This fantasy improbable story, with the names, dates and time included is totally fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental
My first job at 19. I’d only been in the place three days and the boss ordered me into the back room.
“Look after that case. She’s a big celebrity and we need someone in here all the time, unless family or accredited people turn up, We’ll advise in that situation,” said Phillie McCaverty, before she waddled away.
The news had been cleverly kept from the big papers, due to the high profile of the people involved, but the massive vehicle pileup and the resultant casualty list, trauma victims and the comatose were stretching all the medical resources of this little town in Ireland. Filming in the mountains had been kept extraordinarily quiet and under wraps such was the sensitivity of the subject. I knew about it because my father was the chief security officer.
I had only left college some weeks ago and had drifted with a few decent qualifications into this job at the McCaverty Medical Research Facility. It was local, easy hours, not far from the pub and one of the nurses was a stunner. Now looking at the bed and the body lying on it, shrouded in a white cloth, but clearly breathing, I could see the chest, her rather large chest going up and down I wondered what I was supposed to do apart from be there. Phillie had left me in charge, although I’d have followed her anywhere. I’d have licked her arse clean.
God! she was big and beautiful, like Oprah at her fattest, but with the sort of milky pale skin that can only come from the mountainous region of this Emerald Isle. About 250 pounds, say five foot five tall (without the three inch heels), the neatest ankles, short black curly hair, cherubic smile, big succulent lips and tits! ... well her tits seemed to enter the room about half an hour before she did. Phillie was always immaculately made up, with bright red lipstick, usually matching her nail varnish. She had one obvious blemish, not that it would put me off screwing her, which had happened when she was ten on a cycle accident. Her third finger on her right hand was missing and her second finger had quite a scar from the same accident. I knew her from around town as a very successful business woman, inheriting the business when she was 29, two years ago, from her mother. She was single, incredibly qualified, vivacious and I would love to wallow amongst what would be very ample folds, rolls and ripples of her rotund body.
Strolling across the sterile room, thinking about my fantasy sex with Phillie and wondering what could be seen from the window, like the nurse’s quarters – inside! I glanced again at the bed. There was a clip board hanging at the foot and I idly hinged it up as I paused. It just read WG, age 44, female, Afro American. Accident trauma, coma. The chart below the heading indicated that all this woman’s faculties read OK, but who was WG? I only had to step to the head of the bed and look, so I did.
“Fucking hell!” I gasped audibly, swiftly looking around to see if I’d been heard, but I was alone in this quiet white room.
The braided beaded hair, high forehead, wide face, flat nose and huge mouth looked very peaceful as I let my eyes wander down over the shroud that masked her body from her neck. She was no spring chicken that’s true but she had a kind of statuesque presence when I’d seen her on the screen. Was she naked under there I wondered? I took a sneaky peep and found she had a typical green hospital gown on.
It would be open down the back, but I couldn’t risk moving her, yet I was tempted. Shit! I hadn’t seen a black woman’s naked body ever in the flesh so to speak apart from strippers on a college celebration night in Dublin. I rubbed my growing cock and wondered and then it dawned on me. If I lifted the bottom of the shroud I would see straigh up ... up her legs and ... I looked at her covered feet, the two pyramids at least a foot or so apart. Jeez! Easy, perfect viewing.
Lifting the top half of the shroud I took a quiet stroke of her chest and felt the fleshy wobble of her tits. Her nipples felt flat. Daringly, I fiddled my hand inside the gaping neck of the gown and rubbed it over her breasts, the warmth, intimacy and sheer excitement of feeling a celeb’s boobs making my cock grow hard. Her nipples were indeed flat, but I could imagine how they would grow into grape sized bubs when she was aroused. It was then that I suddenly remembered reading or hearing some salacious gossip or an intended slur by one of her lovers or ex-lovers, was it Ted Danson?
Did Whoopi Goldberg really have an enormous cunt?
To find out, I lifted the bottom edge of the shroud and peeped in as if I had to be quick, because other employees were around. But this back room was really at the back of the complex with one access corridor and if I listened real close I would hear approaching feet on the tiled corridor. The pinkish orange soles of her feet first hit me with the contrast against her gleaming black limbs, but I swiftly peered further, past her chubby knees, over her thick thighs to her crotch, luckily unhindered by underclothes, but concealed by the flattened bulk of her thighs which appeared stuck together. I could see a patch of black curly hair however. I was excited to have the freedom to roam over a recumbent, mature, naked black female of such celebrity stature.
