WARNING: If you are offended by sex between teenaged boys, or between a man and a teenager, you shouldn't be in this newsgroup and you definitely shouldn't be reading this story. If this type of sex is illegal, immoral or fattening in your particular state, province, country, or bedroom, stop reading now and go away. If, according to your local laws, you're under age, no fair peeking below. This story is a fantasy, and any resemblance to any particular man, boy or penis is just your over-active imagination.
Copyright 2000. All rights reserved. You have the right to download this story to keep on your computer, and to print a hard copy if you preserve the title, warning and copyright notice. You do not have the right to repost this, or use it for commercial purposes, that is, you can't try to make a buck off my work. The only thing you have my permission to do with this story (besides the obvious one) is stated above ... and nothing more. Get it? Got it? Good.
Flames will be ignored. Constructive comments are always welcome
"Geez, Mac, get a grip on yourself!" my roommate said, and collapsed against the door frame, howling with laughter.
Fuck. I'd fucking forgotten to fucking lock the fucking door. And my fucking roommate fucking walked in on me without at least fucking knocking.
And I already had a grip on myself. A good one. And it was too goddamn fucking late to change. Much less stop.
I was naked in bed, on my back, my feet planted firmly on the mattress, my legs bent, my body thrust up with my weight supported by my shoulders and my left arm, while my right hand was beating my meat in the last few strokes that sent me over the edge, blasting an incredible load of cum down on my chest and into my waiting mouth. Fuck Gary if he can't take a joke and doesn't like seeing me swallow my own cum. I like it.
I collapsed onto the bed, lifted my sticky right hand to my lips and licked it clean, while I looked over at him. He'd at least stopped laughing. "You shithead asshole fucker."
My unequivocally-straight, let-me-tell-you-about-the-pussy-I-fucked-last-night roommate gave me one of his patented wicked smiles and said with a passable fag imitation, "Ohhhh, baby. You offering? Turn over and let daddy see what you've got."
I threw a pillow at him, but he dodged easily. When you're trying to scoop up cum out of the hair on your chest, so you can suck it down, your aim with your left hand tends to be a bit worse than usual ... especially when you're right handed. I probably should have acted all embarrassed at being found jacking off, and hurried to get up and cover myself up or something. But right about the time my little brother Sam maneuvered me onto my back so he could fuck me, I found I enjoyed showing my body off. Even when it wasn't going to result in my asshole getting crammed with cock, or my mouth, or my own dick in a hot warm hole. Like now.
Of course, it wasn't like he hadn't seen me naked before. And versa vicey. When you're living in a freshman dorm, sharing a room with a guy, and sharing a half-bath (toilet and sink) with the two guys in the other room in the suite, and sharing a communal shower down the hall ... seeing naked guys is inevitable. And great. And horny making for a queer like me. Well, I guess for any queer, not just ones like me. Not that I'm a particularly different brand of fag. Although ... well ... maybe that's not quite accurate.
Anyway, when you've got just under eight inches of pretty thick meat, and you show a good bulge even when you're soft, hell, it does pay to advertise. I hadn't done anything with Gary, naturally. He's a definite pussy hound ... female type, that is. And not college-age like us. He's just turned nineteen, and apparently gets off, and gets off frequently, on older women. And just loves to tell us all about it. So while I wouldn't have minded having him up my ass or down my throat, I didn't make any moves. Same way I hadn't made any moves on Tim and Stan, our suite mates. Nice guys, average looks, not hung huge, although looks can be deceiving if all you see is soft cock.
Basically, I'd pretty much decided the dorm was off limits. Just not quite completely off limits. I'd given my previous roommate a couple of good blowjobs before his mom got sick and he had to drop out of school for a while. Then there was a problem with a leak in the room so they shifted us all to other suites, and I moved in with Gary about six weeks ago. So no sex in my dorm suite at all. But at least I knew there was a minimum of one other queer in the place. Or maybe just a guy who enjoyed anonymous gay sex.
A couple of weeks ago I'd come back to the dorm pretty late from a visit home, worn out as usual, and decided to take a hot late night shower. The shower room was kind of steamy and I was just enjoying the hard hot spray, when the lights went out. It was pitch black and I was disoriented, trying to figure out which way the door was when a voice whispered to me to stay where I was. Now like I said, visits home tend to wear me out, but that got me interested again.
