3 comments/ 48563 views/ 3 favorites Snow Jobs By: JordonLynn Author’s acknowledgement: I want to thank the Lit members who cast their votes and made Chapter 2 of Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples the Interracial Story of the Year. This is an honor I never expected to come my way when I first began posting my humble offerings. Thank You. Even more, I want to personally thank all of my readers who voted and made it Story of the Month for December, which put me in the running for Story of The Year in the first place. Without you, I (in fact all writers here at Literotica) would just be another hack writer in search of approval. Thank you! Thank you! Thank all of you! JL Snow Jobs Part 3 of Seniors Only Chapter 1 Victory Party Fort Getaway… The Summerset Community College Salamanders won its next to last game of the season handily; 48 to 3. And in a nail-biting finish the day after Thanksgiving, with a near blizzard blowing directly in his face, “Surprising” skinny Jimmy punched a 51 yard field goal dead center through the uprights to give us an 11 to 10 victory over our archrivals — a touchdown and 2 more on the extra point in the first quarter, then a safety on the very first play of the third quarter by them/ an almost too late fourth quarter touchdown and 2 point PAT and then that miraculous field goal, with no time left on the clock, for our side. What this added up to wasn’t just giving Summerset C C its first-ever undefeated season; it also provided some of us a “convenient” reason for throwing another black cock/Sluthood gangbang orgy. For showing their grit and determination on the field of honor, and also for being so incredibly triumphant with their hard black cocks off the field, my select cadre of starting players deserved a salaciously special victory party. This private victory party had to wait for the following weekend, however, because the town of Summerset threw their own blowout for their victorious team. I swear half the town was in the jubilant, serpentine snake dance out to the huge bonfire Saturday night, and Sunday was an all day picnic—which had to be held in the auditorium because it was snowing to beat the band all over the county. It also had to be postponed because something as multiply taboo as an interracial/ intergenerational/ teacher-student/ with a generous helping of same-sex orgy required some hush-hush planning in order to keep it hushed up. The participants in this private party spilling the beans wasn’t a concern; that had been taken care of when we had returned home from my initiation into the Sluthood. Before anyone had been allowed off the bus that night, I had walked down the length of the bus, stopping and personally thanking each one of this select cadre of black cocks, and Julie, for making my initiation into the Sluthood the most memorable weekend of my entire life… bar none. Having passed out the honey, I then served up the bitters. Diane’s Rules of Order were laid down, and would be followed to the letter. There were only six unwritten, yet inflexible rules, which I felt were both reasonable and prudent. 1) Remaining clothed longer than five minutes after arriving at a party—except for panties (preferably crotchless) and jockstraps—was not an option. 2) That all sex must be consensual, but anything agreeable to all parties engaged in a sex act (including pee games) could not be condemned. 3) At a gangbang party, whether it was for sucking off a hard black cock, noisily slurping the cum and cunt cream out of another slut’s cunt or asshole, or begging and pleading for a never ending supply of both, a white slut’s mouth had to be available to all cummers. The same rule applied to both her cunt and asshole. 4) As for the guys, they were to come prepared to have their black cocks used and used well, and also—since sluts were bound by the rule of non-refusal—it was only fair that any slut’s request to be used by any one particular black cock, or by any number of black cocks, could not be refused by its, or their owners. Rule #5 was for Chantel’s benefit, but I was all for it and, legally, it made good sense. Except for necessary medications (Midol, asthma inhalers, aspirin, and the like.) no drugs of any kind. Period. End of discussion! Rule #6 was, by far, the most important: If there was to be another “anything goes” gangbang, everyone “Keeps their fucking mouths tightly shut!” about what went on, or about what might be being planned, or anything about anyone involved. So much as an accidental slip of the tongue, or an overheard whisper concerning who we were or the things we did with and to one another could bring the tenuous house of taboo cards we were hiding inside of crashing down on our all of heads. And I—being the “supposedly responsible” adult—would suffer more than all of them combined. I had received solemn vows from everyone that they would abide by these prudently inflexible rules and, after all the hot and sweaty and very wet intimacies we had so recently shared