This is the fifth installment in my "Kimmy's Adventures" series about a college track star and her sexual exploits.
This is realistic fiction in that it involves people and events that could happen, however all characters are made up. Any resemblance to actual people is coincidental. The college referenced in the story is made up.
All characters depicted are over the age of 18.
Kimmy's Adventures-The Gang Bang
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"Fuck, this skinny white bitch's pussy is tight!" Walton Hampton, center for the football team bellowed, as he pounded his throbbing cock in and out of me. Two of his line-mates, Fetu Ta'ala, and Ty'reke Smithton each had a hold of one of my legs and were spreading me wide as I laid prone on my back on the queen sized bed.
"You should feel what Freak is doing to my dick with her mouth!" Clifford Wideman, the left tackle, said as he throat piped me. I was swirling the tip of my tongue around the base of his cock at the same time his thick shaft filled my mouth and the large helmet shaped head rested against my tonsils. My hands tightly gripped his thighs for dear life.
My senses were on overload. My mouth was starting to go numb. I did the best I could to carefully breath through my nose while saliva cascaded down my face, precariously close to my nostrils. A lot of the spit river had already flowed down my cheeks and forehead and I could only imagine the mess it was making of my hair.
Just when I wasn't sure how much more I could take, I felt the right tackle, Bobby Pandella grab my tits roughly with his big paws and begin pulling my nipples like rubber bands.
"Oh-eye-gawwwddd!" I screamed, causing vibrations to course through the cock that was fucking my face. The two behemoths holding my legs clung tightly as my lower body lifted about half-a-foot off the bed, nearly dislodging the cock from my cunt. My arms flailed causing me to lose hold of Wideman's thighs. I shook spastically.
The cacophony of laughter from the five burly men echoed off the bedroom walls adding to my disoriented state.
And despite everything I just described that was happening to me, I have to admit, I was loving every fucking second of it.
You may be wondering how I came to be in that situation? Well, quite honestly it was my own doing. Well, with a little help from my "boy friend" at the time, quarterback Harrison Northman. By the way, the sadistic bastard happened to be sitting in a chair off to the side of the bed enjoying watching it all go down.
Let me explain.
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Harrison and I met during the summer semester between my freshman and sophomore years. Like most athletes we stayed at school during the summer to take a class or two to make up for the lighter course load we took during the school year in order to concentrate on our sports. And, like many athletes, we were both communication majors.
I tried not to stare as Harrison Northman, called North by his teammates, strolled into the "Intro to Social Media" classroom the first day of the course. But, it wasn't easy. You would have had to be living under a rock to not know who he was, but I'd never been in the same room as him until that day.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't immediately attracted and aroused by the sight of him. How could I not? His lean, muscular 6'3" 220-lb. frame was on display in his board shorts and sleeveless tee-shirt, feet clad in leather sandals. His sun bleached, shoulder length hair made him look more like a surfer dude or life guard than a football player. I think every female in the room, including our professor, a woman in her mid 50's, got wet upon seeing him.
I swear he looked right at me and gave me a quick smile before he turned his attention to someone he recognized sitting in the back row. If I wasn't already damp, I was then. I heard him greet Malik Pennington, our basketball team's point guard. I glanced quickly to see the two "dap each other up" before they took seats and started talking.
By the time the small classroom was about half full there was an audible din. Professor Margaret Simon interrupted the pre-class chatter, saying it looked like everyone on her roster was present and that she'd like to get started. After describing her background to us, she had us all introduce ourselves.
When it was my turn I was shaking like a leaf. I couldn't help but think that being this nervous talking about myself to a group of about twenty-or-so peers didn't bode well for someone who had aspirations of one day being in the public eye. I simply said my name, explained I was a rising-sophomore and wanted to become a writer or sports commentator but was still trying to figure that out.
"Oh Kimmy, I think you're being a bit modest," Professor Simon said, as she sat on the edge of her desk at the front of the room. "For those of you who don't know, Ms. Anderson is an elite distance runner. She placed third in the 3,000-meter run at the NCAA Championships last weekend and helped State College win the women's title. Quite an accomplishment for a first year student."