So I stood still and waited. I couldn't hear anything over the sound of the water, but after a few seconds I felt an outstretched hand touch my shoulder, then a the hand turned me around and a second hand rested on my other shoulder. And gently pushed. I got the picture. I put my hands out, felt the muscled side and waist of the man in front of me, slick and warm, and dropped to my knees, my hands sliding down, gripping his ass cheeks, ending up stroking his strong thighs. I moved my head cautiously forward, mouth slightly open. The head of a dick grazed my cheek; I turned my head and slid my mouth over onto the prick. It was a damned good size, but not so big as to be unsuckable.
So I did. The hands moved from my shoulders to the sides of my head, holding me firmly, and after a few bobbing strokes, taking over. Damn, but those were talented hands ... hands that knew just how to control a really good face-fuck. He'd turned on the shower next to mine so the room was almost like a sauna, which was fucking erotic, too. Tentatively, I began playing with his balls, and his ass cheeks. Tentatively, because I had no way of knowing whether this was another fag like me, or a straight guy who liked getting a blowjob but anything else was strictly off limits.
He didn't stop me, which didn't mean he was queer, too. So I went a little further, and pressed a wet finger to his hole. He kept right on fucking my face. Okay. I pushed and it slid in, about half way, before his ass muscles clamped down. Then I felt him relax and took that as an okay to get the rest of the way. If anything the face fucking got a bit more enthusiastic. His cock was probably about my size, but I've had some experience with meat like mine, and even bigger, so I had no trouble deep throating him. Still no real clue about fag or straight. Lots of straight men like their assholes played with and finger-fucked while they get their rocks off. But I figured straight since he wasn't reacting like most gays do when they're getting a great combination of finger fucking and cocksucking.
I was really getting into it, not even worrying about my own hard prick, when he held my head still and very slowly slid his slimy cock out of my mouth. He held me steady, with just the head of his cock resting on my lips. Then he released me and tugged my shoulders, indicating I should stand. I figured maybe I'd figured wrong. He was queer and it was my turn to get blown. Except he turned me around, pushing my shoulders forward. I got the picture. One of my favorite pictures. I bent forward, found the wall and used it to support me as I offered him my ass.
He took advantage of the offer. His soft voice dropped over me, a neutral whisper so quiet I could barely hear, and definitely too quiet for me to figure out whose voice it was. "Slow 'n easy, or quick 'n hard?"
Nice to have a choice. I groped on the wall, found the soap tray, got some on my hands and reached back to my hole, lathering it up. I stretched my hand out and applied some to his meat as well. Nice fucking cock. "Fast and hard," I said. He'd really got me in the mood.
He gave me what I was suddenly in the mood for. He placed his hands on my hips, took one off long enough to line his cock up with my hole and push just slightly to open me up, put his hand back, held me tight, and pulled me back against him hard while he thrust forward. I gasped, moaned out loud, and shuddered as the full length of his meat crammed up inside me.
He paused to let me get used to his dick, but since he knew I wanted it kind of rough, not too long. And then he fucked me. And fucked me. And fucked me. The steam; the heat; the hands controlling my hips; the hands that occasionally wandered up to twist my tits and make me whimper; the hands that reached around to grab my cock, and twist my balls ... but most of all that thick meat sliding in and out in and out of my hole were driving me crazy. I began moaning good and loud; right then I didn't care if the fucking dean of the school walked in on us, or the rest of the guys on the floor. He was fucking incredible. And then all too soon, but Christ it must have been a long time, I felt his prick swell up, felt the pulsing down the length of his cock as spurt after spurt after spurt of cum soaked the walls of my ass.
When he was done and his cock was starting to go limp, he gave me a quick kiss on the shoulder. He pulled out slowly, and I straightened up. I felt his hand come around to take hold of my still-hard cock. "You want..." he whispered. Geez, a fucking polite man who didn't get his rocks off and turn away. I knew all he was offering was a jack-off, but still, it was kind of nice to have the offer. What I wanted, though, was something else. I asked him if he'd let me suck him. Surprisingly, he said yes.
