Teamwork - A Gangbang Trilogy Pt. 03

Part 3: Because nothing else would do.

Mr. Bigcock raises half my body by the ankles. My ass is in the air. My crotch is level with his.

Through the cocktail of latex, fucked ass, and ever-present stale boyfunk, I catch a strong whiff of my vagina.

The scent has notes of fresh sun and breeze through spring trees haha I'm just kidding it smells like sweat and old books.

The smell lights up my hippocampus, bringing up memories in millisecond flashes.

In this moment, the one that locks in is the memory of the first pussy I ever ate: Tanya Krawczyk, freshman year.

I love the way pussy smells.

As visions of Tanya's pale, plump body dance through my head, Mr. Bigcock props my legs up against his chest. He holds them for leverage. I feel like I'm clamped into hard, industrial machinery.

Then he enters me.

He slides easily through my vaginal opening on a cushion of greasy girlcum. His girth fills me right up. As big as he is, my pussy has more than enough give to accept him.

His dickhead pokes my cervix. I jerk, hissing inwardly through my teeth. He pulls back a little. I estimate he's maybe halfway in.

Then he starts fucking. Every time he goes in, I do a little relaxation exercise in my head called "Don't tense up or it'll hurt twice as bad."

But it never hurts. He's careful. Probably every pussy he's ever been in has shaped his sense of what to do. I say a silent thank you to the no doubt scores of them.

I'm not one to come from penis-in-vagina sex, but the pumping of this long, thick cock feels exquisite. I'm full up to my damn navel. The pleasure satisfies and nags me both.

I want to rub one out with him inside me. But I can't break character. I remain limp. His fucking amounts to him masturbating himself inside me. I'm a warm body and a wet hole for his pleasure.

His chest is hot against the backs of my legs. He's sweating, and I'm sweating on him.

By now, the crowd is doing less gawping, more active cheering. Starting with the circle of guys around us. Hot breath in a room that has grown warm with bodies and sweat.

It's mostly a rowdy din, but a few lucid phrases break through the fog. I learn that Mr. Bigcock's name is Darryl. They feel that Darryl's fucking is praiseworthy. I agree.

Then something strange happens. The wet force of warm goo strikes my upraised tits and collarbone.

Not Darryl. Darryl is still in me. I crack an eye sideways.

The sight of Darryl impaling me must have seemed pretty inviting to Mr. Anal. He stands over me, wringing out the last of his ejaculation over my bobbing breasts. Drops of cum hit my skin like warm summer rain.

Mr. Anal grunts as he wrings himself out. My flesh crawls.

I want to come. I badly want to come. My clit itches to be touched.

Darryl's pumping doesn't feel any less pleasurable, but I don't know how much more of it I can take without some kind of relief.

I glance at Mr. Anal through my eyelashes again. I wouldn't say no.

Darryl's sex sense is finely tuned. His kung fu is formidable. He nods to someone out of my eyeline, then withdraws. My pussy immediately aches to have him back.

He rests my legs down and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. The mattress sinks under his weight. His cock points straight up out of his lap.

He points at me. Then he points at his cock.

Obediently, I roll over onto my hands and knees, accidentally on purpose giving the whole room a look at my ass and labia.

Darryl leans back, propping himself up on his hands. I swing a leg over him, facing him. I grip the shaft, and lower myself onto him.

I throw my arms over his shoulders, going limp on top of him. My face comes to a rest against his collarbone. He smells like sweat and faded cologne. His cock is buried in me. He grips my soft waist; his powerful hands sink into my flesh.

I worry that this is getting too intimate. Then I feel a pair of hands on my ass-not Darryl's.

Fingers spread my asscheeks. I feel something touch my anus-latex, well-lubricated. I feel it pushing. I start to understand why Darryl is holding me in place.

Quickly, I squeeze my sphincter down, then exhale and release.

My anus widens easily. The cock tips in smoothly. It stops partway in, perhaps hindered by the geometry of three bodies together. For a moment, nobody moves.

The crushing feeling of a cock in my ass and a cock in my pussy is intense, overwhelming.

I have to encourage my brain to interpret the pleasure properly; it's too overloaded to do it automatically.

Through my eyelashes, I do a quick headcount and deduce that the cock in my ass belongs to Mr. Nicecock.

