Andrew Rylant, formerly of Jenkins Kentucky, was a virtual new student at Crighton College.
Crighton’s exterior gave it the appearance of a banal small town college. It was a hundred year-old institution with a proud, lengthy history of educating the neediest students of merit. Andrew, refugee from a small Appalachian mining town, was one of the people lucky enough … or unlucky enough depending on your point of view ... to have met Crighton’s strict criterion.
Several people would describe Andrew as having smooth skin that was the color of roasted pecans. She was a woman with a closet full of male jerseys and Nike sneakers. Her hair, braided and tinted magenta of all things, seemed always fresh from one of the West Geber beauty shops across the bridge. Her lips and nails were always perfect and painted in shades to accent her nut brown complexion. And always, despite the trendy, oversized somewhat masculine hip-hop rap-oriented attire, she carried herself like a princess.
But most who knew her realized that the indomitable Miss Rylant was a brassy, ballsy black girl who couldn't be pinned down with banal descriptive phrases alone. She coached non-students in resume writing, did odd jobs at a Geber nursing home, and was very grateful for the chance she had been given to attend this particular institution.
Before given the opportunity to attend school and better herself, Andrew used to “do the dirt” as she called it. The so-called dirt included robbing convenience stores with a man five years her senior. She and whiteboy Kyle Baskin had been in their late teens during the pinnacle of their days of pilfering together.
But even before she’d met the nefarious Kyle, Andrew Rylant had known of the world of the untoward. She had entered that world on the day she turned eighteen after an odd happening.
What happened was simple enough--at least, at the start. What happened was that Andrew Rylant’s Aunt Velma took her to a brothel where she was instructed how on how to deal with subservient males. This occurred at a time when the stately young woman was exploring all aspects of her sexuality ...plus it was her birthday. Her rather eccentric Aunt always knew about the hidden American sexual conclaves. Even one that specialized in male slaves starving for abuse from eager young ladies.
Andrew was standing in a warehouse and watching in stunned silence while Eric Martindale, a captured male slave, lay in the center of the room unconscious and waiting to be “used” by one of the two dozen females present. Eric was a stunning eighteen-year-old, with a mop of curly hair above a youthfully smooth face set off with bright blue eyes. His body was lean but hard and perfectly proportioned, and the bumps of his nipples sat proudly on his well-developed chest.
A woman knelt next to Eric’s naked, motionless body and buried her face in the curly-haired youth’s crotch, smelling the eighteen-year-old’s sweat and stale urine aroma--moaning with blissful pleasure. Another woman seized the youth’s ankles, and sniffed his feet. Andrew’s Aunt Velma herself--armed with a barbed whip of some sort--stripped off the remainder of Eric’s clothing and bound his hands behind his back.
Then they went for his feet.
He’d never seen anything like it, and was surprised to find himself instantly turned on. Aunt Velma seized the unconscious boy by the ankles and buried her face in his soles—her nose wedged into the area directly beneath his toes. She sniffed and sniffed so loudly. An addict with a mountain of cocaine would have made sniffing noises like that.
Andrew was so stunned to see this because he’d always believed that women didn’t obsess or deeply love men’s feet on the level other men do. But what he was witnessing now was a revelation. He watched as his aunt snaked out her tongue and licked and probed between each and every one of Eric’s toes. She then proceeded to suck on each toe, moaning and muttering in ecstasy all the while. Andrew couldn’t make our precisely what she was saying, but the guttural lowness of her tone and the animal-like grunts his aunt was making … well, they just made the entire scene so hot! When Velma began to sensuously lick the unconscious boy’s soles from heel to toes, Andrew was pumping his own dick, wishing he had the nerve to join in the foot feast!
To be continued