I turned, dropped to my knees again and took his limp dick in my mouth. I wasn't trying to get him hard, or off again, I just liked the feel of his warm slick meat in my mouth while I quickly stroked myself to a pretty good cum. When I was done, and he must have felt a few spurts on his calves, I sank back on my haunches. He reached out one hand, caressed the side of my face, whispered, "Thanks, guy," and left.
I rinsed myself off, and was just turning the showers off when the lights came on. I blinked in the sudden brightness, but didn't make any attempt to get to the dressing room. If he wanted anonymous, anonymous he would get. I hadn't met up with him again, and with the number of guys in the dorm, and with no subtle or not-so-subtle signs from anyone, I had no idea who he was. But damn! he was good jack-off material.
And as it turned out so were Tim and Stan. Tim was the jock of the pair. Well, not really a jock jock. He wasn't the super athlete who kept himself all buffed and was constantly working out and playing sports and thinking of nothing but beer and sports and beer and pussy. He's about six foot one or so, sort of husky build, but not real toned, and actually he wasn't even on any teams. Dark hair, hazel eyes, mustache, usually sporting a couple day growth of beard—like he fucking trimmed it down to just that length somehow every day. No great face, but a nice smile. Lots of hair on his chest and even more down around his cock and balls, and lining the crack of his ass. Well, hell, you could hardly miss it when he just wore a jock most of the time in the suite. Deep voice, kinda scratchy sounding. Anyway, he just looked like a fucking jock stud.
Now Stan was more your basic geek type. Five-seven, maybe five-eight, thin, thin light brown hair (the kind you can tell he's gonna be pretty bald fairly young), rimless glasses, dark brown eyes, maybe 120 pounds, if he's soaking wet and carrying Tim. Just a little hair around his tits, and a nice light brown bush around his dick. Pretty much hairless around the ass. Okay, okay, so I looked when he was around and when he bent over. Tenor voice, soft spoken, almost delicate sounding.
Both with nice pricks, like I said.
And real confusing to the guys who go by stereotypes. Seems Tim is the nerd, getting a degree in computer science. Stan, on the other hand, plays a mean game of tennis and racquetball (so I've heard, you couldn't get me near the place, well, maybe if I was gonna service some sweaty player after a rough game, yeah, that could be arranged). Stan is also a part-time mechanic who can, so I've heard, rebuild a car engine with a screwdriver and a piece of wire and have it running better than it was factory fresh, all in about ten minutes. Okay, so what do I know about cars? You couldn't get me near an auto shop ... well, unless some stud mechanic wanted to fuck my ass raw after a long day's work, yeah, that could be arranged.
Jeez, I guess little Sam turned me into a slut or something.
So anyway, it was a couple of weeks after Gary walked in on me. A couple of weeks of endless jokes and snide comments about grip this and grip that and I've lost my grip can you find it and on and fucking on. At first I thought it was just Gary making cracks no one else understood, but then I noticed first Stan and then Tim smiling with that special in-on-the-damned-secret type of smile. And Stan asking me if my favorite song from "Guys and Dolls" was the one about "la grippe." Cheerfully coulda strangled the two of them, although that would have to wait until after I'd murdered my roommate, hacked his corpse into little pieces and did some serious gloating.
I was kinda hoping I could get something on one of them ... any one would do ... just to use to get them off my ass. Not, of course, that any of them were on my ass, in the right sense of the word, much less in it. Nothing. As they say, nada, zip, zero, zilch.
Until one Thursday night I got up around 2 a.m. to take a piss. Gary's bed was empty and unused, which meant he was off shagging the cunt he'd started seeing not too long after the grip incident. That was odd, because usually when they were off doing whatever it is that straights do when they're ... doing it (okay, okay, so I fucking know for Christ's sake what it is that they do, I just don't have to enjoy thinking about it) ... Gary was back by midnight. Guess her husband let her off the leash or something for a late night. I didn't know for sure she was married, just kinda had the impression she was, as well as being quite a bit older than Gary. He mentioned something once about how much it turned him on to lick her grey-flecked pussy hair, and eat her hole out before shoving his cock in and really giving her a hard fuck.
