Archive-name: Bondage/hotpizza.txt

Archive-author: Solo Polyphony

Archive-title: Hot Pizza





A repost of the first in the series of "Deb's Tails".  It's been a while

since this was posted, and I've had several requests for it.



     My wife, Deborah, often tells me "bedtime stories" of her sexual

adventures.  Some of them I know are true, either because I was there, or

because she has corroborative evidence.  Some of them, I'm sure, are

fictional.  Others, I'm just not sure about.

     This story is one I'm not sure about.  It's set back before we were

married, when we were in college.  We went to different schools, a couple

hundred miles apart, so I couldn't really keep tabs on her (or visa-versa,

for that matter).  She did deliver pizzas on a bike for a while, so the story

she tells could have happened, but I don't have any solid evidence one way or

the other.  I'm inclined to suspect that she at least partly made it up for

my entertainment.  I suspect Deb would have handled this situation a lot

better in real life.

     This is the story as Deb tells it (albeit, with my title).





                                  Hot Pizza



     It had been a long day.  It seemed like everybody in town was having a

party to celebrate the beginning of spring break.  The only thing that saved

me from utter exhaustion was that most of the frat types were in Florida

already, so I just had to deal with the ones who couldn't afford the trip. 

I'd been pedalling all over town, dropping off half a dozen with pepperoni

here, ten with everything there, and seven mushroom and olive everywhere else

(Ick.  I hate mushrooms and olives).  By the time I got to the last delivery

before my shift ended, I was beat.  I was also freezing, since it was one of

those god-awful spring days that make you think the seasons have gone back to

winter to try again.  When I saw it was clouding up, I was really pissed.

     Sure enough, halfway up the hill to Frat Row, the rain started.  It

didn't just drizzle, it poured buckets.  If it was raining cats and dogs,

they must have been lions and dire wolves.  The pizzas were warm and dry in

their insulated bag, but I was soaked and shivering by the time I got to the

house that had ordered them.  I must have been quite a sight with my nipples

tight from the cold, clearly visible through the thin, white T-shirt that

Crusty's Pizza insisted was a delivery uniform.

     I rang the bell, and stood there dripping on the mat until someone

opened it.

     "Jesus, you're wet!" was the first thing he said.  "C'mon in and dry off

a bit while I find some money.  How much are they?"

     "Thirty-seven fifty," I told him stepping inside.  "Any chance you could

spare me a towel?"

     "No problem.  Be right back."

     He disappeared down the hall, and came back a couple of minutes later

with two twenties, a big, fluffy bath towel, and a can of beer.  He handed me

the money and towel, and I handed him the pizzas.  The usual juggling act

wasn't made any easier by the fact that he had opened the beer, and the

inevitable happened.  We missed the handoff on the towel, and it started to

fall.  We both reached to catch it, and he tipped the beer a little too far. 

I wound up with the better part of a can of Budweiser poured over my head. 

I don't like beer to begin with, and I certainly don't like it dripping down

my face and the back of my neck.

     I screamed at him.  This last frustration was the absolute last straw,

and I told him exactly what sort of clumsy, brain-damaged idiot I thought he

was.  He took it calmly and waited for me to run down.  When I ran out of

things to call him, he just said "Would you take some of that back if I

offered to run your clothes through the washer while you take a shower?"

     What can you say to an offer like that except yes?  I couldn't think of

any other way to answer him.  I borrowed the phone to call my boss and tell

him I was going straight home, and that I'd bring in the last delivery's

money when I came in the next day, and then followed my host down the hall to

the visitor's bathroom.

     "Just dump your clothes outside the door, and I'll run 'em downstairs,"

he said.  "When they're dry, I'll hook 'em on the outside doorknob."

     Something about that didn't sound quite right, but, it wasn't until I

had stripped, handed my clothes out to him from behind the door, locked the

door, and gotten under the water, that I realized what it was.  Did he really

expect me to stay in here for an hour and a half?  I shrugged to myself,

figuring I'd worry about it after the shower.

