WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!
This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
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Sorry this chapter took so long to deliver. It was partially complete ever since Chapter One (2008), but other plot lines had my attention (i.e. kept me erect). But I owe you this one, and other stories now depend on finishing this thread (or at least taking it the next step.)
The action in Part 1: Mr. Marcus responded to Dr. Stephanie Krumholtz's phone call about her daughter Inga's depression. It turned out Inga wasn't depressed, just feeling bad about not getting laid in the motel. Mr. Marcus promised they'd have sex, soon. Then he drove downstate to his daughter Annie's college to celebrate Parents' Weekend and his birthday. Annie fixed him up with five coeds, who tease his cock but stop before he can cum. Mr. Marcus plays along, hoping to get satisfied. Annie insists he wear a blindfold, and then delivers a mystery sex partner with whom he can orgasm. The mystery sex partner turns out to be Inga.
Since it has been two years (!) since the previous chapter, here's a recap of the female players:
- Babe Ruthie, a short brunette with a boyish haircut wearing a baseball cap and jersey.
- Red Hot, a redhead with shoulder-length hair and freckled skin dressed as a firefighter.
- Claudia, a tall Scandinavian blonde, who didn't show up in costume.
- Instead, her roommate Anita played Little Joan dressed as one of Robin Hood's men in feathered cap, green vest, matching skirt over a green leotard.
- Tina the Plumber, wearing a tied red bandana cradling her breasts and short denim jeans.
- Nurse McHottie, a curly haired brunette, stocky with wide hips in white starched hat, white bra with red crosses on each cup, white panties and stockings with garter belt and white sneakers.
- Robyn mistakenly identified as the mystery sex partner, who was only borrowing one of Annie's dresses.
Got it? Good. There will be a quiz later.
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"Feel familiar?" asked Annie. Her voice came from the side.
I cataloged the coeds I'd met. None were mystery girl's size and shape if my fingers weren't lying. I shook my head, trying to concentrate on my current sex partner, not the previous aborted sessions. I lifted my hips but my dick didn't penetrate any further. I was caught in a vice grip. This young lady was scared. Of me? Of my penis? Maybe this was her first sex. God, a virgin for my birthday? I needed to console her, assure her. "We can take it slow if you want. If you're not ready."
"I've been ready ever since we met."
I knew that voice. I ripped off the blindfold. "Inga! What are you doing here?"
"I'm doing you, silly." Her pussy contracted. "You're in deeper this time."
She was correct. About one inch deeper than at the motel, which meant one inch in. God damn, Inga was the mystery girl. "How did you find me?" I asked.
"Shut up and make love to me."
The coeds all cheered and whooped. I'd wanted Inga for so long. I'd avoided sexual contact, mostly successful except for the nude showers and getting the tip of my dick in her at the motel under Reese's guidance. There was no mother to object. I had Stephanie's permission from earlier, didn't I? Annie had taken away our privacy but provided a group of cheerleaders in return. I didn't need encouragement.
"You want me, don't you?" Inga's lip quivered.
I decided to show her instead of telling her. I wrapped my arms around her body, pulling her close. "Enjoy this," I whispered.
I kissed her full on the lips as I drove forward. Her vaginal opening fought me. I slipped her my tongue and pressed ahead. My cock made no progress. Every fractional movement sent Inga into convulsions.
The assembled coeds added a play-by-play to our activities. "What's wrong with her? Is she okay?"
Maybe I was another half inch in, at best. "How does it feel?" The slow progress and my imagination kept my cock rigid.
"Like I've been stuffed. Like a cramp but a good one."
"Can I get on top?" I asked.
Inga lifted off and we swapped positions.
"Open your legs," I requested.
Inga did as directed. I squirmed my cock forward in a short stroke. She tightened and moaned, her body shaking. I repeated the withdrawal and reentry, but no further than with her on top. This time the muscle clenching was accompanied by a shriek followed by panting. I was afraid to get any more vigorous, lest I hurt her.
"Is she having a seizure?" asked an onlooker.
"No, just an orgasm. Lots of them," I said.
"Wow, she must be really tightly wound," said another.
"Or just really tight," said a third.
Her pussy was accommodating merely the tip of my erection, but any movement caused a convulsion. "Oh, Inga!" Fucking her would heaven on Earth, if I could only get it in without her going crazy.
"In-ga the cock," sang one coed. The remainder joined the chorus. "Out-go the cock, In-ga the cock."