Of course, he only made comments like that because I looked like I was going to puke when he did. Actually, I tried to make it appear it was all just an act, an ongoing joke between us, since I wasn't exactly out of the closet on campus. I guess he bought it because he never said anything or looked at me weird like he'd figured out he was rooming with a fag.
I guess you'd figure that for a guy whose first sex with a guy was with his younger brother, first sucking his brother's dick and then getting his cherry busted doggy-style ... hey, it wasn't my idea to begin with, he seduced me (and then hired me out three afternoons later to one of his friends so I could repay some of the money he loaned me, the little shit) ... I'd be more open about my queerosity. Nope. Not me. I tend to be so conservative if I wasn't a queer I'd be a Republican. Well, yeah, I know about those Lodge Pole Republicans or whatever, but the only thing I can figure is that they must be getting some really serious logs or poles or whatever lodged up their asses to justify turning perfectly good cash over to a political party where the majority of members hate your guts and would be just as happy to see you impaled—not the kind you'd enjoy, the kind the Romans used to do.
So back to the late-night piss attack. Like a well-brought up fairly new fairly-well-used queer who loves to top but lives to bottom, I sat down to take my leak. Which made it kind of quiet, unlike my three suite-mates who each seemed to like to compete for the prize for whoever can piss loudest into the bowl. I'm sitting there when I hear some noises. Soft noises. Noises I wouldn't have noticed if I'd been standing and listening to myself piss. Noises I recognized. Noises I made when I was getting fucked and was trying to keep quiet about it.
Now since there was nothing up my ass at the moment (regrettably), and Gary was out snatch-fucking, and even though the walls of the dorm aren't all that thick, even my great less-than-Sherlock brain realized there was no way I could be hearing soft noises like those noises from another suite. I figured it out. Elementary, my dear Barry Watson. There was sex going on in Stan and Tim's room.
Guy sex. Fruit sex. Queer boys banging. Fags fornicating. Pansies poking. Fairies fellating. You get the picture, right?
My prick immediately advised me that I was horny and that I was duty bound to further figure out ... a way to get in on the action. Reality check. There was only one way: if they left the door unlocked like we usually did at night. Then maybe I could really, really, really quietly open the door, and get inside before they knew I was there. If I just knocked or something they'd tell me to go the fuck away, and just deny everything if I said something. I sat on the stool for a little while, stroking my meat and lubing it with precum ... I leak a lot ... picturing Stan on his back, legs over Tim's hairy shoulders, that beefy butt clenching and unclenching as he pounded his cock into Stan's hole. Picturing myself burying my face in that hairy ass, licking his asshole until it opened wide to let my tongue in and then my prick, too. Oh, just for a little while, because after he'd finished Stan, he could do me; I'd make sure he got hard again real quick.
Okay. Lights were already out, I hadn't turned any on just to get to the john. I stood up, managing to stop my well-brought-up flush reflex. Cock in hand (the right place for it, naturally, when it isn't occupied with a mouth or butt), I stepped up to the door, touched the handle very, very slowly. Hot damn. It was unlocked. Now if Tim was just fucking with his ass toward the door--after all, the head of their beds was opposite from the door--I should be okay, since at least these doors didn't squeak or squeal. I grinned. Like the soft little whispery squeal from Stan just then ... Tim musta banged him good ... and the equally quiet grunt from Tim telling him to shut the fuck up in case they woke me up.
Well, too bad, so sad. They shouldn't have gambled on the closed door being enough to keep their fucking private.
I opened the door, stepped inside, closing it behind me while I flipped on the overhead light.
And bruised my jaw severely ... from where it hit the floor.
That high-pitched squeals, the earlier sounds I'd first heard, the ones that said, fuck me fuck me fuck my ass hard you fucking stud ... were coming from Tim. Tim, whose face was buried in a pillow at the foot of the bed, whose hands were gripping the end of the bed so hard his knuckles were white, whose muscular hairy back sloped up to his raised hips which were being gripped pretty damned hard by Stan. Stan, who blinked in the sudden light, looking right at me over his fuck buddy's sweat-gleaming flesh, and didn't miss a goddamn stroke in the harsh pounding he was giving Tim's hole.
