0 comments/ 146542 views/ 2 favorites Paint Her White Ch. 01 By: Stardog Champion The smell was the first thing to hit her. Her first waking inhale was stenched with stale beer, cigarette smoke and an ungodly mixture of various male colognes, and much to her complete embarrassment, most of those scents were caking her naked flesh. "Your Mother would say you're nothing more than a pathetic whore if she saw you like this," 55 year old Jean Shulman cringed to herself. "Yeah Jean," she replied out loud into the early morning silence of her decimated motel room, "If you saw someone in the same shape as you are right now...You'd call them a whore too." Opening her eyes was the next step. Between the slithering weight of the sun beaming through the Eastern window and the thudding grind inside her own head, that task proved to be immense. "OHHH...GGRR," Jean winced when the first images of the room began to filter between her barely parted eyelids. "If this is what the room looks like... I don't even want to think what I look like!" The memory of what happened the night before slowly creeping back into Jean's mind, the 'morning after' ramifications were thankfully pushed aside for the moment by an even more pressing force, her straining bladder. Lunging up from the bed to rush to the bathroom, Jean nearly tripped on the mammoth swirl of sheets and clothes tangled on the floor. "Gotta go...gotta go...gotta go," she mumbled, reaching out to grab the frame of the bathroom's entrance before pulling her unsteady shell of a body through the doorway. Looking as if she was walking on shattered glass as her feet shuffled across the bathroom's chilly linoleum, Jean openly wondered how her 55 year old body had held up under such extreme conditions, a mere eight hours earlier. A cold wave jolted through Jean's spine when she sat down on the rim and realized one of her previous night's visitors hadn't put the seat back down. Raising up slightly to adjust her situation, once she was safely perched back on the commode, Jean allowed the vertigo sweeping through her system to settle as her bladder emptied. Once she was able to raise her head and focus for several seconds on her surroundings, Jean caught a half darkened glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. "God...Damn...," the normally religious widow mouthed from her seat on the bowl. "It's even worse than I thought." * * * * * Three Weeks Earlier Jean Shulman had always hated being the center of attention. A trait unusual for someone who had spent over three decades as a school teacher. In her private life however, Jean had been married for 21 years to a car salesman who often dominated a room and over the years, she had developed a comfort level blending into the background. When her Husband Floyd had passed away eight years earlier, Jean found it very difficult coming out of those social shadows, and instead decided to funnel her energies into her church activities and career rather than seeking out another relationship. Jean's natural humility and concern for others had served her quite well over the years. She had made very few enemies and had the utmost respect of her peers and most of the now thousands of students that had passed through her classroom since her first teaching assignment in 1973. That innate humility was surely being put to the test however as Jean sat under the horrible yellowish and humming glow of her school's gymnasium lights, at the head of one of several tables covered with fancy red tableclothes, surrounded by an assembled crowd of friends, colleagues, students and wellwishers. "I shouldn't be here...not at least for another 10 years," Jean bitterly groaned under her breath, despite the vibrant smile that remained on her face as she engaged everyone in the room. "Rubber chicken and a gold watch...that's what 31 years of service gets you," Jean's inner vitriol continued to fester as acquaintance after acquaintance came up to thank her and wish her well in retirement. "Shame no one from the city school board could make it," Jean laughed to herself, replaying in her head the stress of the past year and why the higher ups on the Charleston school board had decided, because of the city's educational budget crunch, that she was more valuable to them taking early retirement than paying her the salary she had earned over the years. Sensing the writing was on the wall, Jean begrudgingly accepted their offer. Between her pension, savings and stocks, Jean knew that money wasn't the issue, she could live out the remainder of her life in relative financial comfort. The problem was she had always been a teacher. When she was married, her career was the only thing that gave her an identity separate from her Husband and her children. And after his death, with the kids all married and moved on with their lives, teaching was the one constant that gave Jean a daily purpose. All she really had left to measure her value anymore was watching those 150 or so students every year matriculate through her classroom and out into society. And Jean had seen much of Charleston's social landscape pass through her classroom over those three decades. Several city councilmen, doctors, lawyers, policemen, shop owners, even 11 teachers at her present school had at one time been a student of hers. In fact, it was the first time one of her former students became one of her co-workers that Jean realized she was 'getting old'. Despite her financial freedom and all the free time not having a roll to call every morning would create to do some of the things she'd always wanted to try, taking away that routine in her life was going to create a massive and uncertain void for Jean. * * * * * Financial comfort and free time, two of the Devil's best friends. When