that odor of --


Tami was under attack! Pinned in the corner, hands stretched out on the barre, legs spread wide, wide apart, as Georgene and Spica hungrily sucked each nipple, someone -- it looked like Myra, from the Afro -- knelt in front and, hands around poor Tami’s butt cheeks, burrowed her face into the naked student’s crotch -- and another woman, cross-legged, her back tucked into the corner under the barre, was assaulting from behind.

“Ohh -- ohh -- eeee -- G - godd -- ”

Tami crested into orgasm as her eyes burst open in Vanessa’s face, in ecstasy, in embarrassment, in apology, in amusement -- it was hard to tell through Tami’s intense emotional storm but it seemed she was partly laughing at their predicament, the two of them, Vanessa and Tami --

Vanessa stood there open-mouthed, the lattes in her hands. The heavy clothes and boots of the attackers were a sharp contrast to Tami’s nakedness. As Tami’s orgasm ran its course and the attackers continued unabated, it seemed like the four hungry mouths were sucking the life out of her. Tami’s eyes closed only slightly. She seemed to be trying to form words. But then, amazingly, she went up to orgasm again!

It was too intense to look at. Vanessa turned and got the hell out of there. Out in the hall, she heard the door close behind her and wondered what to do. All her years of activism on sexual assault issues came back to her. She had helped set up rape crisis centers at other colleges, had done awareness trainings here at Campbell - Frank. She saw an actual assault once, when she was a student in Boston, late at night on campus, back in the 1970’s. She had been lucky to find one of those police call boxes nearby and the attacker was arrested.

Now what??! Should she call 911 on her cell? Or just go back in there and break it up?

She caught her breath and her brain took over. This was Tami and her friends. Doing what they always did. Or at least that’s what she heard. But it was always one-on-one. Again, what she’d heard. Tami had never been set upon by four women at once.

“Set upon” was the right phrase. It didn’t look like this was Tami’s idea. Not with Tami expecting Vanessa to show up with coffee. It was clear that Tami had been exercising, doing some stretching exercises at the barre maybe, when her friends came in and took over her bare body. She found herself imagining Tami bent forward, touching her toes, and Georgene walking in and placing her tongue flat against the wide-exposed anus, and then . . .

“Ohh -- ngghhh -- nghhh -- ”

Tami’s grunts could be heard through the closed door, here out in the hall. Vanessa looked both ways. Nobody else was around. Still holding the lattes, feeling a bit ridiculous, she decided to go outside and get some air.

Once outside, she took a sip of her coffee and tried to calm down. This rear entrance was rarely used, fortunately it was always kept clean. Like Tami’s, she thought, then she blushed at thinking this. She looked out at the campus, a few faculty and students walking here and there, a little hurriedly on this raw, cold day.

More odd thoughts filled her mind. Right now, Tami Smithers is not 50 feet away from me, having multiple orgasms. I wonder who the next nearest person is who is having an orgasm right now. She looked up into the distance, the hill going up to town, the buildings and apartments there. Maybe someone up over there is having sex right now.

She looked down at her boots and took a deep breath and brooded. She judged that maybe ten minutes had passed when she decided to venture inside again.

The grunting, a little different now, told her the Tami-lickers hadn’t finished. Hating herself for doing so, she gave the longest possible glance through the window as she walked past the door. Tami, sweating now, was hanging from the overhead beam, stretched out in an “X”, her hands wide apart as two kneeling women licked her front and rear, Georgene and Myra. Her feet were stretched way, way apart, and Jeane was sucking her toes on one foot, Spica on the other. This was kinky. And Vanessa found herself wondering what it felt like to be sucked and licked that way, on the anus, on the toes.

She turned around and passed the door again. Georgene and Myra were alternating licks, bouncing Tami between them as if they were playing tennis and Tami was the ball. Vanessa remembered something she had read about long ago -- about hanging from the hands stretched out every muscle and made for a full-body orgasm that was more intense.