together, I was willing to accept their promises at face value. But it was Amir backing my play by nodding out the window, were Ike and Mike were stalwartly standing guard, that actually sealed the deal. No one wanted to chance getting paid a late night visit by those two intimidating, with ice water in their veins, blocks of loyally lethal black granite. Julie came by the house that Monday evening—ostensibly to study with Chantel, but really to get in on the hush-hush slut confab concerning the major obstacle to what was being planned; where to hold our private victory party. Upstairs in Chantel’s bedroom (so there would be no chance of us three annoying ladies disturbing Edwin—who was already closeted in his anal-retentive study) Chantel and I kicked a number of options back and forth, but we kept coming back to the motel where my weekend induction into the exclusive Sluthood had taken place. It was far enough away from Summerset for us to safely carry on any way we wanted, and Amir owned it, therefore, our privacy was assured. The motel‘s only drawback was that it was too damned far away this time of the year; 60 miles, on unpredictable winter roads. Julie—bless her All American wholesome/blackcock slut, carpet munching heart—came to the rescue. “Why not throw it up at my parent’s cabin?” she offered. “My parents never go up there in the winter.” Seeing that she had our undivided attention, Julie expanded on her reasons why we should choose her parent’s cabin. “I’ve had several parties up there and mom and dad haven’t had any problem with me having parties there. Young people don’t need a couple of old fuddy-duddies around when they’re having a good time, seems to be their philosophy.” That a couple of those parties may have degenerated into butt-naked sex orgies was something her parents really don’t want to know anything about. “As long as everything’s ship shape the next time they go up, no obvious signs that anything ‘out of line’ had been going on, they choose to believe that nothing has.” Julie took a breath and was about to launch into more reasons why her parent’s cabin would be the best choice, when I took her hand. “Biggest mistake a lot of salesmen make,” I cautioned, “don’t oversell the product.” “We’re convinced,” Chantel added, grabbing Julie’s other hand. “All you have to do is call your folks and make sure it’s okay with them.” Julie bounced off the bed and called home. And she didn’t have to say anything when she hung up the phone; the gleam in her eyes was a clear indication that the deal was sealed. Julie’s parent’s mountain cabin would be the site of our Black Cock/Sluthood Victory Party. * A cabin? The towering structure separated by a flagstone walkway from the heated four-car garage Julie pulled her father’s Navigator into wasn’t a mere mountain cabin; it was a sprawling, three-story, slate-roofed, log mansion, with—if the three wide and deep flagstone chimneys I had counted coming up the gravel drive were an indication—at least three huge fireplaces, if not six. “You said your parents never come up here in the winter?” I incredulously asked, climbing down out of the tall SUV. “Come all the way up here to Fort Getaway? In the dead of winter!” Julie shook her head. “Not a fucking chance in Hell. Dad, even though he’s got this great big ‘go anywhere-climb anything’ 4wheel drive Navigator, doesn’t like driving on snow packed mountain roads. And mom? Within two hours after getting here, she’s already bored to tears with nothing to do except watch TV or stare out the window at the spectacular mountain scenery.” From the gigantic split-log deck—that went entirely around this log mansion—where Chantel and I were impatiently stomping our feet, waiting for Julie to stop fumbling with the keys so we could shag our shivering asses inside and get a roaring fire started in one of those big fireplaces, the view was indeed spectacular. The world up here was pristine white with several inches of new snow and the sides of the steep mountains were carpeted with dense stands of dark pines, powdered sugar-dusted and randomly gashed by jagged outcroppings of naked granite. I couldn’t wait to get up to the top floor—which had appeared to be one big room, glassed in on all four sides. The “cabin” was still in the foothills, but from that high above the surrounding scrub pine trees, a person would be able to see, like… forever. A blast of warm air rushed out at us from the stained glass French doors when Julie finally managed to get them open. “Dad sent a couple of guys up yesterday to make sure everything was ship-shape,” she explained as Chantel and I raced past her. It might be spectacular up here, but it was also bone-chilling cold. “You know, like… making sure the electricity was still on, that the phones still work, the heat was turned on and the water pipes hadn’t frozen up. You know, ship-shaping shit.” She unzipped her ski parka and shook the snow out of her hair. “Sure hope they didn’t forget to make sure the wood boxes were filled. Otherwise, the