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© Copyright 2016, Veronica Sloan, All Rights Reserved
NOTICE: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer: This story contains explicit content, including graphic descriptions of sexual intercourse, including incest. It is intended for adults only. All characters depicted are 18-years-old and older. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Veronica Sloan. Cover photo © Can Stock Photo / prometeus.
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A nervous thrill ran from my tummy to my toes as Liz gently shut and locked the door. With a conspiratorial smile she returned to my side and gestured to the bed with her clipboard. I was grateful to take a seat (I wasn't sure I could stay on my feet).
"Sig Delt custom is to never lock a door when you're with your sisters, but we can make an exception in this case," she said. "This is a private affair."
She pressed the clipboard to her breasts and fluttered her eyelashes dramatically. In an instant we were giggling like little kids. Yeah, as "private" as a giant list of sex partners can be. She wiped the tears from her eye with practiced flicks of her French nails and reassumed her perfect posture. She indicated that I do the same.
I placed my hands over my mouth and nose, afraid I was about to snort in front of Liz. It's impossible not to hold your Big in some awe, and the last thing I wanted was to appear un-ladylike at this bizarre but exhilarating stage of my initiation.
Liz had the poise of an antebellum aristocrat, with a wisp of a Virginia accent that made her sound so much more refined than her fellow sisters. She was only two years older than me, but her voice and effortless grace earned her the title of "unofficial mom" of Sigma Delta Phi. (Our official House Mom was Erica Chambers, a mostly sweet girl with an overfondness for Post-It Notes.) Elizabeth "Liz" Fairfax had thick blonde hair that trailed down her back like a bolt of golden silk. Her eyes were the blue of an October sky. Her lips were strawberry red. She radiated authority, wisdom, and, in this case, a naughtiness that was contagious. It was twinkling in her eye and hiding in her smile. I was a little embarrassed by how much it turned me on.
I couldn't help it. In the weeks since Liz told me about the lottery, I'd been much hornier than usual. The idea itself was so raunchy, so unapologetically salacious. On top of that, any girl that participated had to pledge not to touch themselves for a whole month. I didn't think I was bi, but when Liz sat on my bed the prospect of no masturbation bit me between the legs and made me throb with longing. I would have made out with Liz right there if she'd asked - and done a whole lot more.
I think she saw it in my eyes, too, because she squeezed my leg and whispered, "Not long now, Little."
Blushing, I hid my face behind my ponytail. "I feel like such a slut."
Liz smiled her warm southern smile. "Well that's kind of the point, honey. The lottery started out as a joke, but over the years Sig Delts have embraced it as a way to empower themselves. Yeah, it's slutty, but it's our choice to be slutty - if only for a night."
Comforted, I combed my ponytail back behind my shoulder. "Thanks, sis."
"I had my doubts the first time, but I still put my name on the list. It was always a fantasy of mine - you know, being with a stranger. And I knew this was the safest place to do it."
"And...how was it?"
"Honestly? He was pretty bad."
I gaped at her honesty. She chuckled. "At first he couldn't get it up, and then when we did it, he came in like a minute. But I was so turned on from the build up that I didn't need much more than that, so I made him wash his hands and finger me while I played with his thing." She rolled her eyes at the memory. "Right as I was about to cum, he got hard again, so I helped him roll on another condom... But," she sucked her teeth, "by that point the moment had passed and I just couldn't. He only went for another minute anyway."
My eyes were as big as saucers. Liz tried hard to suppress another giggle as she slid a stray hair off my cheek. "Not the tawdry tale you were hoping for?"
"No!" I blurted.
"It's not very sexy," she agreed, "but believe it or not it was worth it. He was disappointing, whoever he was, but for me it was about more than the guy. It was about doing this with my sisters, being naughty. Sig Delt has the highest academic requirements, almost zero tolerance for infractions, and the best reputation on campus. Even GDIs like us, and that's saying something. So doing this secret, sexy thing was fun - if disappointing."
"What did the guy do?"
"He was so embarrassed. They're not allowed to say anything, but I could tell he was ashamed. I ended up comforting him for the next hour, holding him like I was his mother or something."
She chuckled again. "I know. That's why I'm the one who counsels the girls who want to do it. If you're still gung ho after my sob story, you're gonna have a good time."
In my lap, my nervous fingers twined together. Was I still gung ho?