Stan took in my dripping prick with a quick glance and proceeded to do the impossible, move his hips faster. He smiled at me. "You want a piece of this? Really sloppy seconds?"
My answer was clear and sharp. "Uh..."
Stan's grin got broader. The movement of his hips stepped up another notch. Tim moaned into the pillow.
"Gary back yet?"
My asshole was twitching so hard and yelling at me so loudly to yank Tim off the bed and get myself stuffed with that hard-working meat, who the fuck cared how long or thick it was, holy shit it was doing the fucking job of fucking ... I couldn't do more than just shake my head.
"You a gambling man, Mac?"
Another intelligent response: "Huh?"
Stan rotated his hips, then stopped fucking, pulling his hips back. From just inside the room I couldn't see, but I figured all he had inside Tim's hole was just the head of his prick. Tim whimpered.
"Gary's out fucking, guy. He usually doesn't get in this late, but we all got a test in the morning, so he's gonna be back soon to get a little sleep. You want to open the door, and see if we finish fucking before he comes back and gets real upset about the three queer-boys he's living with?"
Once I started sucking dick and getting my ass pounded, and really trying hard to make up for all the time I'd lost not knowing what I wanted, I figured that eventually I'd come out at college. Getting fucked in the shower didn't count, since the guy who dicked me was obviously not interested in broadcasting his interests, either. But this. Shit, Gary could walk in any second and while the sound of his key in the door to the hall would give us some warning, Stan's tone and expression pretty much said we wouldn't be scrambling around trying to pretend it wasn't happening if Gary walked in. Damn, but we could all go from straight zero to public queer in about sixty seconds if he showed up.
Stan's expression also said he didn't have much patience with my indecision. He started a slow banging of Tim's butt. "In or out, guy, don't take the whole fucking night. You either open the door and walk over here to get your dick sucked for a while ... Tim's a good cocksucker, aren't ya, guy?" Tim moaned something that could have been a yes, but didn't raise his head. "Or else ya flip off the fucking light, open the door, and don't let it hit your ass on your way out."
I opened the door all the way. And walked over to the bed.
"Tim, baby, c'mon, raise your head, get a good look at the long fat meat that's gonna ream out your throat the way your ass is getting reamed."
Tim did what he was told. Looking at his face, I wasn't sure whether he knew who I was. Fuck, at the moment I don't think he knew who he was ... except maybe a piece of meat to be used by the man behind him. And now by me. His eyes were glazed, and his full lips were wet and drooling. He wasn't really looking at me as he tilted his head so you could see right into the warm pink mouth pussy. I slid my dick in slow and easy. No problem. He opened up like the well-used bottom he obviously was, and my cockhead lodged deep in his throat.
Now Sam's a good cocksucker, and Dad's as much of a natural as I am, though given a choice he'll be the one ramming meat into some hot hole, but holy shit Tim was something special. I figured sometime I'd have to ask him how he could take cock down his throat so easy, since that's something I definitely wanted to learn. And maybe I could get to practice on him while he explained the technique to me, sort of face-fucked me through it a few times. I started some easy mouth-fucking strokes since I didn't want to cum, not with a chance to fuck that stud ass waiting for the first load of cum to fill it. Stan was moving faster again, and Tim's mouth was beginning to work my prick. I bent forward, reached under Tim. His dick was hard, a nice handful, probably about six inches but thick, and both sticky and crusty, like cum had dried on it.
Stan smiled wickedly, and speeded up his fucking. "He's cum twice already since we started." He picked up on the question in my eyes. "About an hour ago."
Fuck! That lucky son of a bitch had gotten two cums fucked out of him during a solid hour of fucking. I was so jealous I didn't know what to do ... except figure out a way to get Stan to do me, too. And show Stan how good I could be when I'm being really, really bad.
I put my hands on Tim's cheeks, feeling the rough beard stubble, stroking my thumbs over the wet lips slurping and smacking on my cock, then holding his face steady, my hands cupped around his jaws, while I started fucking his mouth good and hard. Do unto others, after all.