guys are going to be worn out hauling some in when they get here. I mean, you know, being all pooped out, they like… might not be able to get their black cocks up for us.” “In that case,” I assured her—even though the likelihood of my select cadre not being able to get their black cocks up and ready to service a white slut were less than slim to none. “Well, we’ll just have to settle for having a hot and sweaty lezzie orgy… all by ourselves.” I quickly added, “Till their blacks cocks are up and ready to do us some good, naturally.” “If by ‘all by ourselves’ you’re counting just the three of us, Diane…” Chantel nervously cleared her throat. “I’m ahhh… I’m afraid you’re going to have to up the number of hot and sweaty lezzies in your woman/girl/girls orgy.” “Up the number?” I scowled at Chantel. “By how many?” I was prepared to take on whatever was pointed in my direction this weekend, but… “And I don’t recall anywhere in the unwritten rules—that we all ‘supposedly’ swore solemn oaths to abide by—there being any provisos made for invited guests.” “They won’t be guests, Diane; they’re your other two Sluthood sisters.” “Rhonda and Holly are coming!” Julie exclaimed. “When are they supposed to get here?” “They’re coming up with the guys this evening.” “Oh wow! This is gonna be like… a mega bash now.” Any more exuberance out of Julie and she would be breaking out her pompoms. But, I couldn’t really blame her. I sort of knew Rhonda and Holly, not in the Biblical sense, but from seeing them around school and at the football games. They were both on the cheerleading squad. Rhonda was a nineteen year old sophomore, one of those unmistakably Midwestern, fresh-faced girls, with a rash of freckles on her face and cornflower blue eyes. A natural redhead, with a very healthy chest, Rhonda’s personality was bubbly and effervescent. An eighteen-year-old freshman, Holly was even more fresh-faced than Rhonda and was even more bubbly and effervescent, if that was possible. A long haired brunette, with dark eyes, and an only slightly less impressive chest, young Holly was the very epitome of the squeaky clean, staunchly Baptist, rosy-cheeked farm girl. I never would have suspected either of these innocent appearing young ladies to be blackcock sluts, let alone that the two of them would also be avid carpet munchers, which would account for Julie’s enthusiasm. Chantel’s cheeks were blushing bright pink, and it wasn’t from the cold. I gave her my stern, ‘I am not overjoyed with this unexpected turn of events’ look. “Well, young lady?” “I only heard they were coming along this morning, Diane,” she waffled “I’m sorry, and I know, I should have told you before we left town, but you not knowing either of them, I was afraid you would want to call the whole thing off.” Chantel’s luminous dark eyes went all sheepish. ‘Forgive me… mom?” There she went with that damned “mom” again! It had worked on me the first time we’d had sex, and she knew it. And, damnit… it was working on me again. “You’re forgiven, you forked-tongued slut,” I sniffed. “Besides, since Rhonda and Holly both have seniority on me, I wouldn’t have had the right to call off this victory party. The guys deserve it, and so do we… all five of us nasty Sluthood sisters.” “Have you ever got that right, Mrs, Chapel,” Julie pouted. “I haven’t had anything except my fingers or a dildo inside me since Monday night when we played stink-finger/pussy-lick on Chanty’s bed.” She slid her eyes over at Chantel. “Sorry about you having to change your sheets and comforter, but you guys spurted, too.” “Our explosive orgasms didn’t have pee in them,” Chantel sniped back. Seeing the embarrassed hurt come into Julie’s eyes, she backed off. “Forget it. What’s a little harmless urine between nasty sisters of the Sluthood, anyway? It isn’t like we haven’t tasted girl piss before.” “And the odds are better than excellent that we’ll get the opportunity to taste even more this weekend,” I interjected. “Now, you two Sluthood sisters kiss and make up; we have a victory orgy to get ready for.” Chantel and Julie kissed and for a minute I thought they were going to take “making up” to a more intimate level right there on the wet floor of the tiled entry way. Their “make up” kiss finally broke and her voice more than a little breathless, Julie said, “Well, we have about five hours till the rest of the gang gets here.” I fully understood Julie’s breathlessness; Chantel’s kisses had the very same effect on me. “You guys want the grand tour Fort Getaway before we go back outside and unload the Navigator?” “Why not,” Chantel and I chimed in together. And each of us taking an elbow, we let Julie lead us on a room-by-room, floor-by-floor tour of grandiose Fort Getaway. I knew Julie’s parents were well off, but this second “getaway” house made my primary residence look like a cheaply furnished hovel. The main room was easily as big as my living room, den, and dining room combined, if not larger and more spacious. And the way it was furnished, being