Hell yes. Liz wasn't the only one with a stranger kink. And if my sisters were cheering me on and looking out for me, that made it even better.
Like most freshmen, I assumed the lottery was an urban legend - a sexy story to entice or dissuade incoming girls from joining sororities. It didn't affect my decision to pledge SDP, but now that I knew the full story I realized how the lottery had shaped the history of the house.
When I joined in 2016, Sig Delt was a dream come true. In the years prior I never felt like I belonged anywhere. My mother died when I was fourteen and my father remarried just two years later. My step-mother and I had a rocky relationship at best, and the girls at my high school weren't exactly sisterly. My mom's death, my father's second marriage, my brother's apathy, it was one emotional blow after another. I was hurting, and maybe I projected that hurt more than I should have. Soon I was swapping BFFs for frenemies, and by graduation I stopped believing it was possible for women to get along, much less love each other.
On an emotional level, I was far away from where I'd started. When I was little, I wished desperately for a sister. I wanted a friend, someone I could rely on and tell my secrets too. Sure, I had a stupid brother, but after mom died my stupid brother was never around. When I got to college, joining a sorority was the last thing on my mind. But then I met Liz and the other Sigs. They seemed so happy, so affectionate and supportive. Rush was exhilarating, and there were no mind games, no false starts; they were genuinely devoted to creating a haven for girls, to helping me achieve everything I dreamed of for myself. I knew I belonged there. The sisters became my refuge and relief.
I forgot all about the lottery, and of course it's taboo to talk about it in the house. I finished my initiation, I had a whole team of study partners and weekend dance partners, everything was great. Then, in the third quarter, Liz took me out for a coffee and asked if I wanted to know the secret.
"Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?" I asked.
"I reckon," she said, playing up her accent. "Think of it as your final initiation. Your off-the-record initiation."
It had started in the '70s as a dirty dare with the guys at Theta Phi. Just a few girls joined that first time, but the story quickly became a campus legend. A list of girls, a list of guys, a motel way off campus, and the masks. (No matter who told the story, the masks always sounded like the smuttiest part.)
Fearful of staining its reputation, SDP washed its hands of the night. But they couldn't stop word from getting out. Ironically, the story of the lottery actually improved the sorority's standing. In the '50s and '60s, SDP was considered "the snooty house," the one where fun was banned. Guys would grab their crotches as they walked by the house and shriek that its ice queens had frozen their pricks. It wasn't hard to imagine a handful of Sig Delts taking offense, and then taking action.
Not everyone was thrilled by the lottery, though. The original leadership wanted the school to forget SDP was ever involved. Inquiries were made by faculty to determine if Sig Delt was a front for prostitution. Alumni stopped mentioning they'd lettered. Those were tumultuous years for the sisters. But times change, and over the next decade Sig Delt saw new kinds of girls pledging to the house. Now it wasn't just the girls with good grades, it was girls who felt more comfortable with their sexuality, who balked at being slut shamed. The leadership resisted, but in time the leadership changed too. Spiritually and sexually, SDP became a very different house.
When the '90s rolled in, the lottery was an unofficial event on campus, conducted in secret between Sig Delt and the boys. The sisters wanted to embrace the power of their femininity...and maybe prove that sororities could be just as wild as the frats. We also used it as a fundraiser.
Over our steaming coffees, Liz swore me to secrecy. Then she explained how it worked. Our Sorority Men opened bidding at the frats we were on best terms with (given the prize they were competing for, the fraternities were constantly outdoing each other to get on SDP's good side), and then came back to us with an offer. The highest offer wasn't always chosen. Sometimes the sisters would spotlight a few guys that had gone above and beyond their academic duties. If the football team did well that year, sometimes they chose based on which frat had the most players. Gentlemen were always preferred, so it was never just a numbers game.
When the Sig Delts decided which house won the lottery, the next choice was up to the girls. Participation was totally voluntary. I asked Liz if there had ever been a year when the sisters refused. I caught a glimpse of that naughty twinkle in her eye. "We've never had less than fifty percent of the single girls volunteer," she said. "Most years it's close to seventy-five or eighty percent."
I was shocked. SDP was open-minded, sure, but that was one heck of a turn out!
But then Liz informed me of another secret. "It's only as anonymous as you want it to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you can choose who you end up with."
"Oh my gosh."