I matched my thrusts to their chant. Each shallow entry gave Inga an orgasm, or at least what sounded and felt like orgasms. How many of these could she experience before she gave out from exhaustion? And how was I going to climax if I couldn't fuck her like I did the girls standing around the bed, watching? I tried a quicker entry but Inga's cunt closed up like an Illinois car dealer on Sunday. I resumed slow penetration, if you could call the head of my cock just past her labia penetration. She demonstrated a variety of physiological reactions, like tilting her pelvis or vibrating like a plucked bass string. As an experiment I did my fast thrust and then made a quick series of short jabs no more than half an inch each.
Inga went nuts, thrashing and wiggling as if she was ticklish and attacked by twenty fingers. "No more!" she panted. "I'm exhausted. Let me catch my breath." I rolled off and laid next to her, Inga's head cradled on my shoulder my arm around her.
"That was sooo hot," said Red.
"For real," confirmed Tina.
"But what about Mr. Marcus?" asked Joan. "He's still hard. Did you cum?"
My cock waved like a flagpole in a windstorm. "Nope."
"We can help." Joan took a position next to us and took my cock in hand. By 'we' she meant herself.
The rest of the squad caught on quickly.
"Hey, don't be a hog. Share with a sister." The nurse moved closer.
"You're not my sister," said Joan.
"Then share anyway."
Soon, four sets of hands were groping my dick. "
"Come on, get organized," said Red Hot. They were mostly fighting each other, rather than jacking me.
"Everybody gets three strokes. Then change," said the plumber.
"Five strokes." Joan demonstrated.
"Okay, five."
In turn, each girl pumped my cock five times. Some dragged the foreskin down hard. Other pumped the full length. Tina showed herself to be creative by rubbing the head five times around. This was the most unique circle jerk I'd ever experienced, not that I'd ever participated in a male-only activity of that kind.
Somewhere during the process, Inga recovered from her orgasm stupor and took her five strokes from her prone position alongside me. Gradually girls dropped off, letting Inga take their turns. The tingle was unmistakable. Inga was bringing me to the peak. My balls ached. My hips bounced generating strong friction from Inga's small fist. She changed position, straddling my legs and going at my prick with both hands.
Cum, cum, cum," the group chanted.
"Cum for me, Mr. Marcus. Let me give back a little from what you gave me."
A growl started in my belly. Inga lowered her head so her face was within inches of my penis.
"Gimme," she whispered. "Shoot."
Her strokes were long pulls one after the other. The growl moved up into my throat.
"That's it. Let it all out. All of your love juice. Show me you love me." Inga focused on her emotions, not the physical act. "I love you, Mr. Marcus."
"I love you, too." What was I supposed to say? Start some philosophical discussion about the difference between love and lust, between commitment and coupling? I lifted my ass off the mattress. Inga was ready, mouth open. Her lips surrounded the head as the first mass escaped. She swallowed. I humped up again. Her lips remained in contact, sucking. I shot again and again, I lost track of how many times. The audience cheered. Some of them must have been disappointed that they hadn't had the opportunity. In most games, there's only one winner. In Annie's birthday sex marathon, there were five but Inga got top honors. In the middle of this chaos, I noticed that Babe Ruthie, the baseball gal, was missing. Where wasn't she here, for her share of the fun?
"I won't tell Mama," Inga whispered.
"Its okay. She gave me permission at her office. Whatever you needed." And she needed to be fucked. By me. On my birthday. "Sorry I waited."
"That's okay. It was worth it."
The four preliminary teasers were still clustered around the bed. Were any of them interested in another go, since now I'd fulfilled my destiny with Inga? Hell, did I have the energy to do any of the others?
Any opportunities vanished as the assembled onlookers dragged themselves out of the room. I guessed that some of them were hoping that Inga would leave and they'd take her place in the bed as my sleeping partner who wouldn't let me get any rest. But Inga stayed at my side, warm and naked and plenty satisfied. Joan looked disappointed over her shoulder as she trailed the pack. In profile, her out-thrust tits gave my prick twinges.
I didn't get much sleep. I guess you could say I was up all night. Annie's twin bed was small for a couple. Every time Inga rubbed against me I got an erection and every time I got an erection she'd slide up close or climb on top. We must have coupled, not really actively fucking, four or five times. Every time, she'd shake and bake, then collapse satisfied. Good thing her mother had given me permission to do whatever it took - I think that's a direct quote - to get Inga out of her depression. Well, four or five orgasms in one night would lift most women out of their depression.
In the meantime, I'd gotten hard but hadn't reached orgasm since Inga jerked me off. After our last coupling in a spoon position, I had to go to the bathroom. I slipped out of bed and didn't bother dressing. If I ran into some coed, my prick was too pooped to do much of anything.
Inga rolled over when I got back. "Good idea. Excuse me."
She shuffled off bare as the day she was born. Almost immediately she climbed back into bed and put her hand on my chest. Ours toes touched. Had she gotten taller? "You're insatiable," I moaned.
