Chapter 1

When I was in college, they had this program called the Little Sister Program. The idea was that all the Frat brothers would put their names on a list to sponsor a Freshman girl, who was called their "little sister". What was supposed to happen was that they guy would kind of look out for her, show her around, acquaint her with the campus, and maybe introduce her to a couple of "approved" guys, to go on a date or two. It was probably a good idea when it was first thought up, back in 1947 or something like that, when college guys had some morals, and values and all that stuff. Whoever had let it go on into the seventies was a moron. It was supposed to protect the girls ... not expose them to guys like me.

But, when I went to college in the seventies, it was still going. There had been a little twist thrown into the deal, in the last ten years or so. What that was that we didn't sign up, exactly. If you did that, you got the luck of the draw, when some administrator paired names up.

Instead, us guys hung around Freshman orientation, and scoped out the babes, like wolves scoping out the flock of unsuspecting sheep. Freshman orientation had the spiel about being a little sister in it, and the girls ... at least the ones who bought into the spiel, still signed up. But any good looking girl was approached by a prospective "big brother" days before any pairing of names went on.

What you did was go up to a Freshman girl and say something smooth like "I'm in Tau Delta, and I didn't get a chance to sign up for a little sister. It's a rough transition, from High School to college, and I'd like to make it a little easier for you. Would you be interested, possibly, in being my little sister?"

Now you have to understand the dynamic going on here. Here was little Susie, who had been a big fish, in a little pond, suddenly immersed in a student body of six thousand, instead of maybe eight hundred. That, in itself made their nipples tingle. They felt small and helpless. And attention from an "older man" was every girl's dream. Who wanted to hang around a boring, immature boy the same age as you were, when you could bask in the glow of an experienced Fraternity Brother, who knew everything, and was so handsome?

Hell, you didn't even have to actually BE handsome, as long as you talked a good line, and dressed well. The other thing was that us Frat brothers had a house to live in, with a room that wasn't being patrolled by a Dorm Resident Assistant. If a Freshman girl hung around with a Freshman guy, they had to leave the door open, and all that horse shit.

The dynamic from our point of view, was that we loved it when little Susie felt small and helpless, and needed her strong, handsome big brother to take care of her. Of course, from our point of view, higher education involved sexual education as well.

It wasn't that none of us had any morals. Actually, I'd say eighty percent of the girls got a guy who actually did give a shit what happened to the girl. If she had a brain in her head, she'd be a little wary, and talk a lot, before agreeing to do anything. If they talked to older girls, they were well warned of what to be careful of. If, on top of that, they actually read the guidelines for what little sister/big brother relationships were SUPPOSED to be like, then they rarely fell prey to the wolf.

But, of course, there were always the other twenty percent.

Those were the ones my Frat Brothers and I tried to cut from the herd.

In seventy-eight, when I was a Junior, I hit pay dirt. Her name was Heather, and she came from a small town, where everybody knew everybody else, and trusted them, within reason. Heather was a good Catholic girl, which meant she'd done a ton of necking and groping, behind this or that door, or bush, but that was all. She'd never been naked with a boy, though it was quite likely that her luscious pink nipples, which I became so familiar with, had been tweaked before I ever did so. All things considered, though, she was as innocent as slightly polluted snow.

She was five feet five inches, exactly, in her bare feet, which made her on the small side. Her body thought it was supposed to be six inches taller. She had breasts and hips that, on a body six inches taller, would have been classified as brick shit-house quality. On her diminutive frame, it was just mind-boggling. She had long, chestnut colored hair, that probably hadn't been cut since she was eight, and an open and friendly face, with a wide smile, and engaging, friendly eyes that she used to stare right at you. She was fairly intelligent, and very curious, and she had moved to the big city, where an honest to Pete college Junior had taken an interest in her on the very first day she set foot on campus.

To put it in erotic story language ... her very pink nipples were very erect, and tingling like crazy, when she said she'd love to be my little sister.

There was an art to the seduction of a little sister. You spent the first week in a hands-off posture, to impress on her brain that you weren't just a masher, aching to get his hands on her precious body. Even if she'd fucked around in High School, you took it nice and slow. In High School, she might have fucked once a month. The goal here was to have her lying naked in your bed any time you walked in the room. You wanted her to go to class, and you wanted her to study, because you wanted her to come back next year, so you could fuck her brains out then too. That required that you build up to things so that she fell in love with you. Well, actually, a good solid crush was good enough, as long as it led to getting to lie between her silky, milk-white thighs.

My problem was that I hadn't gotten one of "those" little sisters, the year before, when I snagged my very first one. I'd gotten one who had a boyfriend back home who she wrote to three times a day, and talked about to me endlessly. She wouldn't even THINK of going out with anybody at College, not even me, when I tried the line of "I'll teach you how to behave in a college social situation." She said it would be "cheating" on Brad.

So, there I was with Heather, who was aching to make her first college guy friend, and bask in his attention. She wasn't quite sure what kind of attention that was supposed to be, but it just about had to be like her Uncle Rodney treated her, back home, where he gave her sage advice, and warnings about men and all that stuff. After all, her Uncle Rodney didn't try to get into her panties, and I was older, like him.

Right?