well off came awfully close to being wealthy. All of the furnishings—the deep double recliners, the two long, overstuffed couches, the coffee tables—rough cut slabs of highly polished cherry wood, the matching end tables and occasional tables—were expensive rustic and expensively big and comfy. The entire westerly facing outside wall, parquet floor to the open-beamed ceiling, was triple-paned thermal glass, which afforded a picturesque view of the winter wonderland outside. There was a den off of this breath-taking great room with a gigantic wall-mounted plasma TV that made the big screen in my den look like a dinky portable TV. There was also another of those big comfy couches, two more deep double recliners, another cherry wood coffee table and four more end tables, and three velour beanbags each the size of an opened beach umbrella. There was also a lead-paned picture widow that offered a very nice view to the north. Through a door into a full bathroom and out the door on the other side, brought us into a kitchen you could set mine down in the middle of and would still have room left over for a bowling lane on each side of it. Off of this gleaming chef’s kitchen was a laundry room. Nothing special in it, not unless you consider two double-load washers and two industrial size dryers being just a bit much. “Clothes get wet when you’re playing in the snow, or skiing, and need drying so you can go back out and play right away,” Julie remarked with a “no big deal’ shrug of her shoulders as she escorted wide-eyed Chantel and I up the half log staircase. What’s there to say about the second floor? Other than all four big bedrooms were just as expensively furnished as the downstairs rooms, that each bedroom had thermal-paned corners windows that provided its occupant with great views south and east, east and north, north and west, and west and south respectively; that all four bedrooms had king size, pillow-top, four-poster canopy beds; not to mention the little “niceties’ in those to-die-for bedrooms; like having its own normal-size fireplace, and also their own private bathroom… Well, you get the picture, I’m sure. Or, you should. The top floor was just as I had suspected; one big room, walled in by pane after pane after pane of triple thermal glass—giving us a panoramic view of the world outside in all four directions—with a fireplace in the center that, stooped over, I could have waddled through, from one side of the room to the other, if it didn’t already have logs and kindling properly laid in it, ready and waiting for someone to toss in a lit match. Except for some overstuffed easy chairs and occasional tables widely scattered about, the room was cavernous, and would become even more so at night. But, you would have one hell of an unobstructed view of twinkling heavens… provided there was no cloud cover obscuring the night sky. “Dad calls this the Lookout,” Julie said, staring off to the west. “It’s my favorite place in the whole house.” Standing along side her, I put my arm around Julie’s shoulders. “Mine, too, Julie.” Julie raised her eyes to mine. “It is? You really honestly like it up here in The Lookout, Mrs. Chapel? You’re not just saying that you do to be polite?” “It’s simply breathtaking, Julie,” I assured her. “In fact, the entire house is a bit overwhelming to grasp in one viewing.” Julie turned her attention back outside. “When it’s all mine—after mom and dad have gone on to their great rewards, naturally—this is where I’m going to live out the rest of my life.” “If I owned it,” Chantel said in a soft voice, “you wouldn’t be able to blast me out of here with a ton of dynamite.” I chuckled. “The size of the logs used to build this fortress, it would take more than one single ton to even scratch the surface.” Standing there with Julie and Chantel, silently viewing the majestic wonderland outside, I got the strongest feeling that a fortress was exactly what this house was to Julie; her fortress from the world outside; a refuge, where no demands were put on her, where she could be free to be whomever and whatever she chose to be; a private place, where no one would expect her to be what she didn’t feel like being at that moment—not a wholesome All American cheerleader, not a Sluthood sister, not a ditzy-headed, pseudo-Valley Girl, not a submissive lesbian slut. The longer I thought about it, the more certain I became; Fort Getaway was a safe haven, where Julie could drop all facades and just be who she was deep down inside; just… Julie. You call this winning… It was after dusk when Julie hollered down for Chantel and I to haul our asses up to the Lookout. Not sure if she had meant “as soon as you can” or “Right now!” Chantel and I raced up the two flights of stairs, only to find Julie standing at the south window wall with her arms calmly folded across her sweatered chest. “Injuns comin’.” Snow Jobs What? Chantel and looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and joined Julie at the windows. A line of flickering lights