Stiletto heels clacking, hugging a tablet computer to conceal the jiggle of her D-cup breasts, Brandee Coleman hurried down the hallway toward her office. She could feel the pale skin of her face and neck flushing with arousal. She was agitated and craved privacy.
Once safely behind her office door, she stripped off her lab coat, tossed the iPad on her desk and sighed with relief. She had made it from the locker room without seeing anyone important, anyone who might take note of her excitement, or worse, its embarrassing and inappropriate cause.
The 41-year-old registered nurse looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. The physical signs were as bad as she had feared. Her blue eyes were glassy, the pupils widely dilated. In contrast to the porcelain whiteness of the rest of her body, her upper chest and throat glowed a delicate shade of pink, a sign of sexual stimulation in Caucasian women. Oversized, blood-engorged areolas and nipples poked through her white blouse, another brazen signifier of lust. No bra material was thick enough to conceal those nipples when she was turned on.
Closing her eyes, Brandee gave them both a long hard pinch, causing such an intense jolt of pleasure to run through her body that she almost lost her balance.
Trembling, she slumped into her desk chair, propped up her legs and hiked her skirt. Her fingers pressed against her clit, swollen and firm behind her panties, which were sopping up moisture from her overwrought pussy.
Once comfortable, she permitted herself to concentrate fully on the events of the morning that had put her in such a state:
When she had walked into the locker room at 10 am, arrayed before her was the entire university football team, stripped down to their jock straps, milling around waiting there to be medically examined by her. Although she had been looking forward to this task for weeks, the actual reality of it was overwhelming, the dizzying buffet of masculinity caused the blonde nurse to catch her breath. Just being in the presence of so many physically superior young men was enough to cause arousal in a woman like Brandee. As the faculty nurse, it was her job to touch and feel and fondle every one of the them while assessing their blood pressure, heart rate and lung function. And on top of that—and this really pushed her libido over the edge—each boy had to undergo a check for hernia.
"Turn your head and cough, please."
One after another, a parade of college-aged athletes lowered their jock straps, revealing to Brandee's lascivious gaze each fresh young set of genitalia.
She could appraise variations in size, shape and skin tone, and ogle each physique up close, even appreciate distinctions in masculine pheromones. Reflecting the demographics of the student body, almost all the players were African American, with a smattering of whites and Hispanics. In terms of penis size, only a handful of the cocks fell below average, and several students were off-the-charts well endowed.
As she recalled the exams, Brandee rubbed her clit furiously, replaying her favorite ones in her fevered memory.
The first really well-hung boy, Byron Morris, was on the short side, at 5'7", only about an inch taller than Brandee. His skin was dark ebony and his body tight and compact. He had a pock-marked, sulky face and a thin goatee. When he lowered his jock strap, Brandee couldn't restrain an audible gasp. At least seven inches long, the obscenely thick cock that flopped out hung so far leftward that the prominent ridge of its head could be seen in profile. Even soft, the dark flesh tube looked absurdly oversized in proportion to the boy's lithe body. She wondered how much bigger it would get when aroused. During the hernia check, Bryon showed no response to her gently probing fingers and seemed slightly annoyed at having to be there at all. The young man's remoteness bruised Brandee's ego, while somehow at the same time provoking her interest.
Her self-esteem recovered somewhat under the wolfish gaze of the next endowed player, Fletcher Cox, who blatantly appraised her from head to toe before hopping on the foldable exam table she had set up in the coaches' office. Well over six feet tall, Fletcher was broad and muscular with mocha colored skin and a tightly trimmed beard. He looked somewhat like a young Lenny Kravitz, she thought. He seemed downright eager to reveal his cock, his hips thrust arrogantly forward, a knowing smile on his handsome face. The source of his pride had a wide head and tapered to a thinner base. The ball sack, darker colored than the rest of his body, sat up high and was packed with two very large balls, the size of hen's eggs. To grant access to his oversize testicles, Fletcher dutifully lifted his shaft. Normally Brandee just used her finger tips, but for this exceptional boy she hefted and rolled the whole scrotum in her dainty white hand, as if trying to guess the weight of the masculine orbs inside. As always, she found the black-to-white skin contrast spellbinding, but she was also equally drawn to the boy's appealing scent. The nurse had to fight the urge to bury her face in those balls and inhale deeply. Perhaps sensing her attraction, Fletcher tightened his fist around his cock, causing the head to swell, and the pee-slit to wink open slightly. Aware the audacious stud was about to start jerking off for her viewing pleasure, Brandee snapped out of her erotic trance, and quickly finished the exam.
Then came Bokhari something or other—an African last name she couldn't remember—who seemed built more for basketball than football. He had obsidian black skin and his polite, well spoken answers to the medical history questions were conveyed in heavily accented English. His long thin cock, with its slight inward curve, struck Brandee as elegant. Totally hairless, the skin of his cock and balls had a glossy shine. The ball sack felt silky smooth to the touch.
The biggest package of all belonged to Cedric Evans, a huge mountain of a man. The only penis she'd ever seen to rival Cedric's belonged to the porn star Shane Diesel (Brandee was a fan). Thick as a beer can, heavily veined, with a large prominently ridged head, the mammoth, milk-chocolate appendage hung straight down over testicles more fit for a rhinoceros than a 20-year-old college student. They must be the size of tennis balls! How much cum would balls like that manufacture? Enough to impregnate a dozen women, for sure. She pictured thick, ropey ribbons of hot white cum shooting from that colossal cock, enough to drench a woman's face, breasts and hair. She visualized herself kneeling reverently before this boy and worshiping his colossal penis with her mouth and hands until he erupted all over her face—an image, as she sat in her office recalling it, that nearly triggered her orgasm.
