From: richh@netcom.com (richh)
Subject: RICHH:  ALWAAYS USED TO HATE HARPS
Date: Sat, 12 Sep 92 23:35:06 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Keywords: Fall repost

    Disclaimer:  The following story contains naughty bits.  If
you are under 18, or if this has somehow wandered onto the K12 net,
STOP READING NOW.  Do not, I repeat, do not email it to all your
friends.  And for God's sake do not make a printout of it and
distribute copies all over your school.  I mean sure, it'll be cool
and all, and you'll probably have lots of new friends, and you'll
probably even get lots of dates which will lead to numerous nights
of hot, sticky backseat passion, but like, you could get in big
trouble.  Cause I know a kid who did it and sure, it was cool
for awhile, but all the new friends he made weren't like *real*
friends.  Plus like, it's all fully and legally copyrighted and
if you think you're so tough now, let's see how you feel after a
few months in the joint sharing a cell with a disgruntled former
Kinko's employee with something to prove.  Copyright prison--you
wouldn't last a day.



                 ALWAYS USED TO HATE HARPS...

     I stayed up in Ithaca the summer after my sophomore year
because I wanted to pick up some more language credits.  Took a six
credit French class.  There was a coed in the class--a Jewish,
sorority girl whom I'd heard vague rumors about.  They said she'd
scored 1600 on her SAT's; that she was an exhibitionist who would
compete in contests at fraternity parties to see which girl would
raise her skirt the highest; that she would X an then go through
guys like potato chips; that she had a big collection of sex toys
that she would loan out to her sorority sisters on occasion; that
sort of thing.  
     After about the first week or so of classes, we ended up
sitting next to each other.  There were about 15 students in the
class and we all sat around one large rectangular table.  The girl,
Molly, almost always wore short denim skirts and, if it wasn't too
hot, white stockings.  She was a slender, waif-like brunette,
nearly flat-chested, and sexy as all hell.  
     Class met twice a day--before and after lunch, and it was
brutally enervating.  One day, during the second week, Molly wrote
"I'm sooo bored" in her notebook and slid it over until it nudged
mine.  I wrote "Ditto" and then she leaned her leg against mine. 
I rested my hand just above her knee.  She wrote, "Higher."  I
moved it up just past her stocking and pinch the soft, bare skin
there.  "Keep going," she wrote.  I cupped my hand right over her
panties and pressed into the cleft.  She wrote, "Gasp."  So I
settled into a rhythm rubbing back and forth over her pubic bone,
and on each downstroke trying to work more and more material into
her.  She kept writing--in pencil--her handwriting getting more and
more erratic; degenerating from words to pictures to arrows finally
to symbols which could only have been some sort of private code. 
She parted her legs wider and wrote "There!  There!  I'm, I'm--"
then she broke the point of her pencil against her notebook.     
And so the summer went.  Twice a day we would do this.  One
afternoon, as we started she wrote "Take my panties off.  I have a
surprise."  She pressed her hands down against her chair and raised
herself up a few inches.  I slid her panties down past her knees. 
She pulled one foot through and then spread her thighs.  As soon as
I touched her, her breathing changed and she wrote, "It won't take
long now.  Feel inside."  She was already very wet and soft.  I
slid in my middle finger as far as I could and I hit something hard
and round and felt a "clink".  She wrote "Ben Wa balls.  I've been
juicy all day."  I kept my finger pressed up against the one ball
and started spinning it while my thumb strummed over her clit. 
"Wicked" she wrote.  "Wicked."  She came after at most two minutes
and then wrote, "Come by my sorority tonight.  I've got another
surprise."
     I showed up just after dinner.  There were only about fifteen
girls staying there over the summer and Molly met me and quickly
dragged me up to her room.  
     "Get undressed," she said.
     "What's the surprise?"
     "You'll see," she said, "Just take off your clothes.  I'll be
right back."  And she ran out of her room and headed down the hall.

I stripped down to my underwear and started poking through her
clothes.  She had two drawers of lingerie, each with about ten
potpourris in them.  When I heard her footsteps coming back I
closed the drawers up and sat on the bed.
     "All right, Mol, what's the plan?"
     She started stepping out of her shoes and took off her shirt
right away.  She wasn't completely flat-chested, and her nipples
stood out prominently.
     She slipped out of her skirt and let her panties drop to the
floor and stepped out of them.  "Well," she said.  "Ready?"      I
stood up and pulled off my underwear as well.
     "I take it that means yes," she said and went into her closet.

I could hear her open up a trunk.  She returned in a few seconds. 
     "All right.  Get down on your hands and knees."
     "What's in your hand?"
     "You'll see.  Trust me."
     "Lemme see it."
     She opened up her hand to reveal what looked like two Ben Wa
balls connected by about a foot of wire.
     "Great," I said, rubbing my neck.  "A garrote.  Great.  I can
hardly wait."
     She walked over and put one hand around my wrists and her fist
between my shoulderblades.  "C'mon, hands and knees.  And it's
called a butt-harp.  You'll like it.  I promise."
     I complied and soon I felt her pushing one of the balls up
into me.
     "No lube?"
     "It dampens it.  Just relax,"  Then she dropped to all fours
as well, slide the other ball into her and crawled away from me
until the wire was taut.  She reached back and gave the wire a
little pluck.  I started to laugh.
     "What's so funny?"
     "Look at us."
     "Wait.  It gets better."
     As I reached back and started plucking at the wire myself,
Molly yelled, "Kelly..."
    I heard someone run to Molly's door.  I looked back;  the door
opened and in walked one of Molly's sorority sisters, a buxom Irish
redhead with freckles all over her shoulders and upper arms.  She
was carrying a violin bow.  
     "Hi.  You're Rich?" she asked.
     "Um, yup."
     "I was in your Shakespeare class.  I've never quite seen you
like this before..."
     "Very funny, very funny."
     "Do it," said Molly.
     Kelly knelt between us and started drawing the bow back and
forth across the wire.  I started laughing again but it felt really
good.
     "Faster, ooh," said Molly.  "Play some Paganinni."
     "No.  No caprices.  We don't want Rich to have a messy
accident.  Maybe the Bach violin concerto..."
     I was moaning and my breathing was short and choppy.
     Molly said.  "Wow.  I wish I had a prostate."
     "Turn over," said Kelly.
     We both did and the wire was an inch or two off the ground,
her thighs over mine.
     As Kelly ran the bow over the wire with her left hand, she
stuck two fingers in her mouth then ran them over Molly's clit.   
 "Oooh, so hard," said Kelly.  "Feels like a marble."
     I had never felt anything so excruciatingly pleasurable and I
curled my fingers into the rug.
     "You're going to come aren't you, Rich?" said Kelly, who then
slipped her thumb way into Molly and pinched at her clit with her
first two fingers.  
     "Ooooh," said Molly.  "I'm gonna come.  Ooooh. Nice..."     
Kelly increased her finger activity and I pushed my penis forward,
until it pointed away from me.
     "Prepare for splashdown, Mol," said Kelly, who stopped with
the bow for a second and scooped a drop of precum off of me and
tasted it.  "Mmmm, salty."
     That did it.  I heard it land on Molly's stomach.  Kelly slid
it down and rubbed it into Molly.
     I sat up, butt-harp still in place and said, "Where the hell
did you get *that*?!"
     "My brother brought it back from Singapore.  He's in the
army."
     "Man."    

RICHH

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