And so -- Tami held her breath, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted, her entire body flushed, and now a great jolt nearly knocked Georgene off her knees. Jolt after jolt shook the entire apparatus as the four lickers held on for dear life, as if they had hooked a huge fish and were determined to reel it in.

“Zhhhoohh -- zhhhohhh -- zhhhohhh -- ” Tami’s grunts were shouts now and Vanessa looked up and down the hall again. A horrifying thought occurred to her. What if a faculty person passed by? One of the Department heads? The head of the Dance Conservatory was Dr. Lena Yevgeny, an old Russian ballet type who struck her as being very conservative. If any of those people passed by here there would be an incident. Disciplinary action, certainly.

Vanessa sat in a nearby alcove and sipped, and put Tami’s latte onto the bench. She felt soiled, like a voyeur, like one of several male faculty who had gotten in trouble over the years for peeping on female students. What creeps. And she -- ?

She waited a few minutes and hoped it was over. From Studio T there was silence, then sounds of things sliding around on the floor. She got up again and walked uncertainly toward the little window.

She was almost there when she heard Tami’s grunts again. Jesus, will this never end? Tami was on the floor now, face up, legs wrapped around Georgene’s head, her toes flexing. Spica and Jeane were sucking her nipples, Maya cradling Tami’s head in her lap, massaging her plum-colored hair. Tami’s eyes were wide open, looking up at Maya -- in agony, supplication, amazement? It was so hard to tell.

Now came a slow, rolling orgasm, with full-body waves accompanied low moans. The three lickers worked as a team, like rowers on that crew team she was on at her undergraduate school, sucking together in a decreasing tempo, and Tami’s contractions slowed down too which seemed to be their aim. By now Vanessa could look at the scene clinically. That’s interesting -- they can slow the orgasm down like that, extend it. It must have taken a lot of practice.

It was five minutes later when the Assistant Dean of Students felt it safe to re-enter Studio T. She found the four clothed women in a big circle, surrounding their naked friend who lay snoozing in their midst, on her stomach, her head on its side, her arms and legs sprawled crazily in all directions.

Vanessa sat down cross-legged with the others. “Hello all,” she said, setting the coffees in front of her. “Tami and I were going to have a couple of lattes.”

Her mind was a mass of conflicting emotions but she focused and knew she had to be stern. Like any skilled administrator, she knew how to use silence. Then she broke it. “I think you realize that if the wrong person came down the hall, you would have gotten into quite a bit of trouble. You would have gotten Tami into trouble too.” She was going to say “poor Tami” but stopped herself.

After a few seconds, Georgene said, “Sorry, Ms. Congi.” Usually everyone called her Vanessa.

“You’ve got to be discreet,” she further advised. Not that she could stop it entirely. After all, the college was to blame for Tami’s hyperized sexual hunger in the first place and could hardly object to it being satisfied.

“Sorry,” Myra said.

Then Tami turned onto her back, legs stretched out, arms out too. Her plum-colored pubic hair parted a bit to show the cleft between her lower lips. Her bare feet, which never seemed to get dirty, pointed outward. Then she started snoring, really loud. It echoed off the bare walls.

A couple of the students giggled. Vanessa couldn’t help but smile. It was like a buzzsaw.

“It’s just that it’s so much fun to do,” Spica said. “I like making her come and come and come.”

“It gets spiritual at times,” Georgene said.

“The hell with that,” Spica said, punky and irreverent as always. “I like seeing her get off and get off. Maybe I’m sadistic. I’d like to see how many times I can make her come.”

Well, Vanessa knew the answer to that. She had seen the Chalfont report: 136 orgasms during four hours of what must have been the strangest torture any woman had ever experienced. And that was just the final session of a semester filled with similar tortures. Like the other well-meaning people who had unwittingly enabled Henry Ross’s evil plans that year, it took Vanessa a long time to stop blaming herself for having been so dense, and to get over her guilt for being complicit.

“I don’t think you can break any records in Studio T,” Vanessa said, being stern again.

Jeane said, missing Vanessa’s point, “It was only six times this time. They were good strong ones though.”

