textfiles/sex/EROTICA/H/hotpizza2.txt

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