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The Size Sorority: 1.5
🕑 Added 2024-11-08 22:52:28 +0000 UTCThe best part about starting college, Dylan Holifield figured, was the new audience he could expose himself to. He’d just about exhausted the town of Dogwood Hill, everyone back home knowing exactly what he had.
Right off the bat: the most important thing to know about him was his enormous penis. An easy seven-and-a-half inches long when completely flaccid. He’d once measured a legitimate ten-and-a-half inches when erect. That was bone-pressed, but right over the dorsal side, the ruler jammed into his pubic hair and running on top of his cock to the tip. Ten-and-a-half was for rare and ultra-erotic special occasions, but nine-and-three-quarter inches was every-day erect. Donkey Dick was what they nicknamed him back in Dogwood Hill. And maybe because he offered not much else to the stuck-up girls at Dogwood Hill High, he adapted by learning to wield his size like a weapon.
Though he was six-foot-two, he was only 163 pounds. Skinny, most girls called him—before passing him over as unworthy. But once word got around that he was packing a donkey cock, no one saw him the same way. And his skinny legs only helped to make his heavy meat look even larger. He’d become enamored with revealing his size to girls just so he could watch their face transform.
So now that he was at NHU, there was a vast sea of uninitiated girls. Like right now, this girl Sadie, his roommate’s girlfriend. Super-cute redhead, a sorority sister, tight body and some pretty big tits. Beautiful face, too, big bright white smile. One of those turned up button noses. Back home, wherever Sadie came from, she had to be one of the top five girls in her high school, he’d bet. His roommate was a good-looking jock. Steve Mathers, tall as Dylan, but pretty muscular; and a typical jock asshole. They’d been getting along, but that was because Steve was pretty sure he had the upper hand over his skinny roommate most girls wouldn’t look twice at.
They shared a small bathroom in their dorm with a toilet and shower stall and sink. So when Steve said that his girlfriend Sadie was coming by, it was the perfect opportunity for him to get in the shower. He could hear them talking outside now, sounding like they both sat on Steve’s bed. He checked himself in the mirror. He liked to keep himself light these days because he knew he looked good lean. And his dick looked good when he was lean. Last year he’d tromped through Europe going to all the museums, and every day he’d committed himself to 500 pushups. Now he had something like a chest, and some improvement in his shoulders, too. He had abs, but he wasn’t jacked. In fact, getting jacked would be pretty impossible unless he was willing to eat half a cow every day. But he’d got the beginning of a full sleeve tattoo, starting on his forearm now, and his buddy Cliff back in Asheville finished the neck tattoo for him in the summer; one side of his neck, from ear to collar. It had hurt like a son of a bitch.
Outside in his room, he could hear Steve say something in his low grumbly voice, and then Sadie burst out in a high titter. Both of them laughing then. Perfect. He gathered up his towel, put it over his head, opened the bathroom door and walked into the dorm room completely naked. He had the towel around his ears and scrubbed at his wet hair, strolling between the two beds. He kept the towel around his head open, so he could peep out, watching Sadie. His cock bounced off his thighs as he walked, and his eyes tracked Sadie. She was watching Steve, then saw him coming between the beds, her eyes moved to him, down a few degrees and then widened seeing his massive floppy dick. It made sticky flesh sounds as it bounced off his thighs.
“Oh, my God,” Sadie bawled. Then she reeled, laughing brightly, knowing she shouldn’t look, turning her head away—but looking again in her periphery.
Steve, however, scowled. “Jesus, dude,” he cursed, full of venom.
“Oh, hey,” Dylan said, “sorry, I didn’t know you guys were here.”
“You knew I was here,” Steve said.
“I didn’t know your girl was here,” Dylan said, still not covering up.
“You could put a towel on,” Steve said.