I shoved her legs wide apart, alarmed when the lower right one slid off the bed swinging from her knee, but alarm turned to delight as the full glory of her snatch was hinged into view. She had a neat set of pubes, not unruly and not sparse, which framed a pair of puss flaps that would have graced St Bartholomew’s Hospital main door. I mean they were huge sort of gates, folded and curled together in a big untidy knot. I thrust my hand up and felt them. The silky warm texture gave way under my probing digits and I found my hand slid easily into her cunt. Dry, yes - initially but soon very accommodating, well - I was in up to my wrist.
Pushing harder, my arm went in and for sheer devilment at play - I infiltrated my other hand in, making the shroud slither sinuously off to the floor. That scared me briefly but my other hand was now alongside the first and I was up to my elbows inside Whoopi.
While adjusting my feet to get from the tentative position I started with, to the positive one I meant to continue in, the bulk of my arms widened and her cunt stretched again. I pushed until my biceps were enveloped, examining the textured, flexibility of her sumptuous labia around them, seeing the lump of her clitty bobbing at me above my arms. It looked so red and succulent, I leaned down, not easy with my arms engulfed inside her, nibbled at it, pushing further. Juice flowed and my shoulders widened the impressive portals to Whoopi’s cunt and after a few bites at the black woman’s cherry, it was easier to lower my head and tunnel further.
I managed to get my feet on a bar across the trolley beneath the bed and hoist my torso up, giving me extra leverage as I eagerly explored the wondrous cavern that was opening up for me. The purple blackness was occasionally lit by shafts of light as I manoeuvred my upper body in. Fucking shit! I was climbing inside Whoopi Goldberg’s cunt. What did help was her natural wetness, which was now becoming more evident as I titillated the walls of her vagina.
Then I heard voices, but not from the corridor. From inside. Was it really voices? Maybe I’d upset her digestion system and her stomach was rumbling, after all I was lumbering about above her bowels. Suddenly I was being dragged inside. I tumbled in upside down and was enveloped in the inky darkness, my eyes trying to adjust. Hands felt over me, in my crotch and one gripped my cock hard and lingered for a while and then a voice said.
“Fuck it’s a man. Just our luck, but to be expected. And he’s fully clothed.”
“Who’s there?” I whispered.
“So she’s still at it?” came a different voice, a younger more nasal tone than the casual, streetwise one.
“Still at what?”I replied.”Look fellas whoever you are. I didn’t really want to get in here...”
“Yeah but you are in here and it’ll make life easier for us all if you get rid of your clothing,” interrupted the older one.
“But I’m not staying here,” I protested, my eyes adjusting in the darkness.
“That’s a joke,” said the other. “You ain’t getting outta here.”
My eyes peered into the gloom and I saw a small fat man, naked. The other much younger, naked too - had big black rimmed spectacles and a 60s haircut.
Both were impressively hung, in fact the younger one was virtually erect and was cradling his dick as he peered at me and it worried me that they insisted I got naked too.
“Look I don’t know who you are and...”
They moved suddenly and the next thing I was stripped and my clothes were being bundled back through Whoopi Goldberg’s labia. I was dead worried that someone would enter the room and find them and accuse me, but here again they hadn’t a clue as to where I was, but as the light briefly penetrated her cunt, the truth about my companions became evident at the same time as Whoopi’s fanny flaps closed.
Suddenly I was grabbed, bent over and I felt a cock rammed into my arse. The pain was excruciating, but I couldn’t cry out as another cock was being thrust down my throat. They fucked me at both ends and I just had to relax my sphincter and let Buddy Holly ream me. At the same time the lesser cock of John Belushi was deep throating me and I had to learn not to gag pretty fast as they quickened the tempo. It seemed to take hours and probably did, but I grew to enjoy this double meat helping in my first ever homosexual encounter with two internationally known super stars.
Was I now a celebrity?
Inside Whoopi’s cunt being shafted by two famous musical icons, must earn pretty good street cred ratings. I was bucked and walloped furiously until they spent and I felt full as their erections gradually waned, leaving me with a battered mouth and torn arse, but feeling strangely serene. As they fell away from me, I slid sideways and rolled into a ball against the mucous membranes in the sexy cocoon and contemplated my future. Surely they couldn’t mean I couldn’t escape. They answered for me.
“You’ll learn to like it sonny. I’m John and this is...”
“I know who you are,” I interrupted. “Just what the fu... ?”
Buddy looked at me dismissively.