I must have been red as a tomato. Once Liz started giggling, I blushed even redder. "W-well tell me how that works!" I yelled over her titters.
"You know the basic rules," she said. "There's a Sig Delt on duty to make sure everybody's playing safe, a rep from the frat, and then one or two tough guys we hire in case things get weird-"
"-do things ever get weird?" I blurted.
"Not yet," she said. "The frats know what happens to them if they mistreat our sisters. The worst incident we ever had was a misunderstanding. Our on-duty Sig thought a girl was being hurt and she had a bodyguard break the door down. Turns out the girl was just getting some really good rough sex."
"How embarrassing," I said.
"I know, I was about to cum too."
She smiled. "Well, I wanted to make up for the year before. The guys don't know why we ask for their attributes - height, weight, hair color, kinks they're into, penis size-"
I nearly spit out my coffee.
"Some girls like being hooked up with a guy at random, but if you have something particular in mind, we can match you to their stats."
"Wait, so, I could ask to be with a specific guy?"
Liz shook her head. "Once their info's in the system, we erase the names. We can tell you what their attributes are, but otherwise it's anonymous. It's supposed to keep the girls from all wanting to ride the year's winning quarterback, but if you have someone in particular in mind and you know their stats, it's pretty easy to end up with who you want."
"Oh wow..." I said. I left my mouth hanging open a bit too long.
Liz arched her eyebrows. "You have someone in mind?"
"Uh," I sputtered. "N-no, not exactly, just...erm."
"C'mon, Little. Spit it out, girl."
"Well, um...I don't want to say."
"You haven't even said if you want to participate this year."
"Oh, I do," I said. "I really do."
"Think about it first. It's a big decision."
When Liz came to my room on that fateful night, it was because the final deadline had arrived. After she'd closed the door and pressed her clipboard to her breast, after we'd giggled, after she squeezed my leg, she said, "So are you in or out?"
"In," I whispered.
She marked me as a Yes on her clipboard. "Okay, Little. There's only two things you need to join: A clean STI record from Planned Parenthood and a promise not to touch yourself for a month."
A month! Thank God I didn't say it out loud. Life at Sig Delt kept me constantly busy, so I'd hardly hooked up with anyone that year...which meant I'd been doing a lot of "self care" in the shower.
"Any questions?" she asked.
"Yeah, um...which frat will it be?"
"The Lambda Os."
Lambda Omega Epsilon. Good. I didn't know anybody in that frat. It would be completely anonymous - and totally naughty. A month had never seemed so long to me before.
Dad had seen better days. He was sporting a couple days' worth of stubble, and not in a "rugged man of adventure" way. It was clear he'd tried to shave it near his jawline, and given up. His eyes were bloodshot, his tie was loose. I didn't give him any shit about it, I just clapped him on the shoulder and handed him another beer.
"Thanks, Tom," he said. His voice was hollow, sapped of any male vitality. Pamela had really done a number on him.
I sat myself down in the leather easy chair in the den. "So where's she staying now?" I asked.
"At her damn sister's," he said, a trace of the old gruffness in his throat. "I tell ya, Tommy, I've about had it."
I didn't have anything nice to say to that, so I just took a swig of my beer in reply. The TV was on but the volume was muted (the Celtics weren't doing so hot anyway), and the light of it played over his glossy eyes as he gazed out the window. This was the second time that Pam had walked out - not a great track record in just three years of marriage.
"You know, maybe this is for the best," he said. "This could give us all a chance to mend some fences. I know your sister isn't her biggest fan-"
I had to stop him there. "Pam's not blameless on that score, dad."
He shrugged. "Fuck it. Who can tell with women?"
I guess I had to let that slide too. I finished my beer and set it down on the coffee table. No, I wasn't Pam's biggest fan either, but dad hadn't exactly been the world's most attentive parent. There was a reason I was sitting in his living room instead of my sister. She would have loved to comfort her daddy and tell him everything was okay, but he'd fumbled the ball on that one. He didn't understand why his little girl avoided every opportunity to come home, and as usual he cast himself as the victim.
"Maybe that's why Pam left," he murmured. "She doesn't think the family wants her here."
I rolled my eyes. "Or maybe it's because you didn't take her to Venice this year."
He scoffed. "The firm needed me, Tom. She understands how important that is. We'll go next year."