“Only” six times! Vanessa herself, age 47, had never had more than three orgasms at one time. Once again she felt jealous and once again she told herself she shouldn’t dare feel that way. For a few seconds they watched Tami’s breathing, the rise and fall of the firm breasts with the big, brown nipples, erect even as she slept, the hip bones setting off the concave tummy.

Vanessa cleared her throat and changed the topic. “I think we’re all violating the rule. You see the sign. Let’s take our boots off.”

Having left their boots by the door, the five women sat down in a circle again. Jeane had a hole in her sock showing her big toe which obviously embarrassed her. She tucked that leg underneath.

Tami’s toes wiggled a bit. Her eyelids twitched, then her nose.

“I wonder what she dreams about,” Myra said.

Everyone thought: clothes. But no one said it.

“Mmmmm . . .” Tami lazily turned onto her stomach again and drew her knees under her. She was facing away from Vanessa and her knees parted and she stretched her arms out on the floor in front. Her trim butt cheeks separated and Vanessa was treated to a wide-open view of her anus. Which now winked.

“Hmmm . . .” Tami’s eyes opened.

“Hi Tami,” said Georgene, who was sitting next to Vanessa. Tami responded to this voice behind her by winking her anus again, an unspoken “hi”. Vanessa knew about Tami’s twice-daily enemas but had never seen this before. She was fascinated by the aperture that opened widely twice, the dark cavity within. Practically public parkland to her legion of admirers.

Uncomfortable, Vanessa got up and padded over to the other side and placed a latte next to Tami’s face.

“Mmmmmm. Latte. Thanks, Dean,” she said. The latte was lukewarm by this time but she obviously didn’t mind. She now sat up cross-legged in the middle of the little circle, sipping.

“Sorry about what happened, Ms. Congi, I mean Vanessa,” Tami said, still groggy. “I tried to apologize but I couldn’t get the words out.”

“No, it’s our fault,” Georgene said.

“You were great as always, Tam. Your ass ring grabbed my finger like death,” Spica said enthusiastically, which brought a blush to the coffee-sipper in their midst.

“Strongest anus in the Eastern Conference,” said Myra with a laugh.

Jeane, after looking around with a conspiratorial grin, brought something out of her bag and rolled it in Tami’s direction.

“Oh God, not here,” Georgene said, half embarrassed.

It was hard rubber and round. In fact it was an orange lacrosse ball, with a six-foot-long nylon rope threaded through a drilled hole. Vanessa was totally puzzled.

Tami sipped her coffee, looking at the encouraging glances of Spica and Jeane and Myra and finally Georgene. “Ta - mi! Ta - mi!” Spica chanted, a chant taken up by the others. Finally Tami stood up and said, “Well, O.K.”

Jeane threw Tami a small tube and a tissue. To Vanessa’s astonishment Tami wiped the ball off, lubricated it, then squatted down. She closed her eyes and grunted. She stood up and looked around, the rope hanging from between her butt cheeks, like a long tail.

“Me! Me!” Spica said, like a kid asking for a turn at a piggy-back ride.

Spica padded over behind Tami, then pushed back her heavy coat and sat down. She put her gloves on and held the slack rope securely with both hands. Tami stood upright, took a deep breath, then the muscles in her concave tummy flexed and she took a careful stride with a flexed bare foot on the smooth, polished wood floor. The next stride followed and the rope went taut. Now Tami was pulling Spica in a big circle around the periphery of Studio T without using her hands, and now to the accompaniment of applause, and Spica’s shouts of “woo - hoo!”

Vanessa was stunned, her mouth hanging open. She thought she had seen everything remarkable about this amazing young woman but she kept getting surprised. Then she found herself laughing. She imagined Tami on her grounds crew assignment, pulling the wheelbarrow full of pebbles via a rope coming out her butt, as no doubt Omar found other things for her to carry with her arms. And Tami casually conversing with friends as she carried and ulled across campus. Vanessa’s laughs turned into giggles, the vision was so ridiculous.

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