Darryl and Mr. Nicecock have deflowered me. Popped my cherry. Taken my V-card. I'm being double-penetrated, for the first time in my life.

I'm utterly present, in the way that only sex has ever done for me. The world around me, the cocks in me, the big sweaty male bodies sandwiching me. The smell of sex, as if the room itself were breathing its hot breath upon us. My hair, soaked to the roots in sweat. My belly, glued to Darryl's by a sticky layer of the cum of several men.

Mr. Nicecock starts fucking, slowly. He's bigger than Mr. Anal, and my rectum is registering low-level concern. Not an alarm, so much as a background hum reminding me of my limits.

Eventually, the warning pain smooths out and my ass starts to feel pretty good.

I move my hips, trying to time it with Mr. Nicecock's thrusting. I grind on Darryl like a cheese grater, his short, curly bush tickling my clitoral hood.

I'm coming before I know it.

My orgasm sweeps me right off my tingling tippy toes, carrying me off into the sunset between these two sweaty, slippery Prince Charmings.

The smell of girlcum and anal sex is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. I feel like it's in my eyes. I think I'm crying.

The room is nearly silent. They're aware that what they've just seen is a magic trick, a showstopper.

Mr. Nicecock is still fucking, lasting longer than before, but I already sense him getting close.

To my surprise, Mr. Nicecock pulls out, making me feel like I'm shitting myself for a second.

I hear the medical snap of a condom being ripped off. Ropes of hot cum hit the small of my back and my asscheeks.

My pervert brain lights up with the excitement of degredation, of my skin becoming communal property, painted and painted again with the product of men's sexual delight. Drunk on afterglow and sex smell, drenched in cum, straddling a hard body with a miraculous cock inside me, asshole trembling with the recency of stimulation.

Darryl lies down on the bed, his long arms holding me upright just long enough for me to steady myself. I sit there astride him, wavering a little, until my maddened pussy tells me what to do.

I fuck Darryl in long, grinding strokes, steadying myself with my hands behind me on his rock-hard thighs. The fat of my hips and legs ripples with the effort. My clit drags on him, to my selfish benefit. His pubis and balls become saturated with my musky secretion.

It's not just his penis. His whole body is large and hard, almost off-puttingly solid. It's like fucking a refrigerator.

Dropping the pretense of the submissive fuckdoll, I pick a boy in the circle and meet his eyes. I watch him watch me fuck Darryl, enshrining us in spank banks from now until eternity.

After a moment, I move my eyes onto the next boy, and the next, watching them watching me take pleasure in their friend.

Sweat pools between Darryl's pectoral muscles. His stomach hardens and his breaths get shorter. I'll be lucky if his ejaculation doesn't blow me away. I ride him harder, urging him on, a little close myself.

With no further preamble, Darryl comes. His ass lifting off the bed a little and me along with it. He pulses, six, seven, eight times. I remain hoisted by his elevated hips for most of it.

As the moment passes and Darryl comes back to rest on the bed, I feel the final spasms weakly free themselves from his emptied balls.

Long journeys come to unsatisfying ends; the dream is sometimes better chased than realized.

I wonder. Is this it?

What happens now?

Do I sit here while he recovers? Does everybody pack up, shuffle out?

Is this really about to end?

I'm vaguely aware, at the fringes of my consciousness, that everyone is staring and nobody moves. I'm naked on a bed and there's a naked man under me and his half-soft cock is inside me.

But mostly, I hear a rush, like a waterfall in my inner ear. I see everything as if through a long, narrow tunnel. A trance that colors reality wherever it may break through.

I'm in my place of peace, my place of power, where the soft cock and damp air and staring onlookers make me feel dirty and exposed, and that makes me feel

Good.

Heat tingles in my loins. My insides twitch. Had we continued, I would have come.

I still need to come.

I look down at Darryl. He's sprawled out, his brain blanketed in endorphins and bliss. He's done.

I climb off, slowly. Dull ache in my pussy as the cock slides out, flops onto its side, the tip of the condom drooping with semen. I predict I'll be hurting tomorrow.

I kneel on the bed, facing the crowd. Darryl, unmoving behind me.

Mr. Titgrabber and Mr. Anal stand to either side of me, watching up close as I begin to masturbate.