Her comment was met with some Oh's and Awe's and a light round of applause. Then I heard a voice from behind me ask, "You planning on running professionally?" I turned to see Harrison looking at me, smile on his face. He'd obviously been the one who'd asked the question.
"Well, honestly that's truly my main goal," I said looking right into his beautiful ocean blue eyes. "The other things are plans after my running career is over. Whenever that might be."
"Well we look forward to seeing you in the Olympics one day," Professor Simon said.
I blushed then turned back around to face the front of the class. I was trying to keep my legs from shaking as I sat and listened to the next student introduce herself.
When it was Harrison's turn, I rotated in my chair to look at him. He confidently focused his vision at the professor, said his name and mentioned that he played on the football team and that whether he played professionally or not he was preparing for a career in sports media.
"Again with the modesty," Professor Simon interrupted. "Mr. Northman is the predicted first string quarterback for the up coming season. Aren't you?"
"Uh, yes Mam," Harrison said. "But nothing's promised. I have some talented young competition. I'm confident in my ability though and have been working hard to achieve my goal."
"Well wasn't that said like someone who's been practicing his diplomatic media responses," the professor chided him good-naturedly. Her quip was met with a room full of laughter. "Well I think I speak for the whole class when I say we wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you Mam," he said politely.
Once the last student had introduced himself, Professor Simon had us refer to the course syllabus on her web page. She went over every aspect of the course, from attendance expectations to quiz and test grades.
Then she spent close to a half-hour explaining the main project which would be to work with a partner to design our own pod-cast or social media channel. We'd have to do everything from coming up with the premise, the target audience, advertising, etc. Then we'd have to act as our own producer, director, and on air talent. Then of course we'd have to produce at least one-hour long episode. Sounded like fun, but a lot of work to accomplish in less than five weeks.
One girl asked if we got to pick our own partners, but Professor explained that it would be done randomly. She'd put our names into a "partner generating application".
"So if everyone will look up at the 'Smart Board', I'll go ahead and press enter and, 'voila'," she said pointing up at the board.
And there on the screen was a list of 12-pairs of names. I nearly shit myself when in the third row down I saw Anderson/Northman. I slowly looked over my right shoulder in time to see Harrison staring right at me. He smiled and gave me a wink and a slight nod of the head. I quickly turned towards the front of the room.
"Holy fuck!" I mouthed silently.
Then I noticed at least a half-dozen of the ten women in the room shoot daggers at me with their eyes. "Bitches be hatin'!" as La La liked to say. I couldn't help but smile to myself.
Professor Simon said that we had the rest of the class time to meet with our partner and begin working on our project. She added that we could stay in the class or go somewhere else if we so wished.
I was just turning around to see what Harrison wanted to do when I noticed he was standing right next to me, his book bag slung over his right shoulder.
He suggested we go to the student union and get a snack while we made plans for our project. I readily agreed, quickly gathered my stuff and we headed out of the classroom to several pairs of staring eyes.
The less than five minute walk to the union consisted of some comfortable small talk as we traded where we were from, high school's we attended, and acquaintances we had in common.
After we got to the food-court, he graciously paid for my meal and we took seats at a corner table. We continued to talk while we ate. I found him to be down to earth and unpretentious. Rare traits in jocks who had been told all their lives how good they were. I knew from my own experience. We both shared stories about how our parents were great role models and integral to making sure our heads didn't get too big.
He had a self-deprecating sense of humor that had me giggling and laughing the entire time. He shared how his love of football came from watching his two older brothers game's while he was growing up. He said the battles with them in the backyard contests made him ultra-competitive.
I felt very at ease with him and found myself opening up to him in ways that I didn't with most people I just met. I told him about my love of running, how I'd begun racing competitively as early as 7-years old, watched my first track and field Olympics on television a year or so later, which prompted the dream I've had since.
Our topics weren't limited to family and sports. I found he was also intelligent about the world around him and knowledgable about current events. He actually read and had a favorite book. A first for most guys I knew.
I guess you could say we were "Vibing."