Stan started talking then, low and intense, first his voice capturing me, and then his eyes. I couldn't look away.
"Fuckin' your butch ass, baby. Macho stud with all the babes and queers ready to fall on their backs and throw their legs in the air for ya, so that's what ya do. Ya shove that meat in their holes, mouth, cunt, ass, whatever, and ya get your rocks off, but this is what ya really want, isn't it, slut?"
Tim moaned around my meat but it was real easy to tell it was an affirmative moan. Stan was shoving his prick hard and deep, and his breath was getting a little ragged. "Mac here fuckin' your throat, rammin' it good and hard just like your ass is getting pounded, but you ain't gonna get any cum outa Mac down your throat, it's gonna be up your ass right on top of mine. The load you're gonna get ... right ... fucking ... now!" And with a final shove that almost toppled Tim and sent me sprawling, Stan slid his meat deep, keeping his eyes locked on mine, letting me see how much he enjoyed his cum, and all the while Tim was grunting with every spurt of gism up his hole.
When Stan finally shuddered to a stop, he licked his lips, winked at me, and slowly pulled out of Tim's ass. I got my first look at his hard dick. Yeah, it was still hard, and I'm male enough and queer enough to know that wasn't any fake cum I just watched. Maybe 7 inches, about as wide as me at the base, but narrower at the head. There was a large drop of cum oozing out of his piss-slit, too. He noticed where my eyes were stuck, and before it could fall, he scooped it up on a fingertip and offered it to me.
Never look a gift cum in the mouth. Or something. I licked it off with just my tongue, and then swallowed his finger, working it good with my tongue, then eased slowly off applying pressure all the way to the tip. A subtle hint. Yeah, right. Subtle is my middle name. Not.
Tim had lowered his head to the pillow, resting on one cheek. His ass was still up in the air and his back gleamed with sweat. Hot male ass just waiting to be shoved full of dick. And I was just the freshman to do it. Between Tim's spit and Stan's cum and the way I was leaking, I sure as hell didn't need any more lube. Stan stood beside the bed while I got in place, kneeling on the mattress between Tim's spread legs. I used my hands to get his hips in the right position--asshole right in front of my prick head. His hole was still a bit open and wet and puffy, a clearly well-fucked shitter with a little cum and assjuices trickling down toward his balls.
Stan came behind me, rested one foot on the bed, one on the floor, reached around me and just when I started to slide real easy into Tim's butt, Stan twisted my tits ... hard! I gasped, grunted, and rammed home all the way at once. And there wasn't anything gentle about it. Tim just grunted, too ... the kind of bottom's grunt that says, "Oh, Christ, that felt good, sir, if it's not too much trouble could you do it again? Soon? And maybe just a little bit harder?"
I obliged him. Several times. In fact, I was just setting up a good rhythm, making sure to keep my chest available for the fantastic work Stan was doing on my tits, when Stan let go of my right nip, and stuck two fingers in my mouth. Hot damn. Fucking a butch hunk bottom, getting my tits worked damned good, and now finger-fucking into the mix. Damn, was I glad I needed a piss in the middle of the night! And Stan wasn't any more gentle with my hole than I was with Tim. He rubbed the spit around to get it a little wet, repeated the finger-suck-deposit-the-spit routine a couple more times, slid his index finger under his fuck-you finger, and shoved it home.
God! do I love things up my ass. Dicks preferably, but fingers will do. No dildos yet, since there's definitely no need for them when I'm home, and I hadn't figured out a way to hide one in a mostly straight dorm. Although with two queers next door, maybe they'd keep it for me ... and Tim could use it for practice if Stan wasn't around. Although the way his butt was working my cock, he didn't need the practice at all.
I was just starting to speed up, suddenly remembering the gamble we were all taking, when Stan put his hands on my hips and made it real clear he wanted me to hold still. He had a good reason. He was going to plow my ass. My hole voted yes! And started to relax. Stan got behind me, and then after hawking some spit on his cock, which was probably still wet with his own cum, he applied the do unto others rule to my butt. Fucking thought I saw stars point zero zero nine seconds later when his balls were bouncing against my ass and the head of his cock was doing funny things to my insides.
