SPRING PONG BREAK
“Ah, life is good,” sighed Marty as he revved up the engine of his dad’s ’57 T-bird. “Bitchin, man” said Rod, his college roommate and partner-in-crime for a most promising Spring Break junket to Vegas. “Bitchin?” queried Marty. “It’s an old expression, dating back to the time of this classic vehicle that my dad has been kind enough to loan us,” responded Rod.
The car is epic, and this one has two convertible tops, one canvas and another solid one, which clamps into place. Marty opted for the canvas one since his dad had modernized the car with air-conditioning; and yes, of course, chick-hunting has better odds with a convertible. Yep, as the boys headed out to Vegas on Interstate 15, their minds were spinning one fantasy after another about what was in store for them: fun fun fun and sex sex sex sex!
They blasted all the hottest tunes on the updated sound system, and basked in the sun. The speedometer kept creeping up and up. Then, the horrid flashing lights told them they would be paying the price for their thrills. Officer Wendelworth wasted little time in dispensing them a ticket for doing 94 in a 70. [Luckily, no drugs or alcohol were harmed from this event].
The 429-hp V8 BMW M6 purred its way into Delia’s heart the first time she laid eyes on it. Of course daddy would get her little girl whatever she wanted. And that’s exactly what she and Coralee planned to do for their Spring Break, as they sunned themselves on the Interstate. Destination: Luxury Suite at the Monte Carlo Resort and Casino. What other drivers on that highway saw wasn’t just “drop dead” beauty, it was the kind of thing that makes men hand over just about anything. Skimpy shorts, with the obligatory exposure of the cheeks. Halter tops, with the creamy cleavage. Damn, these girls had it all!~
Uh-oh.. Remember Officer Wendelworth? He was back at it again, providing all of that revenue for the State of Nevada and ever-so-intent on devotion to duty. “Let’s have a little fun,” said Delia with an evil grin. Seeing the flashing Xmas lights in her rear view mirror she put the M6’s disc brakes to immediate use, bringing the car to such an abrupt stop that poor Wendelworth had to swerve around her to avoid a collision. Delia enjoyed an inner smile.
Jumping out of his squad car, the Officer marched over to the Beamer. “Young lady, do you realize that by stopping that suddenly you could have caused an accident?” barked the policeman.
“But officer, I was raised to always obey the law, and its enforcers, as diligently and swiftly as possible, especially such a good-looking man as yourself,” pouted Delia. Wendelworth remained stoic. “License, Registration..”. He took the paperwork back to his car, trying ever-so-hard not to stare at the irresistible display of flesh that completely consumed him. Coralee dialed up Led’s “When the Levee Breaks” and the girls began gyrating to the music in the M6’s plush seats.
Unable to concentrate on anything other than his libido, Officer W again approached the fabulous machine and its scrumptious occupants. “You know, there was a time when young ladies like you would be turned over their Papa’s knee for this kind of outrageous behavior.”
Delia found her opening. Raising up the $800 Sospiri Oriana luxury sunglasses and exposing her dark brown eyes, she began her song. “Oh officer, I so long for those good old days,” she said, her tongue running over a tiny portion of her lower lip. With that, she rolled her hips to the side, presenting her stunning left globe to the lawman. Wendelworth dropped his citation book. “Come on, daddy, give me your best shot,” cooed Delia, “Spank me!”
Glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses, Officer Wendelworth raised his right hand, and with a swooping backhand landed a SMACK on the bronzed cheek.
“OWIE”, yelled Delia (well, it didn’t really hurt that much, but her academy-award might be at stake).
Having got his jollies and confident he had taught one naughty young lady a lesson, the good Officer bent over to pick up his precious citation book. In the meantime, Coralee reached into her purse and handed Delia a nasty wooden hairbrush. WHACK went the hairbrush. “OUCH” went Wendelworth.
Outraged, he said, “So now you want to add Assaulting an Officer to the charges!?”
Delia readied herself for the coup de grace. She revitalized her red hair with the brush and lowered the sunglasses back over her bedroom eyes. “You don’t know which way to go?” sang Zep. “Oh officer, perhaps you’re not aware that among the many options offered by BMW is a video taping system customized for the M6. It’s an HD system too,” she said with a big grin. “Now you just get right back into your car like a good little boy, or momma and her hot partner gonna get some more retribution by making you an internet star.”
Officer Wendelworth hesitated, very briefly, and skedaddled back to his car. The M6 roared back onto the highway and the 2 ladies roared their laughter. And they knew this was only the beginning.