"Uh-huh. If she doesn't already take the trip with your alimony."
I watched the blood drain from his face. "Do you think that's it? She wants a divorce?"
I'd had enough. I sat up and swept my keys off the table. "Give her a few days to cool down. She usually comes back by the end of the week, right?"
"Yeah," he said glumly. "Thanks for stopping by, Tom."
How I wound up being my dad's unofficial marriage counselor, I'll never know. Sometimes I got the impression that he was hoping to make up for lost time. The three of us split after mom died and never quite came back together again. What better way for an estranged son and his pop to bond than over booze and broads, right? Give me a break...
He was a wreck after mom passed, and Pam must have seemed like the best way to patch his broken heart. Unfortunately, dad thought marrying her was a better idea than taking her for the complete trial run. Maybe he wanted us to have the benefit of an older woman in the house, but if so he bungled that too. She was a little too young to project any authority and a little too spend-happy for my father; at the time, I'm sure those seemed like exotic advantages. These days, not so much.
And how did I deal with the emotional trauma of my mom's untimely death? Well...
She was leaning against my car when I came down the driveway. Blonde, bright blue eyes, a turned up nose and very perky breasts. Actually, she hadn't bothered to wear a bra at all. Her name was Samantha and she was the quintessential girl next door (technically, she lived across the street, but I wasn't picky).
She swept her hair back over her shoulder and smiled. "I thought that was you. Tommy Sherry. Do you remember me?"
I played it cool. "Remind me."
She pouted a little. "I live across the way. We went to high school together."
I moved in close and planted my palm against the car. "Yeah..." I said slowly. "Sam, right?" I watched her eyes trace the line of my bicep. She had a hunger in her, and for a moment I let myself believe she meant it. Of course, if this was going where I thought it was going, there was a solid chance I'd end the night with my usual disappointment.
But maybe I'd get lucky for once.
"Yes," she said finally. "You remember me?"
I nodded. "So why don't you tell me why you're loitering at my vehicle?"
The girl didn't waste time. She pressed herself against me, made damn sure I knew there was nothing under that shirt but her body. "Tricia says you're a man with, um, a really big...talent?"
I shrugged. "That's what they say."
She played with the hem of my shirt. "Maybe you should take me out for a drink. And later you can show me how talented you are."
"When are you free?"
I know, I'm quite the stud, aren't I? Believe me, it's not like that at all.
At first it was just to get out of my own head. Yeah, I'm tall; yeah, I was on varsity; yeah, I'm a gym rat and proud of it. What guy doesn't love being told he's a hunk? But when you get yourself a reputation for having something special between your legs, pretty soon that's all you are.
I first noticed I was bigger than average in the locker room. You can't help it when you're constantly showering with the guys. Eventually, word started to spread. And that would have been great, if I could enjoy my infamy.
The problem is, I'm a little too big. I learned that in high school. A lot of dates ended with shocked gasps and nervous touches, but more often than not I was left with a raging boner and anxious apologies. Some girls were terrified that I'd hurt them - and not just because my dick was too big. They thought if they didn't try to fuck me I'd get violent, force them. I was shocked. I wanted to have sex, sure, but I wasn't crazy! Turns out, a lot of guys are crazy, dick size notwithstanding. For as many dates as I went on, I got more experience listening to girls' horror stories than actually having sex.
The guys on my team used to call me "the Gigolo," but the reality was a joke. I didn't dare tell my buddies what was really going on; I sure as hell couldn't handle the shame and, selfishly, I did enjoy the reputation. The girls I dated were more interested in getting my pants off to confirm the legend than actually taking it for a spin. Those that did seldom lasted long and never at full penetration. They couldn't relax enough for that, and me a bundle of hormones and horniness, I had no idea how to improve the experience. So what sex I was having was pretty rotten - but girls would say we'd done it, and I didn't dispute it.
It used to bother me a lot. I wanted to sow my wild oats! But I could never fully let go. I was like Superman, terrified I'd crush that night's Lois Lane with my superhuman passion. I might have gone crazy if it wasn't for some sage words of advice from, who else, my coach.
We were shooting the shit one day and I may have mentioned my frustrations. He just laughed and told me I was doing it wrong. "You're just fuckin' around, Tommy. You're not making love to these girls."
I asked him what the hell he was talking about.
"Do you know anything about the vagina?" he said.