     The bathroom was the typical institutional type, with two open toilet

stalls and a single shower stall without a curtain on the right, and a couple

of sinks on the left wall, under the usual huge mirror.  Depressing as hell,

but the way I was feeling, I wouldn't have cared if it had been a bucket to

dump over my head, as long as it was HOT!

     I just luxuriated under the water for a long couple of minutes, then

began to rinse the beer out of my hair.  By the time my hair was clean, the

hot water had begun to ease my mood.  I saw a motion out of the corner of my

eye, but when I looked around, the only things there were the sinks and the

mirror above them.

     I started soaping my body when my attention was distracted by another

movement.  This time I was looking in the right direction, and I saw that

something was moving behind the mirror!  I realized the frat boys had

installed a one-way mirror that wasn't quite as one-way as they had hoped.

     My first impulse was to dive for cover, but I realized there really

wasn't any.  My second impulse was to turn my back, but I really couldn't see

any advantage to me in forcing them to look at my butt instead of my tits and

pussy.  I finally decided to go with my third impulse and give them a bit of

a show.  To tell the truth, the thought of a bunch of strangers watching me

in the shower was turning me on.

     Mind you, I wasn't about to go out of my way for their thrills, but I

did spend more time than I usually do soaping my pussy and tits, and I did

"accidentally" drop the soap once, giving them a good rear view when I bent

over to pick it up.  All in all, it was one of the nicer showers I'd had,

what with all the free hot water I wanted -- not to mention the cheap thrills

for one and all -- so I was feeling pretty good when I decided I'd had

enough.  I turned off the water and grabbed the towel that had started the

whole mess.

     I wasn't sure how long I'd been in the shower, so I figured there was at

least a chance that my clothes would be dry, so I wrapped the towel around

myself and stuck my head out the door to check.  I wasn't particularly

surprised that there weren't any clothes there.  My host was, however, and

the bulge in his pants showed that he, at least, hadn't gotten his rocks off

watching me.

     "I just put your stuff in the dryer," he said.  "You wanna hang out in

there 'til it's ready, or do you wanna come upstairs and see if we can find

you a robe or something while you wait?"

     I'm not an idiot, so I figured he had more in mind than just finding me

a robe, but the prospect wasn't that dismal.  Actually, the idea was sounding

more and more attractive the more I thought about it.  Men are more fun than

vibrators, after all, and either one is better than sitting around a wet

bathroom with no clothes and nothing to do.

     With that in mind, I took another look at him.  He was medium height,

kind of weedy looking, although not quite to the level of scrawny.  He had

dark, straight hair and glasses.  Not my idea of a dream stud, but quite

acceptable, especially given that the glasses were reasonably fashionable,

and not held together with electrical tape.

     "Upstairs, you said?"

     He pointed down the hall behind me.  "First door on the left at the

top."  As I started up the stairs in front of him, he added "I'm Mark, by the

way."

     Thinking fast, I told him my name was Betty.  I didn't think it was

likely, but just in case he decided to try to track me down later, I didn't

want to make it easy for him.  Betty was actually the name of the TA who

taught my Calculus class.  She had just handed back a test that day, and I

was none to pleased with my D.  I entertained a brief fantasy of Mark calling

every Betty in the campus phone book, and bugging her, preferably at 3 a.m.

     I reached the top of the stairs and opened the door on the left.  "Would

you get the light?" Mark said.  "It's on a string in the middle of the room." 

I took a couple of steps forward, waving my arms to find the string.  Just as

I found it, I heard the door close behind me.  I pulled the string, and found

myself in (no surprise) a bedroom.  The surprise was in the number of people

in the room.  In addition to Mark, there were five other guys.  Standing

around, leaning against the walls.  Stark naked.  Looking at me dressed in

nothing but a towel.

     I whirled around to confront Mark, nearly losing my towel in the

process.  "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I demanded, a rather

stupid question, especially as he was pulling his shirt off even as I spoke.

     "Well," Mark replied calmly, "I did say that if you came upstairs, we'd

see what we could find for you to wear."  He started to pull off his pants. 

"Plural, you know," he added.

     "So what you're saying is that if I, uh, service all six of you, you'll

loan me something to wear until my clothes are dry?  Doesn't sound like much

of a deal to me."