could be seen a couple miles below, snaking their way up the curving road. “Injuns, huh?” I snorted. It was just the headlights of the rest of the party coming our way, blinking on and off in the thick pines. “They’re coming up here with every intention of raping and ravaging us, aren’t they?” “They damned well better be,” Chantel laughed. “Looks like three vehicles of pesky ravaging injuns are headed our way.” “I make it four,” I bantered back. “Pussy lick… out on the front deck… till everyone else is inside?” Chantel challenged. You serious money gamblers can chortle all you want, but playful as it had been intended, Chantel had just thrown down a hefty wager. With the sun now on the other side of the mountains, the outside temperature had been dropping steadily… ten degrees in that last forty-five minutes alone. It was shaping up to be the first cold snap of the year. They were freakish, even this late in the Fall—the potentially killer freezes generally held off until February and March—but that didn’t make an early warning-freeze anything to sneeze at. In regards to Chantel’s lascivious bet, I carefully assed my one hole card; Chantel wasn’t wearing her glasses and I didn’t need them for distance… yet. I smiled at my reflection in the window and upped the ante to see if Chantel was bluffing. “Licked gets to wear boots, the lickee has to do it just the way she’s dressed right now.” The three of us were decked out in Summerset C C cheerleader outfits and our pompoms were waiting by the front door. Mine was a little snug, but, per the rules, it wouldn’t still be on me five minutes after Chantel led us in a rousing cheer for our victorious starters. Without batting an eye, Chantel called my counter bluff. “You’re on.” It wound up being a win-win/no win pot. Out on the snow drifted front deck, with the crotch of her too tight, powder blue cheerleading panties pulled aside and the lickee resolutely kneeling bare-legged in the snow, the “winner” stood there shivering her damned near bare ass off, getting her pussy, admittedly, nicely licked, but impatiently watching all nine of our startled, then laughing victory partiers troop past us and into the warm house. When the last of the lewdly entertained onlookers finally backed inside the wide open doorway—Jimmy wouldn’t stop standing there, gawking at us—I pushed Chantel into the snow, bolted inside and damned near had my entire frozen ass shoved into the monolithic living room fireplace when she slammed into me. “Are… aren’t you gla… glad you wo…won the be… bet?” she stammered, flipping up her short skirt and sticking her own ass back at the roaring fire. I shiveringly retorted, “You ca…call being turn… turned into a da… damn near naked pop…Popsicle win… winning!” “That’ll teach you to bet with an elder stateswoman slut, Chanty,” Amir laughed. “Not… not a fu… fucking chan… chance,” Chantel sputtered back and winked at me. “Double or no… nothing next time, slut?” ‘Oh, what the fucking hell’, I decided. “You’re on. But next time the lickee has to do it bare-ass naked.” Everyone laughed uproariously. It had been a crazy, bone-chilling stunt, but it had gotten our Black Cock/Sluthood Victory Party off to a rollicking good start. At it again… Chantel did lead us in a rousing cheer for our “Triumphantly up and ready to go” black cocked heroes. But, it wasn’t given by four scantily clad cheerleaders and one teacher whose borrowed outfit was too short for her long, lanky body; it was four Junior College girls and one elder stateswoman slut jumping up and down, chanting and waving our pompoms in the air… all five of us, obligatorily, bare-ass naked, our naked tits flopping around obscenely. Tossing aside our pompoms, Holly, Julie, I, Chantel and Rhonda—all five of us crouched, our knees wide apart, our hands firmly planted on our hips and our naked asses to the fireplace, determinedly faced down our equally determined hoard of raping and ravaging, big black cocked injuns. And, in unison, we challenged them to, “Come get your just rewards… Boyz!” After a spirited blowjob contest (5 on our team and 7 on their team, I—being the elder stateswoman got the honor of taking Nubian’s cock in my mature cunt and the truly adventurous anal slut on our team, Holly, ecstatically took all twelve inches of young Surprise’s hard black cock in her ass) in which no one lost, all 12 of us won big—the guys got to nut in our mouths, we got to swallow all of their slurypy cum—we five victorious sluts marched into the kitchen to put together some nutritious party favors for our big cocked, mouth-ravaging (and 2 assholes ravaged, too) black injuns. “Nutritious” is really a relative term. Down below, in civilized society, it normally consists of one or more of all four food groups—with heavy emphasis placed on frequent consumptions of fruits and vegetables. But, up here in our “anything goes” sex fortress, except for the platters of hamburgers and hotdogs Rhonda and Holly grilled up on the big griddle—alongside the biggest electric