I managed to get through the first week by just sitting and listening as she blabbed endlessly about back home, and her brothers, who were little and her sister, Babs, who would be coming to college the next year. She talked about her father's business, and her mother's volunteer work, and her fricking dog. And all the time she was doing this, I was watching her soft lips move, and her gleaming white teeth flashed at me, and her baby blue eyes got misty as she talked about how she'd had to bury her hamster only a week before she went to college. Those knockout tits of hers had me rock hard within seconds of her coming into my room, or even if I met her for coffee, which all the other guys recommended doing at least three times a week.

By the end of that first week I was a basket case. Two of my frat brothers had already started making out with their little sisters, and I had yet to even touch Heather's hand gently, while staring soulfully into her eyes. That was something else the older guys recommended.

Well, what happened was something I didn't plan on. I was in ROTC, and I had been at a dinner where there was this crusty old Colonel who had fought in WW II, in command of a battalion of artillery. I had sat next to this guy, and he was really interesting, so I didn't have any trouble paying attention to him as he told stories about what it had been like. Viet Nam was still a sore spot in the society, but WW II was the stuff of heroes. Well, he invited me over to his big old Spanish stucco house, and I got to see all his mementos. He had cancer, and was always having to go somewhere to get a treatment, and he asked me to take care of his house while he was away doing that one time. I guess I did OK at it, because he asked me to do that every time he left from then on.

So, suddenly, I had access to a very private little place where I could take a girl and we wouldn't be interrupted by roughhousing frat brothers, or guys poking their heads into my room to see if I was feeling Heather up yet, and stuff like that. So I told Heather she should come over there to the Colonel's house to study one Friday night, while I house sat for him. I told her it was quiet, and she'd study better.

She thought that was a great idea, and when she got there, and I gave her the grand tour, and showed her all his shit, she thought that was the most romantic stuff she had ever seen. Her grandfather had been in the war, but didn't talk about it much, I guess.

She also let me feed her sloe gin fizzes, which I characterized as a lady's drink, upon which it was impossible to get even tipsy, much less drunk.

It turned out she couldn't hold her liquor worth a damn.

By nine-thirty I had her naked, trying on old WW II uniforms that were three sizes too big for her.

By ten I had her in a bathtub, washing off the sloe gin fizz she had spilled all over her when I stuck my hand between her legs. I sat behind her, and spent twenty minutes on her breasts, and those lovely, tingling pink nipples of hers, with my boner pressed against her buttocks.

By eleven I had my four Moody Blues LPs stacked up and playing on the record player, while we writhed on the bed, naked, trying to eat each other's lips off. She purely loved my fingers in her, and she went crazy when I sucked at her nipples, but she resisted getting my dick in her with uncanny success. She never demanded that I let her go, or take her home, or anything like that. When I sucked her pussy, she'd lie there moaning for an hour straight, but if I moved up and tried to hide my sausage in her bun, she'd writhe and buck, and wiggle out from under me with a skill that suggested she'd dated a whole string of wrestlers in High School.

What undid her was that she really liked those sloe gin fizzes.

There came a time when she went limp, and stayed that way. She was breathing, which was the only thing I cared about, just then, so I cocked her knees by her ears, slotted my prick between what turned out to be her virgin pussy lips, and with entirely too much gusto, slipped her some dick.

She gave out a low moan as she was deflowered, and then went back to being limp.

Well, I had been denied for hours, which might be why I may have overdone it a little bit. That, and the fact that I didn't last but about a minute, before I blew my wad deep in her belly. She was more than half passed out ... but I wasn't.

There she was, lying there naked, with my cum oozing from her pussy. Within half an hour I was ready for seconds, so I fucked her again. She was so warm and slippery inside, and I was getting to do something I hadn't gotten to do all that often. Always before, things had been done in a hurry, for fear of being caught, but now I was able to slip and slid for a long time. She made a lot of little sounds, and every once in a while her body wiggled, or went rigid, and I thought she was having orgasms, so I just kept going until I dumped another huge load of spunk in her beautiful, hot pussy.

About three in the morning, I'd guess, when I was fucking that lovely pussy for the fourth time, she started fucking back. I lucked out, in so much as that, as she sobered up, it took her a while to figure out what she was feeling, and by the time she was sober enough to understand exactly what was going on, her pussy had decided that it wasn't sore any more, and that it really liked being reamed out. She was, it turned out, a very pragmatic and passionate girl.

There were no tears or screaming over her lost maidenhead. She HAD been saving it for the love of her life - make no doubt about that - and I DID have to pay a price for taking it, later on ... but that part is for later.

By eight in the morning, she was the one waking ME up, to get fucked again.

Heather was, as I said, fairly intelligent. She didn't delude herself that, because she let me fuck her all day Saturday, she was in love with me, or that I was in love with her. She just decided that it was too late to do anything about it, and that, seeing as how she loved doing it, she might as well ... do it.

On the other hand, after that Saturday, I was never in charge of Heather again. She was, after all, a good Catholic girl. That meant she wasn't on the pill, and wasn't going to GO on the pill, and THAT meant that, for ten days each month, I wasn't allowed to lay so much as a single finger on her. She started dating guys which, I am embarrassed to admit, I had nothing whatsoever to do with choosing ... or recommending ... or anything else a big brother was supposed to do. I did show her around campus, and she did come to my room to study sometimes, but I only got my dick wet when she said I could get my dick wet.