“I was drying my hair,” he said, letting the towel come down his body, Sadie’s cheeks blushing bright red, head turned away, but eyes still peeping between his legs. He loved the poise of her pretty mouth the way it was pulled in a reluctant smile. He’d just made her day. Once she’d departed dear old Steve, he of the mighty bench press, the first thing she would do was text her friends about the monster cock she’d just seen. Who? they would ask, and Sadie would say Steve’s roommate. And thusly more opportunities would be provided for him to reward eager girls’ curiosity. He put the towel around his waist, and loosely knotted it at his hip. “Sorry, guys,”, he said. “That was rude. I just thought it was me and Steve, and I only have the one towel.”
Sadie was still flustered, turning to face him now, her eyes moving up his body then back down looking to see if she could see the bulge of that thing against the terrycloth towel fabric. She said, “Nope, I’m here, too.”
“Yeah, again, sorry about that,” he said while Steve still scowled at him.
“That was crazy,” Sadie said, and giggled. And Sadie’s giggle made Steve angrier. Now he was scowling at her.
“We should probably get out of here,” Steve said.
“Yeah,” Sadie said, some of the enjoyment in the moment dashed for her, what with her boyfriend’s bad mood.
Dylan said, “Where’re you guys going?”
Steve said, “Out.” Then realized how dickish that sounded and said, “We’re going out with some of Sadie’s friends down to the bar on Mill Street.”
Sadie said, “The Green Lion,” and Steve shot her a look, thinking that sounded too much like an invitation and not liking it.
“Okay,” Dylan said. “Have fun.”
Steve led the way out of their dorm room, taking Sadie by the hand. Sadie glanced over her shoulder, and there was that big smile again. He smiled in return, and Sadie showed a wave over her shoulder before Steve pulled her out of the room and closed the door behind them.
*
Alexis’s alarm went off at ten to midnight; she snatched her phone from the nightstand and turned it off before it woke any other sisters in the house. Ones who weren’t members of The Six, or ones chosen to pledge.
She’d only napped underneath the bedcovers, and now she slipped out in sweats, stepped into slippers, tiptoed to the bedroom door, holding her breath, then closed the door behind her, wincing as the old hinges creaked. Now she turned and made her way down the dim hallway.
These midnight meetings were the worst, especially when they were held in the turret. Everyone knew Starlight Manor was haunted. And the turret was supposed to be the most haunted part of the house. So she walked with that awful feeling, the one where like someone was watching you, then you glance over a shoulder but always only find the hallway empty. Nope, no ghosts here. Unless of course, you’re not looking. Then they’re skittering along behind you, knowing that was when you were most vulnerable. She quickened her pace, breath coming in quick gasps as she arrived at the heavy wooden door leading to the mansion’s turret.
According to legend, young Elizabeth Winthrop had died in a tragic accident on the eve of her wedding, way back in 1890, and her spirit still lingered in the manor, particularly in the turret where she used to spend hours reading and writing. OKE’s home resided in the summer retreat built by Edgar Winthrop, an industrialist and uber-wealthy textile baron, who’d overseen Starlight Manor’s construction in the 1880s. Elizabeth was his daughter; after the deep depression Edgar and his wife Evelyn suffered in the wake of Elizabeth’s unexpected demise, the Winthrops sold Starlight to a progressive social group of women wanting to form a sorority in the newly established New Haven University.
The room past the door was small and cramped, with a single window that looked out over the darkened town of New Haven. A spiraling stairway wound up to the turret’s main chamber, and this space was the anteroom, a place of preparation before entering the Starlight Chamber above; the home of the secret council that worked behind the scenes at the OKE sorority: The Order of the Six. Or the O6; or the Hexennial Sisters.
It was almost midnight, and Alexis worked quickly to locate her midnight blue robe, shrug it over her head and pulled up the hood so it cowled around her face. She wrapped the cummerbund around her middle, toed off her slippers and went barefoot, as was the protocol, and stepped onto the first metal stair—
The heavy door boomed open behind her and she jumped out of her skin, crying out with squeaky horror and slapping a hand over her mouth. A woman stood in the open doorway, cocking her head and studying her with predatory concern.