Stan's cock isn't as big as mine, and I've had larger dicks up my hole even in my short queer life, but Stan's was a really special hunk of meat. When he pulled it back out, shoved it in again, it was like ... well, the only way I can describe it is ... it was like each and every inch of his prick was doing something different, something fantastic to every square inch of the inside of my ass. And doing double duty on my prostate!
Frankly, all I wanted to do for a moment was to go limp and just lay there and enjoy the fucking. But I had a man of my own to satisfy, so I began working Tim's butt, trying to get a rhythm going with Stan's fucking. I'd been fucked that way before, but something wasn't quite right. Stan figured it out. He shifted into power-fuck mode. There's fucking, of course. And good fucking. And fast and hard fucking. Even fantastic fucking. But there aren't many men who can power-fuck.
A few seconds later, Tim was flat on the bed, his face down in the pillow, breathing through his ears, I guessed, one hand under his body, my bet being it was cupped so he could kind of fuck his hand. I was down on top of Tim, my left hand entwined with his, my right holding onto the end of the bed. My cheek was kind of resting against the side of Tim's head and I was holding mine up so my chin didn't jab him. Stan still had one foot on the floor, one foot on the bed, and both hands were gripping my shoulders like he was holding a weight-lifting bar and trying for a world record.
There wasn't anything Tim or I needed to do. Stan did it all. To us. For us. His cock did things to my ass that sent shock waves of pleasure racing through me, and through me into Tim. No point in moving my hips on my own, since the fucking I was getting from Stan was more than enough to make all almost-eight inches of my prick do not-quite-as-incredible things to the butt sheathing it. Tim was the first to start whimpering; I was a close second. The kind of whimpers that pleaded, "Oh, God, please cum, now! I can't stand much more pleasure like this!"
Stan wasn't paying attention to our whimpers. Or maybe he was. The fucking got better. And better. And better. Our whimpers became moans, our moans became audible pleas for relief, which promptly degenerated into incoherent babbling just about the time Tim couldn't take it any longer and began blasting what had to be enormous hot ropes of cum into his hand from the way his ass was clamping and letting go of my cock. Which set me off, with my ass grabbing Stan's meat nearly as hard as he was holding my shoulders ... and he still kept fucking! And I kept cumming. And just when I was opening my mouth to scream in ecstasy, he slammed his hand over my lips, choking the sound back and began cumming. And cumming. And cumming. He was cumming like he hadn't just cum a few minutes ... or had we been fucking for hours? ... ago.
And it finally stopped. Three completely fucked-out college boys collapsed on top of a bed meant for just one. In a brightly lit room. With the door wide open. And a straight roommate who could be walking in any second now.
That at least got us moving, if not very efficiently. Tim and Stan solved their problem easily: with apologetic smiles, and a quick hug, they helped me out the door and shut it behind me. My boxers were in their room. My cock was dripping all sorts of juices. My ass was leaking cum in spite of my attempts to keep it clenched shut. Fuck!
Cupping one hand over my cock and balls and praying I hadn't dripped anything noticeable anywhere ... er ... noticeable, I hurried into the room, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist and headed to the shower. By the time I got back, clean everywhere, Gary was in bed. Thank God. I smiled to myself, slid under my own covers and immediately fell asleep.
For the next few weeks things settled back into the usual routine. Gary and his older woman bragging; me and puking at the thought, Tim and Stan as friendly as before ... and occasionally a little more so. Not often, though. One major gamble was enough. Besides, they didn't need me, when all they had to do was close the door to their room and get to it.
Well, not quite. Up to then we'd keep the door to the hall locked at night or when we didn't want to be interrupted during study session, but with the doors to the rooms, we'd rarely locked them and tended to just give a perfunctory knock when one was shut and walk right in. Sometimes without even the knock. Not that the knock was any kind of warning, not with the door opening right after. So I started doing an actual knock if the door to Tim and Stan's room was shut. A real knock, as in waiting for permission to enter. Tim and Stan started doing the same for our room. Not, of course, that anything was going to be going on in there.
I guess we figured Gary would just pick up on it.