range I had ever seen, it was all finger foods. Bags of chips and pretzels and bowls of dips and chili; boxes of crackers and cans of squirt cheese; plates of thinly sliced summer sausage, pepperoni and salami, Swiss, Cheddar and Colby cheeses; long neck bottles of cold beer—furnished by the team’s “old man”, Bull—or frosted mugs of Pepsi, Coke, 7up, Mountain Dew, Cherry cola or root beer, for those who didn’t wish to imbibe. Putting anything resembling real honest-to-God food in our bellies could wait until sometime late the next morning. Tonight, it was “let it all hang out” party time! And we five hyper-sexed white sluts really liked the way our guys let their big hard black cocks just hang right out there… generally speaking, right in our appreciative Sluthood sister faces. After the stirring performance Chantel, Julie and I had put on for them at my initiation, I knew it would be coming sooner or later, and sure enough, Cannon demanded another hot and explosive lezzie show…this one starting all five sisters of the Sluthood. Like we sluts had any intention of not complying. Yeah, right! It would be just as much for the guy’s benefit as for our own. As you’ve, no doubt, realized by now, on top of everything we were willing to do for our guys (and to one another) or allow them to do to us, all five of us were blatant exhibitionists. Doing ourselves in front of the guys was, as Julie put it, “Like… this mega-major turnon.” The conundrum this time wasn’t which toys to start off with; it was whose bag of goodies to choose them from. Julie’s bag of “girl toys” was impressive. But, the unbelievable conglomeration of bristling vibrators, big black dildos, long, thick, black double-dongs, plus four extremely realistic, huge, black strapons that literally spilled out onto the floor from Holly’s proudly opened trunk—and that’s not including a puzzling four-pronged, bouncing beach ball contraption I chased down and couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it could be used for, or even how, until Holly explained that it was for having a sort of four-way lesbian circle jerk… I mean, knowing we could have our pick of any or all of the hard, buzzing, bendable, but realistically firm, or silly squiggly sexual aids in Holly’s military foot locker… It was like… like being turned hog-wild loose in a veritable sex toy factory. “Where in heaven’s name did you get all of…” I gasped. “This!” “Over the Net,” Holly matter-of-factly informed me. “You’d be surprise what really nasty things you can get off the Net, Diane. They’ve got this one thing, it’s called a Sybian, it’s like this drum, turned on its side, with this big black cock sticking up on it… You squat on the drum, with that big cock all up inside you, then you turn it on and the mechanized cock does most of the work; buzzing and worming around inside you, fucking in and out of your pussy while you just sit there, or ride the hell out of your Sybian Boney Pony.” Holly’s eyes were getting glassier the more she explained how to use this Sybian thing to me. “I really want to get one, but I know dad would go fucking ballistic if he found out I was charging $1500 on my credit card for just one sex toy.” “Fifteen hundred dollars! For a ‘Fuck yourself’ aid!” “Sex isn’t cheap on the Net,” Rhonda advised me. “You get what you’re willing to pay for out there, and $1500 is about right for a Sybian, though that would be for one of their top-of-the-line models.” I really wanted to hear more about this, but, with impatient Cannon snarling, “We gonna get a show from you sluts, or not?” there were more real—not realistic—matters to be seen to and I snatched up the long, gold vibrator on top of Holly’s awe-inspiring collection of sex toys. “Back to back to back,” I loudly suggested, “same as the last time?” “I don’t think so,” Holly counter offered. Digging around in her trunk, she pulled out a big, black gel vibrator and held it aloft like it was the winning trophy. “If I read you right, it’s gonna be five sluts masturbating for our guys this time around.” It was pretty much the same show Chantel, Julie and I had put on for the guys at my inauguration orgy… with a couple of exceptions. This time it was five sluts, arranged back to back to back to back to back in the middle of a large blue tarp to protect the expensive carpeting, wantonly masturbating ourselves to orgasm for our guy’s entertainment. But that wasn’t the biggest difference. I could spurt—more frequently and with greater ease now—and Julie was getting better at it with the guys watching. I had thought Chantel could gush, but I was wrong; Chantel only spurted very hard. Holly GUSHED! Shaky from my own explosive orgasm, I crawled around to witness for myself the copious gushes of watery girl cum that spewed from the depths of the young girl’s brunette-haired cunt. “My FUCKING God!” I was, to say the least, incredulous. “How do you make yourself do that?” “I didn’t know I could,” Holly answered weakly. If it hadn’t been for the other naked bodies propping