     "Actually no," said one of the guys behind me.  "What he's saying is

that by the time we finish fucking you, your clothes will be dry, and we'll

get them for you."

     "Sex, clothes.  No sex, no clothes," chimed in another one.  "That sound

like a better deal?"

     At this point, I figured I had three choices:  I could make a break for

it, and even if I got out the door, what would I do then?  Have you ever

tried to ride a bike dressed in nothing but a bath towel?  Me neither, and I

didn't really want to try it.  I could try and talk my way out of it, with

roughly the same chance of success as winning the lottery two weeks in a row. 

Or I could, as the saying goes, cooperate with the inevitable, and file rape

charges later.  I took a quick look around the room at the six of them, and

thought about how long it had been since I had last had sex.  "Hell," I

thought, "I might even enjoy it, if I'm lucky."

     "I guess you've got a deal," I said, reluctantly.  All six of them

started forward.  I hastily continued, "On one condition.  You guys want a

gang-bang.  That I can handle, I guess, but I'm not about to take you all on

at once.  You guys want to do this, you do it one at a time, and in order of

dick size.  If I'm going to take you all, I need some warm-up before I get to

the big ones."  I glanced at Mark.  "That'd make you first, you bastard," I

added as I dropped the towel.

     He blushed.  I'd never seen a guy blush all the way from his head to his

nuts.  It's quite a sight.  I smiled to myself when his buddies chuckled.

     "She's got your number, Mark," one of them said.  "If that's the way she

wants it, I can live with it."

     "OK, OK, you pricks.  If that's it, that's it.  Just remember who isn't

gonna be getting sloppy seconds," Mark replied.  Turning to me, he said "Get

on your knees next to the bed, bend over, and lean your arms on it."

     I started to comply, and then had a nasty thought.  I turned to look at

him, and past him to the rest of them.  "Make sure you aim right.  Don't let

your habits get the best of you, because the first guy who tries to put his

cock in my ass is going to have it ripped off."  I was pleased to see a

couple of their faces take on a very thoughtful look.

     I got into the position Mark had demanded, and then had to wait while

someone ran downstairs for a padded footstool, since in that position my

pussy was several inches too low for them to get at.  When he returned, I

knelt on the stool, and Mark approached me again.

     "That's better," I heard him say, just before I was rammed forward as he

thrust all the way into me in one stroke.  Fortunately for me, his prick was

not only short, no more than five inches, but was unusually skinny as well. 

He didn't even stretch me noticeably.

     This is not a position that gives me much pleasure under the best of

circumstances, and Mark had neither the interest or the ability to maximize

what little potential it offered.  I was tempted to sneak my hand back and

give my clit a little stimulation, but decided I wasn't about to give him the

satisfaction, even if it would have made me more comfortable.  As he thrust

in and out, I was grateful that the activity in the shower had gotten me a

little lubricated, and that his cock was as skinny as it was.  A little

larger, or a little less lubrication, and I would have been rubbed raw.  As

it was, I merely hoped that his lack of subtlety signalled an equal lack of

experience, and therefore a quick cum.

     He fucked me hard and fast, while I concentrated on moving enough to

make it look like I was involved, without moving enough to actually help him. 

My prayers were answered, as it wasn't long at all before I felt his cum

spurting into me.  As soon as he came, I started to feel a little bit guilty. 

He'd been nice enough before he pulled his little trick.  He and I probably

would even have had a good time if things had gone as I had expected they

would when we came upstairs.

     Mark pulled out of my cunt, and I felt his cum begin to drip out, and

run down my leg.  I heard the second guy take his place behind me, and

decided that feeling guilty was stupid.  Mark deserved to lose whatever

pleasure he didn't get for what he had done.  "Your loss, buddy," I thought

to myself as cock number two pressed against the entrance to my hole.

     This one was noticeably larger than Mark's, but its owner was rather

more considerate.  He teased me a bit, rubbing the tip up and down the length

of my slit, lubricating it with Mark's cum, before he pushed slowly into me. 

As he began moving in and out with long, slow strokes, I reached down and

started to rub myself.  Number Two (shades of the Village) was much better

than Mark had been, and giving myself some stimulation didn't hurt any

either, so I was almost disappointed when he lurched forward, firing his hot

juices deep into me.

