The Final Initiation

Pretty freshman Gina Wesley is now in her much anticipated final initiation.

She must undergo the rituals and pleasures that await her in this mysterious last stage . . . involving Japanese rope bondage, a strange statue, and dozens of semi-naked and hedonistic revelers in a party that she will remember forever.

This is the final volume of the Initiation series.

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The room is crowded. And what a crowd it is.

Young people mill with cocktail glasses in their hands – talking, laughing, kissing, groping one another. They are barely dressed in apparel designed to show off their breasts, buttocks and genitalia as much as possible. Heads look up as I make my entrance.

Murmurs all around:

“Ah, the new initiate.”

“Lovely, isn’t she?”

“Come, let’s take a closer look.”

I swivel my head this way and that, trying to take in as much as possible in my supine position. My heart beats rapidly within my chest. A woman is fellating a man in the middle of the floor. Bodies flit in and out, hiding them. Another couple is fucking – the woman slammed against a wall with her thighs around a man’s waist.

Oh! The pleasures!

A woman walks by in string bikini. It is exactly that – a bikini one string thick. Three narrow strings run down each of her enormous tits, while her clit is covered (if it can be called that) by one red strand. Her labia are completely exposed.

She stops by me.

“And who is this?” she asks. Her lips are very red and plump, and her dark eyes are thickly lined with multicolored mascara.

“Gina Wesley, the initiate,” Greg replies.

“And may we take a look at her?”

“Certainly.”

The youths carrying my legs lower my body so that I’m now held upright. My thighs are still spread open at an almost one hundred-and-eighty degree angle. My vagina and anus gape, the drawstrings dangling from the latter like two shaky tails.

Two men join the bikini woman. One of them wears an owl mask and a black cape which envelops his entire body except for his cock. The other has a pleasant, smiling face. I recognize him from around campus. He is one of the professors. His cock too is exposed, and he wears a peacock tail which sprouts from his ass in a striking fan. I reckon it’s probably held there by a dildo.

The woman plucks at my red nipples. “They look delicious. My compliments, Greg.”

Greg nods, obviously pleased.

The men painstakingly examine my vulva. They separate my pussy lips, pulling them apart and letting them spring back again. Their fingers stroke and tease my clit, and explore my vaginal passage. I close my eyes, savoring the sensations. I am no longer a prude concerning public display. I have recently found out that I quite enjoy it in fact.

“Still tight,” says the Peacock of my pussy. “Where are the tokens?”

“Here, sir.” Greg produces a small bag.

Its contents clink and roll – the sounds of something metallic.