textfiles/sex/EROTICA/H/hateharp.txt

Archive-name: School/hateharp.txt
Archive-author: RICHH
Archive-title: Always Used to Hate Harps


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, "KellyÉ"
	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 beforeÉ"
	"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 concertoÉ"
	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. NiceÉ"  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