Powerless, alone, and afraid, Palladium dorm RA Charles Jenkins finds himself haunted by the distant echoes of his floor residents’ cries of joy, unable to stop the constant moans that seem to surround him.
Throughout the entire holiday, Charles has patrolled the once innocent halls of floor seven, now sullied by lust and young romance. Truly a challenge to his once admirable administrative spirit, the rolling, consistent sounds of O’s being O’ed and P’s in V’s, has now reached its way to Charles’ core, threatening his sanity.
“It started around noontime, first with just the lightest of whimpers, not unlike that of a dog deflating. But that was merely the drizzle that becomes the storm,” commented Charles, now fully and shamefully erect.
“A hurricane of cum is what I can only assume is behind those doors. Doors once decorated with my fun tags from popular TV shows, are now but cheap covers to the smut filled sex chambers beneath. I can still hear them, calling out for God… just as I did. He never came… and it seems he was the only one who didn’t.”