Nope. His idea of a knock was either while the door was opening, or in passing after he was all the way in. I finally said something to him, and he looked at me like I thought the drug campaign motto was "Just say yes." I suggested that they might want some privacy and he just kept on staring.
He was really at a loss, and I couldn't exactly explain it was in case Tim was getting mouth-fucked, or maybe Stan was getting his hole stuffed with prick. Yeah, turned out Stan was versatile. I should have thought of some reasons before saying anything, so all I could come up with was a kind of stammering about maybe they were studying and didn't want to be interrupted. Or the perfect example, I thought, right out of my own experience: maybe one of 'em was jacking off.
"Get a grip, Mac," he said. "The only one around here who jacks off in his room is you. The rest of us ... well, those of us who aren't getting any and have to jack off ... are doing it in the john. Or a quick one in the shower. Not me, of course, not with what I'm getting." He grinned, and started to tell me about his latest exploit. It was a lost cause, so I didn't bother arguing, just sat and grimaced through the litany of lust.
I mentioned it to Tim, later, and he just smiled and thanked me. The three of us kept on being polite. Gary kept on being ... Gary. He's a nice guy, but he had this blind spot. I figured out later he musta been kind of Pavlov-dog-trained at home, since he had three brothers, four sisters, and no one knocked there except on the bathroom door. And even then you were taking a risk unless you locked it—and if you did, you were sure to get ribbed unmercifully. So he just thought it was normal. But we didn't know that at the time. And we were trying to figure out a way to make the point. It was just that we couldn't decide how.
We got our chance two weeks later. Our football team was playing out of town for a Saturday night game, and the three of us decided to drive up late that afternoon, stay over with Tim's family, and come back Sunday late. The best laid plans, and all that.
The sky was pretty grey when we left, and the weather folks were talking about a surprise winter storm. Fuck, everything was a surprise to the weather fucks ... they were probably surprised by the sun rising, considering the accuracy of their forecasts.
Naturally, they turned out to be right. We managed to get about two-thirds of the way there before it was clear to even stubborn college freshmen that we weren't going to make it. Which left us with a choice of finding a motel or something, or turning around and going back. Naturally, being exceedingly bright college freshmen, we decided the smart thing to do was drive back to school. Through a bad storm. At about two frigging miles an hour. With no visibility. And a heater that wheezed "Fuck you!" at us and noisily expired sometime during the third hour of what should have a two-hour drive. By the time we got back to the campus, Stan ... good old in-control top Stan ... was practically bouncing in the seat, complaining about how bad he had to piss. Tim and I exchanged semi-frozen glances, pointedly not reminding him it had been his choice to drink the rest of the coffee and the last of the Pepsi.
I stopped at the front door of the dorm to let Stan dive out and head inside. Tim was nice enough to stay with me while I figured out where the hell to park the car since the campus snow plows had only been through the lots once and the storm had piled on more snow since the first go-round. When we got off the elevator at our floor, and turned the corner to our room, we found Stan outside, obviously waiting for us. He wasn't doing a piss dance, and since his zipper was at half-mast he'd obviously gotten that taken care of. But what the fuck was he doing in the hall?
I opened my mouth to ask, but he just clamped his hand over my lips, and whispered, "Gary's in your room with the door closed."
My eyes said, "So?"
And Stan whispered back, "He's not alone."
He felt the big grin under his palm and pulled his hand away. Tim was smiling, too.
"Knock before or after?" Stan asked.
"After," we said together.
With big shit-eating grins on our faces we very quietly let ourselves into the entranceway. I touched the doorknob very carefully. Unlocked. The dumb shit. Well, not too dumb. Stan probably had to unlock the outer door. But still...
Since it was my room, I got to go in first, doing a not-so-instant replay of that moment in their room: opening the door, flipping the light on, stepping in with Tim and Stan right behind me and spreading out so they could get a good look.
We must've caught them when Gary had just rammed hard into her pussy because in that instant when the light went on we could see his muscular buttcheeks clenched tight. Her legs were over his shoulders...
And those legs were kind of hairy. What was he doing, fucking a Russian broad? Or whoever they are over there who don't shave their legs?
And double fuck.
I knew those legs.
I'd seen them over my grandfather's shoulders. My brother's. Mine.