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The bellhop at the Monte Carlo seemed a bit surprised at the heavy weight of the luggage belonging to these two athletic-looking females. Being a professional, he kept these feelings to himself and enjoyed a generous tip from Coralee as he escorted them into one of the hotel’s finest luxury suites. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” he added as he exited the room. The girls plopped onto their giant beds. Spring Break = there is a God! They thoroughly enjoyed the moment, and knew that there was much preparation necessary to ensure their success in joining the Sigma Delta Lambda Sorority.
And the boys seemed happy enough with their Suite. It overlooked the pool and they were already checking out the hot bods.
Sometime later, Marty and Rod sauntered down to check out the pool, which was hopping with the latest Gaga, shots by the dozens, beer bongs, and scantily clad Spring Breakers. The aromas of alcohol, suntan oils and teen sweat comingled to permeate the atmosphere — hormones raged.
They managed to find 2 lounge chairs and parked themselves there, ordered a couple beers from the juicy bar girls and began watching the show. The skimpiest of suits abounded, showing spectacular cleavage, on both sides, creamy and golden skin, bods that wouldn’t quit, conditioned from booty camp workouts and/or just from mother nature. It was a smorgasbord, fersure!
After a few minutes, the boys attention became affixed to a couple of the hottest of the hotties playing ping pong — Coralee and Delia! After a brief discussion, and a big chug of beer, Rod and Marty mustered up the courage and approached the table tennis table. “Hi girls, how’s it goin’,” asks Rod (not exactly his best line). “Bitchin’,” says Delia, with another swing and a miss. “That’s the 5th one you couldn’t even get your paddle on,” announces Coralee. “One more wisecrack like that and this paddle’s gonna land somewhere else, wise ass,” blurts Delia. Since it’s midway in the game, the girls switch sides. As they do so, Delia lands a light-hearted, well-placed smack of the sandpaper table tennis racquet on Coralee’s lower right cheek. “Hey,” laughs the girl, who deftly pulls at Delia’s bikini top. One delicious breast is exposed in the operation and Delia quickly reorganizes her wardrobe. “Now you’re in for it!” says the poor girl.
The game, if you can call it that, continues for about another minute. The ping pong ball occasionally lands on the table but most points are lost on the pathetic serves. Rod keeps checking out that lower right cheek, which has a slightly pinkish hue where the paddle landed.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” says Marty. “How about a game of doubles, boys vs. girls?”
“Ok, what are the stakes?” responds Delia.
“A dollar a point, 3 games?” says Rod.
“Yer on boys!” proclaims Coralee.
The first 2 games are quite quick. The men dominate. The girls can barely touch the ball. Marty does his math (21-3; 21-2; 42-5=$37).
“I propose that we up the stakes a little here,” suggests Coralee, adjusting her bikini for the 8th time.
“Oh yeah, whadja have in mind, girls?” sez Marty.
“How about, winners of the final game get to take the losers to their Suite and have their way with them?”
The men, too stunned for words, nod their heads in solid agreement to the terms.
“Done!” declares Delia. And with that, the girls reach into their handbags and pull out their Killerspin RTG table tennis rackets.
“That ain’t gonna do much for ya,” chides Rod. Marty’s curiosity is perked.
The players get into position. Delia takes the ball and hand tosses it (correct professional etiquette/procedure) to commence the rally for service. Marty pokes the ball back and Coralee connects with a wide, sweeping, powerful and graceful motion creating tremendous, kinetic topspin; but instead of it hitting the table it sizzles into Rod’s flabby abbies. “OW,” screams Rod, “that really hurt!”.
Very proud of the accuracy of her shot, Delia says “I guess you get to serve first,” suggestively.
First serve aces Marty. Second, Rod. Third, both of them.
Boys service: Return forehand slam, backhand slam.. It’s hopeless. Little could the boys have known that Delia and Coralee are in fact table tennis champs of their college. Their utter humiliation is compounded by the fact that the only points they get are when one of the girls decides to target the body part of her choice with that nasty topspin shot. The girls smile as they admire the round, pink marks they’ve made on their men. What a game!
“Well, 21-8,” proclaims Delia, “I guess we’ve won!” The girls hug each other. The boys shake their heads — hustled on the first day. But they’re dying to know what’s in store for them.
“Ok, guys, it’s room 32-158, at the very end of the hall. Tell the security guard ‘spring pong’, it’s the password for the luxury floor. 9pm, be prompt,” orders Coralee.
“Yes, ma’am,” responds Rod.
“Oh. And dress just as you are now, no need to waste time,” suggests Delia. And with that, the girls pack up their racquets and head off into the sunset, hips swaying.
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Clad in their frat sport jackets, with only their speedo swimsuits underneath, Rod and Marty head up to Club 32. The security guard asks them for the password and they both blurt out, “Spring Pong!” “It’s at the end of the hall,” says the guard, with a sly smile.