     Number Three was almost a gentleman.  He started by running his hands up

and down my back for a moment, easing the strain of staying on my hands and

knees.  He then reached around me, caressed my breasts, and whispered in my

ear, "I hope you're protected."

     "You might have mentioned that thought a little sooner," I whispered

back.  "If it will make you feel any better, though, yes, I am."

     "Sorry.  I didn't think of it until I saw what was running down your

leg."  He chuckled then, as he straightened up and slid his hard shaft into

me.  "Thank heaven for Ortho Pharmaceuticals," he added.  I could only agree.

     I started to reach for my clit again, and found he had beaten me to it. 

I sighed in mounting pleasure as he synchronized the strokes of his cock with

the rubbing of his finger.  Making the most of the situation, I matched his

motion, giving him the best fuck I could under the circumstances. 

Unfortunately, I gave him a better fuck than I should have.  I was just

beginning to think I might cum, when he gasped "Oh, yes, Baby, YES," and blew

his wad.

     I didn't get the chance to see if he'd stick around to help me cum, as

Number Four elbowed him out of the way and impaled me with the largest cock

yet.  From his first vicious thrust, I knew he was out to make up for Number

Three's relative consideration.  The only thing that kept me from screaming

in pain was the three loads of cum that had already been deposited in my

pussy, keeping me well lubricated.  He was thrusting so hard that my head was

just about banging into the wall on the far side of the bed.  "Hey, slow

down," I called back to him.  "I'm not going anywhere.  Take your time."

     "Damn right you're not," he said.  He added over his shoulder, "Hey,

Paul, 'ja hear that?  She wants me to slow down.  I guess she likes it or

something."  He slowed down a little, enough that I stopped worrying about a

concussion, so I let the subject drop.

     "How is she?" the next guy in line asked.

     "Nice and tight," he replied.  "Getting kinda squishy, though."

     "Better pull out when you cum, then," his buddy said.  "Don't make it

any worse for the rest of us."

     "No prob," Number said, pulled his prick out of me, and started jerking

it.  It was such a relief to have it out, that it took a minute for what they

had been saying to register.

     "Hey!" I yelled, turning my head around as I started to say something

stupid about not wanting my hair full of cum.  I was too slow.  I got my head

turned just in time to catch the first long spurt in my face.  My sentence

turned into a sputter as I jerked my head back and started rubbing it on the

bed-covers to clean off.  I felt the next couple of spurts hit the back of my

head and shoulders before the pressure fell off, and he finished up dripping

onto my butt.

     "Shit!  You stupid bastard, why do you think I wanted you in order of

cock size?  I needed that for lubrication."

     "Not my problem, Babe," he said with a distinctly self-satisfied smirk. 

Turning to the next guy in line, he said "She's all youerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk". 

His involuntary interjection was the result of my foot becoming intimately

acquainted with his nuts.

     I briefly considered following my kick with a break for the door, but I

knew my chances of getting past the rest of them were pretty slim -- and I

still didn't want to run home naked.  I turned to the two guys still waiting

for their turns.  "Either of you two think we're making a porn flick here? 

If you do, you might as well step up to where I can reach you, and we'll save

a little time."  They both looked at their buddy moaning on the floor, and

shook their heads.  "OK then.  Let's get on with it, and get it over with."

     "That's hardly romantic," Mark said.

     "You're a fine one to talk.  If you think this is a romantic situation,

you must have gone to reform school instead of high school."  I turned to the

next guy in line.  "Ready?"  At his nod, I resumed my position against the

bed.

     Not surprisingly, he seemed a bit nervous as he approached me, but once

he got his cock into me without getting kicked, he seemed to relax.  I was

starting to get a bit sore from the stretching, and this guy's cock wasn't

helping things any.  It was definitely the biggest one I had ever taken, and

I breathed a mental sigh of relief when he entered me slowly, and kept his

strokes slow as well.  Again I started rubbing my clit, and I was getting

into it enough that the pain was starting to recede behind the pleasure when

he groaned and blasted his cum into me.

     As Number Five stepped back, the guys who had already had their turns

started cheering.