I lean in, my stomach muscles are taught under my belly fat. I run my fingers through my pubic hair, over my vulva, circling in tall, flat strokes. Moving fluid around, greasing my tender skin, just grazing my hooded clitoris between my knuckles. Drawing my fingers up my open labia, not quite touching home, then back down again.

Darryl, somewhere behind me, climbs off the bed.

I'm close. Too close to stop.

Mr. Anal reaches out. He pinches the fat of my breast where it rests on my ribcage, just hard enough that I flinch.

I don't stop him. The waves are flowing through me, close to peaking.

My pussy is thrumming, on the edge. I've been on the edge for a long time.

Mr. Anal pinches at my breast again, then slaps it. Gently, first, then a little harder.

I'm coming.

Mr. Titgrabber, true to his name, grabs my other breast, squeezes it. Tugs on the nipple. Shakes it around, rippling my flesh.

I arch my back, tits up. Their painful attentions are melding with the radiating fire in my genitals and the smell of pussy in my nose and the feeling of dozens of eyes watching while they pinch my skin in my most vulnerable moment of release.

I slump into myself. Someone grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls it, a little forcefully for play.

I tip forward onto my elbows and knees, just barely staying on the bed. I don't resist. It no longer occurs to me to resist.

Someone slaps my ass. Stingy, not thuddy. They catch some labia with it. I grit my teeth. I feel a throbbing handprint raising on the skin.

A hand reaches between my leg, yanks my pubic hair.

Someone spits on my back, near where Mr. Nicecock's semen has crusted itself.

Palms spreading my ass again, my pussy. Everyone gets a good look.

A finger in my pussy. It goes in easy, feeling around. It probes out of curiosity rather than pleasure.

I'm tender down there. It kind of hurts. It also feels good. I can't tell anymore.

Someone whips me with something. A nitrile glove, I think, across my asscheeks. It doesn't hurt. It's too light.

But it's the thought that counts.

Hands grab my arms, yank me to my feet. Someone announces something, like a barker at a sideshow. Showing me off.

People are laughing. People are clapping.

In a daze, I lift my head and permit myself a look around the room. Blurred figures, two-faced with shadow and light. Darryl, my t-shirt balled in his hand. I stand there. He notices. I must look expectant.

He wipes his cum-streaked belly, then his flaccid cock. Then wads my shirt and tosses it over his shoulder.

To this day, I don't know what became of that shirt. I would have liked to enshrine it as a monument.

Next, I'm being walked down the hallway. Hands grip me by the upper arms.

I'm naked, caramel under baleful hall lighting. Whatever cum isn't caked on my flesh is dribbling down my belly and my thighs. Some of it collects in my pubic hair.

Passersby gawp. The pretty girls, the guyfriends. Some of whom were in the room, some of whom hadn't quite wedged their way in.

They stare openly. Some of them reach out and touch me as I pass. My arms, my tits, my stomach. A few lucky fingertips graze my nipples or slap-sting my ass, causing me to lurch as I walk.

They gorge themselves on the spectacle of me. Cheering, jeering, commenting. I overhear someone saying I'm going to smell like dick for the rest of my life.

I keep my head down, eyes lowered. I focus on my body, seeing what they see. Horniness is thick in my head like crumpled gauze, clouding everything around me.

I hear whispers, spectactors chanting my name: the Chick Who Fucked The Football Team.

They bring me all the way from one end of the hall to the other, through the gauntlet of lookers. We're at the elevator. They turn me around, keeping me on display like a fresh kill on the hood. The elevator doors take a long time.

Mr. Nipple Toucher and Mr. Backstroker ride down with me. Never once do they release me.

They haul me through the lobby. Passersby in the lounge. More gawping, gazing. This sweaty, cum-splattered woman, wearing nothing but tattoos and hand marks, borne around by football adonises.

Cold breeze, concrete under my feet. I'm outside. The night is bright with parking lot lights. My hair stirs. Liquids flash-dry.

They've left me out here. I hear the doors close behind them. I am naked and cold and alone. Crusted cum itches and pulls. Gooseflesh ripples across my bare ass and my bruised arms.

My head clears. a little. It's late. A weeknight. And I have a 400-level lecture to teach in the morning.

Minding my bare feet on the hazardous pavement, I start walking home.

Some things, you do to make a point. Others, you do without knowing why.

I did this because I wanted to. Because I had a hankering.

And nothing else would do.

~THE END~

OFS (Our Favorite Slut) will return.