Checking his watch to make sure it’s exactly 9 pm, Rod knocks on the door. Delia and Coralee open the door and Coralee says, “What’s with the jackets, you were told to wear only what you wore at the pool?” And with that, the girls each slide the jackets off of their men. At the same time, they slip blindfolds over their heads.
“Oh, cool, this is gonna be nice and kinky,” says Rod. “Bitchin'” responds Marty, as the girls take them by the hand and lead them into the Luxury Suite. They hear “Black Dog,” coming out of the speakers, somewhat softly.
The girls escort them onto something that feels somewhat like an exercycle (?). Placing their hands and feet into position on the device, the guys hear a motor and seconds later, their wrists and ankles are locked into place by metal restraints. They’re both confused, because it certainly seems as though more than just two hands are involved in this operation as their Speedo swimsuits have been quickly and deftly removed. Naked and helpless, they suddenly realize.
Their blindfolds are then removed, and what a sight greets them. The room has been specially prepared. It’s rather dark, lit with soft red lights, something like a posh old-world brothel. Seated on several of the luxurious sofas are ten of the most gorgeous ladies imaginable, in various states of undress. Most have big grins on their stunning faces, and all look like they are going to have the time of their lives.
Standing by Rod, Delia says, “Welcome to the world of Sigma Delta Lambda Sorority. You’re about to commence your indoctrination as Honorary Male Members”
Marty, getting nervous enough to feel some sweat trickle down his sides, struggles to get loose from the exercycle contraption thingee, to no avail.
“Oh yes, and allow me to introduce you to this special remote-control machine, something I learned about when I read a research paper entitled, The B.A.C.O.N. Project“, said Coralee in her sexiest, scientific voice. With that, she and Delia started playing with their remotes, forcing the boys to pedal the machine, maneuvering and manipulating their naked bodies until…
“Wow, their tushies are in perfect position,” exclaimed one of the blond girls on the sofa.
The women slowly rose from the couches, slinking around their prey.
One of them raises the volume as Led sings, “gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting.”
Delia hands the two Killerspin racquets out to a couple of her Sisters. “I think, in light of your humiliating loss at the doubles match today, that you gentlemen need a lesson in table tennis history,” says Coralee (so professorial!). “These very high-end racquets are a relatively new development to the sport. They feature inverted “pimples,” in order to impart maximum spin. In order for each of you ladies to get a feel for precision targeting, we’ll put the machines on low and each of you can practice.”
The girls wet their lips with their beverages of choice and gleefully begin their assignments. Whacking away at the bouncing male butts they notice that they’re not getting much response out of their inductees.
“The only problem with these state-of-the-art paddles is that they’re terrible for spanking,” explains Delia. “The inverted pimples result in a cushion that has little or no sting,” she continues. And with that, she hands out an earlier style.
“These have pimples facing outward, and will produce much more reaction.”I’d like each of you to land a half dozen swats, alternating cheeks, carefully avoiding the coccyx, targeting the ‘sit spot’, and ensuring that, after this collective paddling, our boys will not be parading their buns in Speedos at the swimming pool [Uproarious laughter!].
The girls have a field day, each of them relishing every swat. The boys start in early with their “OOOs” and “OWies” and begin to feel the wrath of the women they had viewed as pieces of meat. Now they’re the meat, the red meat!
Continuing the lecture, Coralee holds up one of the earliest paddles used in the history of the sport. It’s large, made of heavy wood. “This doesn’t work very well at the ping pong table. But it does work very well on the bare behinds of naughty college boys!”
While Delia hands out these antiques to the curious women, Coralee stops the machine, to ensure targeting accuracy.
Round 3: The boys are not too happy now. Their bottoms are on fire and they are fighting off tears. Worst of all, they are feeling like punished, naughty children. They wonder if it will ever end.
At just that moment, one of the blonds comes over to Rod. She releases the metal clamps and begins rubbing his wrists. “You took that really well, young man. Now it’s all over,” and with that, she gives him a big hug. At the same time, another girl, quite attracted to Marty, especially his swollen buttocks, does likewise. Both of the tawdry girls also do their very best to massage the areas of greatest soreness.
Carole, President of the Sigma Delta Lambda Sorority, begins her announcement. “It is with great pride that I proclaim our two gentlemen, Honorary Male Members of this Sorority.” The girls cheer and laud their manly subjects. “Whatever skills they may lack at table tennis, they have more than made up for by being such wonderful sports at our favorite game!”
Just at that moment, there’s a loud rap at the door. Uh-oh..
“Sister Danalea,” requests the President, “could you please take care of this?”
Danalea scurries to the door, a few words are exchanged and she ushers in a gentleman, in full uniform.
“My oh my,” says Coralee, “it’s Officer Wendelworth!”
