"Yes, Clara, do that again." The young man almost gasped as he tightened his hold on my head.
I immediately drew back. "Come off it, Sam. You're hurting me." I tried peering up at my older classmate.
Not easy to do when you're on your knees with half the guy's dick down your throat.
"Hey, bitch, who gave you permission to talk?"
The whack hit me from behind.
It obviously wasn't Sam since he was standing right in front of me, leaning against an old beat-up table my stepfather had abandoned and half-hidden here, at the back of his garage, a lifetime ago.
The hard slap had come from Len, another of my classmates, who'd been helping Sam get his stiff monster to my belly.
The two of them were quite a pair. If I'd lost a year of high school due to my mother's passing, they'd lost two years each because of their thick-headedness. In other words, they weren't the brightest kids around, but they more than made it up with their nineteen-year-old physique, which was far more impressive than anything I'd seen in school.
"Yeah." Shoving with more determination, Sam effectively shut me up. "Your only task here is sucking."
"Got it, slut?" Len joined in, gripping the back of my throat and pushing me forward.
With nowhere to go except on that beefy piece of good male meat, what could I do?
I gagged, of course, then set to swallow it. After all, I'd invited these two to my old man's place to get a taste of their great sticks. Only natural they'd eagerly followed me and wanted to get what they'd been promised.
True to my word, I drew more dick inside, trying to ignore my swamped twat. That was how aroused I became the moment I had rigid male equipment at my disposal.
I loved cocks, had ever since I'd discovered what boys hid under those tight-fitting trousers of theirs. Strangely enough, it had coincided with my mother dying of leukemia and leaving me to fend for myself in my stepfather's house. I supposed it could've been much worse.
Jake Strickland could've thrown me out in the street. He had a son of his own from a previous marriage, Kay, my stepbrother, and I'd already been eighteen years old.
That he hadn't, testified to his good heart, I guess. Then again, I hardly dwelled on it. What was the point when I could be happily pampering those big, taut, wonderful shafts?
Despite the garage's semi-darkness, I admired Sam's piece one more time, reveling in its proud stance and the noticeable twitches of eager anticipation. Yes, it was definitely one of the finer specimens around, which prompted me to give it my best blows.