her up, she would have toppled over; she was that spent. “Rhonda… Rhonda showed me I could.” Flanking her, Rhonda and Julie eased her back onto the floor; otherwise she likely would have knocked herself out if she fell back. “I didn’t show her how to do anything that doesn’t come natural to her, Diane,” Rhonda said. “The first time she did it to me, I thought a water main had broken in the dorm room below ours.” Holly’s eyes were closed and her lower jaw hung slack. There was a blissful radiance in her freckled face. Girl juice—now in fits and starts—still spurted from her sopping-wet pussy. “How long does she do this?” I had to ask. “She’ll trickle for another minute, maybe two,” Rhonda chuckled. “But it’s going to be twenty minutes or so before she can actively participate in much of anything.” “I can well believe that.” If I had cum that hard, instead of lying there, basking in the glow of a truly explosive orgasm, I’d be out cold for the rest of the night. The angry purple head of Phat’s hard black cock looked like it was about to burst. “Can she still suck a cock like that?” he asked. “Stick yours in her mouth and find out,” Rhonda offered. Kneeling astride Holly’s head, Phat slid his severely swollen cockhead between her parted lips. Holly’s mouth immediately went to work on it, greedily pulling more of his cock into her mouth with her lips. She was quickly suckling like a contended, half-asleep baby on a long, thick black nipple. “Holly Shit!” Phat gasped a few seconds later and with his balls tight against Holly’s tightly pursed lips, most of his cock in her throat, he shot jet after jet of hot jism into hungrily-swallowing Holly’s heaving belly. Holly’s cunt spewed one long stream of girl juice as she continued swallowing around Phat’s pulsating cock. Rhonda laughed. “That’s the one part of her that continues to function, no matter what… her mouth. Holly’s eaten me while asleep… honest. I’ve woken up… so fucking horny I’m ready to cry, but all I have to do is squat over her face and the second my pussy touches her lips, Holly’s insatiable mouth instinctively goes into action to get me off. I’ve cum in her face and she’s never even woken up… just licked her lips with that contented smile on her kisser… still sound asleep.” Rhonda leaned down, took the last spurt of Holly’s girl juice in her face, then French kissed her wet pussy and lewdly winked at me. “Our ‘not-so-innocent’ Iowa farm girl is un- FUCKING –believable.” “You got that right,” I agreed, just before anxiously closing my mouth around Boner’s hard black cock. As I contentedly sucked off Boner, from the corner of my left eye I saw Chantel swallow Amir’s cock and Julie go down on D-bone while Surprise moved around to fuck her doggie with his impossible cock. From the corner of my right eye, I watched Rhonda smile as she settle herself completely onto Bull’s huge cock, then take Cannon’s presented cock into her mouth. The room was filled with the moans and groans, noisy sucking and slurping, and the unmistakable sounds of horny wet white cunts being superbly fucked by big hard black cocks. Chantel got her mouth filled with hot jizz from Amir’s slender black cock, then Julie got a nice load from D-bone’s. I slowed my sucking of Boner’s boner and watched Rhonda swallow Cannon’s load of spunk. I shifted my spying gaze and watched Jimmy pound Julie from behind with all twelve inches of his cock until, at the last possible second, he pulled his cock from her cunt and blew a huge load against the puckered rose bud of her asshole. Back to my right, Cannon had backed away and Rhonda now had her hands braced against Bull’s pecs. With glazed eyes she was fucking herself on his cock in a mindless frenzy. “God, your cock is fantastic, Bull,” she panted as she pounded her cunt up and down on his cock. She franticly rocked back and forth and side to side. “Gimme me your load, Baby. Shoot your hot load of baby juice way up inside me.” I tried to time my sucking of Boner with Rhonda’s demented, determined fucking of Bull. I came real close. Rhonda’s back arched and her entire body went rigid as Bull pumped his baby seed into her just as Boner’s cock swelled in my mouth. My attention necessarily diverted, I heard Rhonda gasp, ”Yesssssss, Lover, pump it into me! Knock your nasty white slut up, Ernie!” as I sucked, slurped and swallowed all of Boner’s yummy spunk. Only after I had dutifully milked Boner’s balls empty with my hands and mouth did I turn my full attention to Rhonda and Bull. Rhonda was prostrate on top of Bull and they were making out; not like two people who had just fucked on the floor in front of others, but like… Well, as two lovers would. And then it hit me. Ernie? I had distinctly heard Rhonda call Bull Ernie when he had ejaculated inside her and I couldn’t help thinking, “Was there more going on here with Bull and Rhonda than met the casual eye?” Was there possibly more than just some hard black cock/ hot white slut fucking developing between Rhonda and Ernie? To be continued…