“Oh my god,” Alexis said. “I thought you were Elizabeth Winthrop.”
The young woman in the doorway chuckled, stepped deeper into the anteroom, closing the door behind her. With calm superiority, she said, “Boo,” then strolled to the hanging robes. The latecomer was Sadie White. Sister White as Alexis would call her tonight. Sister White or the Weaver or the Black Weaver. Sadie was O6; not a pledge but a bonafide Hexennial Sister with a lot of power. Third in ranking; The Mother Witch and the Oracle Lune the only ones outranking her. Sadie didn’t don one of the hanging robes; she had her own locker, and opened it now, pulling out her Hexennial robe. Still in the same midnight blue as Alexis’s, but Sadie’s showing moon phases in embroidered silver across the back and shoulders, the chest showing the arcane symbol of the Weaver. As Sadie puled the robe overhead, her red hair tied up in a French braid, she said, “Did you bag him?”
Alexis flinched, looking around, unsure if Sadie addressed her or not—though there was no one else here unless maybe Elizabeth Winthrop’s ghost. She said, “Uh, bag him? Who?”
Sadie still showed Alexis her back, pulling out her silver necklace with the huge pentagram pendant from the locker. “That guy with the tiny dick.”
Alexis nodded.
Sadie looked over her shoulder, frowning, not able to hear a nod.
Alexis cleared her throat. “Yes, I did, Sister White,” she said, forming mental excuses for why she couldn’t manage getting Michael verified by a Six Sister.
Sadie smiled, looped the necklace overhead and set the shimmering pentagram between her large breasts. Then she put a finger to pursed lips for a second. “Say no more. You’ll give the council the details when you come up to the chamber.” Then she aimed a finger to the bench underneath where the satin robes hung. “Sit there and wait. Give me a minute to get settled, then come up and see us.”
Alexis pulled her foot off the cold metal stair and slipped along the wall, giving Sister White room to get past, then sat on the bench with her hands underneath her. Sister White trotted barefoot up the stairs without saying anymore, then another heavy door sound as she entered the Starlight Chamber.
A minute passed, sitting on the bench in gloom and oppressive quiet, trying not to think of Elizabeth Winthrop and how that night Jasmine swore she heard Elizabeth playing the old piano in the music room and had cried with unreasonable fear and no one could console her.
But no ghost came for her in that time, and she wound her way up the stairs to the chamber door and stopped to say a silent prayer before opening it. Hand on brass knob, she twisted, pushed open the door and entered.
The starlight chamber was a room painted and decorated in black. Victorian furniture, chinoiserie fabric in black, various artifacts and antiquities on the shelves; the ceiling was high and vaulted, the slats painted black with little stars some girls had painted up there in the 1980s. The Sisters lounged in chairs and chaises; some on sofas. The high council. The Hexennial Sisters, dressed in their midnight blue robes. Ten of the twelve total Sisters in person; The Mother Witch wasn’t able to attend, so she would appear via Zoom. Same with Ava, the Whispermoon, who was in New Delhi for a week, staying with her family.
Comments
Bill F Protagoras
A maze... did you say, Tracey?
Bill F Protagoras
I like Dylan already... I wonder how he would feel about being bagged like Michael... though they would probably have divergent sentiments about being debagged...
Bill F Protagoras
"As Sadie puled the robe overhead," perhaps 'pulled' unless she's being infantile!
Bill F Protagoras
"Oracle Lune" Chuckles now, if laughter can be contemplated for a pun.
Bill F Protagoras
"the Hexennial Sisters." He he he... he tittered ironically.
Bill F Protagoras
A new amusing extremely well written twist on the size matters trope is shaping up a treat... served with side dishes of new improved(?) girl power.
Ryan
I’m loving this still
Tracey52
Your imagination is amazing kt.