     "Alright, Big Tony!"

     "Give her all of it!"

     "Nail 'er big guy!"

     I looked around to see what all the fuss was about, and got my first

good look at Big Tony -- or, more precisely, at why they called him that. 

Tony wasn't particularly big, maybe 5'10", and 180 pounds, but his prick sure

was.  My first, horrified thought was that he had had a baseball bat grafted

to his crotch, but a longer look didn't reassure me much.  It was at least a

foot long, and a good three inches in diameter.  His cock was a pretty good

match in size for my forearm, and the head wasn't noticeably smaller than my

fist.  My unconscious cry of "Holy shit!" was answered by laughter from the

onlookers, and an apologetic grin from Big Tony.  He was obviously used to

that reaction.

     "You're not gonna back out, are you?" he asked me, and I realized that

he must be used to women turning him down when they saw what he had to offer. 

I felt sorry for him, and wondered if he had ever found one who would go all

the way with him.  I knew that I'd hate myself if I disappointed him, given

that I was as well stretched and lubricated as I'd ever been.

     "Not if you take it slowly," I assured him, trying to sound confident,

rather than nervous.  I felt his cock-head against the mouth of my pussy, and

relaxed the muscle as far as possible.  He pushed slowly into me, and I felt

as though his cock was dragging my pussy-lips so far inside that I wondered

if I was going to turn outside-in.  He got a couple of inches in, and then

reversed direction, and I thought I was going to turn inside-out.

     The second stroke was easier, thanks to the cum smeared along the first

few inches of his shaft.  He proceeded that way, pushing in an inch or so

further with each stroke, until I felt his belly hit my butt.

     "Sonufabitch," Big Tony cried, "I'm all the way in!  Damn, that feels

good!"  I was too busy wondering if I was going to be ripped in half to

respond with anything more than a moan, but he didn't seem to care.  He

started stroking in and out, slowly enough at first, but then picking up

speed as he got more and more excited, and I stretched enough to make it

possible.

     About then, I discovered something.  I'd never gotten much clitoral

stimulation from the doggy position before, but I found that with a big

enough cock it works just fine -- and Big Tony's was big enough.  By the time

this realization hit me, Big Tony was well past thirty-three and a third, and

getting close to forty-five.  I sent up a silent prayer that he'd never get

to seventy-eight, and abandoned myself to the sensation of being stuffed like

a Thanksgiving turkey.

     The pleasure rapidly swamped the pain, and my moans of pain quickly

became one continuous moan of pleasure.  For the second time I found myself

mere seconds from orgasm, and for the second time I was disappointed, as Tony

bellowed with the pleasure, dumping the frustration of at least ten years of

getting nothing more than a hand-job -- and an enormous load of cum -- into

my pussy.

     I was ready to weep with frustration when Tony whispered in my ear, "You

were almost there, weren't you?  Don't worry, you've got one more chance.  If

anybody can get you off, it's Zeke."

     I was a little puzzled; I had thought Big Tony was the last one waiting

for a crack at my crack, but before I could say anything, I felt a tongue

begin to work on my cunt.  I stopped thinking; I always do when someone goes

down on me.  Good as it felt, though, something was bothering me, and I

finally figured out what it was.  What kind of a frat boy would not only go

down on a woman in front of his frat mates, but would eat the cum they had

already left in her?

     I had to see this paragon, so I looked around, and then fell off the

stool trying to get away.  Zeke was a dog; a St. Bernard-cross, to be exact! 

No wonder he hadn't cared who was watching him eat cum.  I realized that part

of what had been bothering me was the length and flexibility of his tongue,

but it had felt so good I had done my best to ignore the oddity.

     Mark and Number Four were laughing hysterically; they had obviously

brought Zeke in while I was absorbed with Big Tony.  The others were turned

on at the sight, they all looked disappointed when I pushed Zeke away. 

Between laughs, Mark said, "What do you think you're doing?  You agreed to

fuck us all to get your clothes back."

     "Yeah, but he's not one of you," I replied.

     "Sure he is.  Zeke's the house mascot.  If that doesn't make him one of

us, I don't know what would."

     "He wasn't here when we made the deal."

     "Nobody said anything about being here.  You agreed to fuck us all to

get your clothes.  Zeke's one of us, so if you don't fuck him, you don't get

your clothes.  Besides, look at him.  He's obviously desperate.  If you don't

fuck him now that he's turned on, we'll have to report you to the ASPCA."  He

started laughing again.

     I'm not stupid enough to be convinced by any of Mark's arguments.  The

truth is, I was almost frustrated enough to give Mark a second chance just so

I could cum.  I was grateful to have an alternative.  As Mark said, "Besides,

you liked him well enough before you saw who he was."

     I let myself be persuaded, and got back up on the stool, reflecting on

the appropriateness of the doggy position.  Seeing me in a position he

recognized, Zeke came back over to me and started lapping at my cunt again.

     I spread my legs a little further apart to give him better access, and

he took full advantage.  His tongue slid inside me, wriggling at the walls of

my pussy, rapidly turning me on again.  After a minute or so, he stopped

licking, and I felt his forepaws on my back.  He walked forward, and began

hunching his spine, trying to get his doggy-dick into me.  After two

unsuccessful thrusts that came perilously close to my asshole, I reached back

and grabbed his cock, guiding it into me.

     Zeke wasn't as big as Tony, but he was bigger than any of the other

guys, and I was pleased to discover that he was big enough to give me the

stimulation I needed.  I was less pleased when I felt his knot slide into me. 

That was enough to make his cock even thicker than Big Tony's, and I wasn't

sure I could take it.

     Somehow, though, I did.  Once inside me, Zeke started a frantically fast

stroke that quickly had me clawing at the bed-sheets.  When he howled and

started pumping his doggy-cum into me, I felt my cunt clamp down as the first

throes of my orgasm shook me.  The combination of my repeated frustration and

the sheer depravity of doing it with a dog contributed at least as much to

the mind-wrenching quality of my orgasm as the purely physical stimulation of

Zeke's big cock.  It wasn't until well after Zeke was finished that I came

down enough to turn my untidy sprawl across the bed into a seat on the

footstool.

     I rested there for a minute, six pairs of eyes studiously avoiding mine. 

(Zeke I didn't count.  He was in the corner, licking his cock clean as it

retreated into its sheath.)  When I felt steady enough to stand, I grabbed

the towel I had abandoned on the floor.  "I'm going to the bathroom to clean

up," I announced.  "When I come out, I expect my clothes to be outside the

door waiting for me."

     I didn't want to take the time for a full-fledged cleanup.  I just

rinsed the worst of the flows of semen from my legs, promising myself a

thorough wash when I got home.  When I left the bathroom, Number Three was

standing there holding my clothes.

     "I didn't want to just leave them on the floor.  That didn't seem right,

somehow," he said, handing them to me, and ignoring the dirty look I gave

him.  He handed me my money belt, adding, "We put in a couple of extra bucks

for you; to make up for Zeke, and all."

     Somehow I refrained from telling him that Zeke had been better than the

lot of them.  It wasn't quite true, and the guy was trying to apologize, so

I just mumbled thank you, and headed for the front door.

     He followed me down the hall, and as I opened the door, he said, "It's

still pouring out there.  You want me to give you a ride home?"

     If I had been reluctant to let Mark know who I was before the events of

the evening, I certainly wasn't about to let any of these guys know where I

lived now.  "No thanks," I said.  "I've gotta get my bike home, too."

     I righted the bike, started to swing my leg across the frame, and

stopped with it half raised when my much-abused crotch gave me a warning

twinge.  Deciding that I wasn't in the mood for the amount of pain riding

would have entailed, I elected to walk.

     Halfway down the hill, I discovered another reason not to ride.  The

larger part of six loads of cum had done a rather good job of soaking the

crotch of my jeans.  Even if I had wanted to ride, I was probably too

slippery to stay on the seat.



--



     Deb and I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as we enjoyed

writing it -- not to mention the research!  If you have questions, kudos, or

complaints, I can be reached as Solo Polyphony:



          1) on NixPix Windy City (708-564-1754), or

          2) via Internet at solo-p@holonet.net