her Husband had been alive, Jean's home life was taken up with her household chores, tending to the kids and after all that was done, grading her homework and making lesson plans for the next day. She really didn't have time for much else. After Floyd died and the kids moved out however, Jean was forced to find new outlets. Even though she still had a productive career keeping her busy during the day, Jean tried a myriad of things from church and social groups, taking up new hobbies and every year or so a new exercise fad to keep her free time occupied. More times than not however, she found herself home alone, content to live the same simple existence she had come to love. One of the things that had changed significantly from the time Jean began teaching to the time she was forced to retire was the use of computers in the classroom. Even though she had purchased one for the house to help keep up with her in curriculum, the computer was mainly used to help with her finances and occasional word processing needs. As she became more comfortable with it however, Jean's late night research and dabbling gradually began uncovering many of the same pitfalls all well intended novices eventually stumble upon. Mainly that there was something inherently sexual at every turn, no matter where she tried to go online. And like a temptation too alluring and guilt free to fight, in those lonesome hours in front of the illuminated glow of the screen, Jean would be repeatedly shocked, and often left numb, by the various things her fingers typed into those beckoning 'search fields'. Eight years widowed, Jean had swore she wouldn't re-marry after her Husband passed, knowing she would always measure Husband Number Two to the man she'd given everything to for most of her adult life. In her early 50's however, with half a lifetime still left to live out, Jean could feel loneliness gnawing at her soul with each passing year, along with the more unspeakable urges that went unfulfilled without a man in her life. And it was those late nights alone in her bedroom office space where Jean allowed her mind, and often times her body, to wander. By modern standards, Jean and Floyd had been a relatively conservative couple. They had sex two or three times a week for the duration of their marriage until Floyd took ill. It had been a fulfilling relationship and Jean never once seriously thought of straying. Her connections with the local church scene combined with the expectations that came with her career, Jean knew she could never contemplate such an action, even if she had wanted to. The free time and void of losing her career only added to Jean's frustration however, and the isolationist lifestyle she had painted herself into made it difficult to find other human outlets for her feelings, not that she would have felt comfortable discussing many of them out loud. Like most people who fall under the sway of the internet when lonely, Jean occasionally had trouble pulling herself away from the glowing light of the screen, with nothing but time on her hands and curiosity in her fingertips as she gradually came to discover many hidden hungers that her lack of fulfilment fed. * * * * * The original germination of Jean's idea had its roots over a year earlier. In all honesty, the first few threads of it had seeped into her thoughts many years before, but it wasn't until her Husband's death and the subsequent lack of affection that the idea seemed tangible. Even then while still teaching, imaging going through with it was merely an easy trigger for her to use when the pressure burning in her loins began to be too much. It wasn't until Jean's forced retirement and all the angst and free time that came with it that she consciously made the leap to put the perverse plan on paper, and into motion. A few weeks later, dozens of letters with no identification or return address began showing up in mailboxes scattered around the greater Charleston area, with a simple and succinct note included saying to be at the Budget Inn on I-26, room 133, on the night of August 5th, after 9pm. * * * * * The first invitee to arrive at the motel that night was a 41 year old brokerage firm manager named Clint Gray, North Charleston High, Class of 1981. Sitting behind the wheel of his Audi at a quarter to 9 that night, Clint studied the relative calm of the parking lot surrounding him as dusk gave way to dark, his mind still running in circles trying to figure out why he had been invited there. "You know...this has to be a trap," his conscience chided, just knowing his wife had found out one of the chain of extramarital affairs he'd had recently. "Bet this whole thing is being taped from somewhere right over there," Clint muttered, tapping the perfume scented invitation between his fingers against the top of the steering wheel, more than a little nervous to make the next move. Stealing an occasional glance in his rear view mirror to the darkened room the invitation said to meet, Clint briskly puffed his way through several cigarettes before angling his gaze to the right. "What's this?" he mumbled, seeing a pair of cars pull into the motel parking lot and cautiously head his way, all bypassing the normal step of stopping at the front office to check in. Crouching down in the seat, instinctively trying not to be noticed, Clint held his breath as the two cars filed into the empty spaces around him. Being as inconspicuous as possible, Clint felt a surge of relief and deeper curiosity course through his bones when he saw a similar piece of paper wedged between another one of the new arrival's fingers. Peeking around to each of the other just parked cars, Clint got the clear sense they were there for the same reason. Stepping slowly from his vehicle, Clint cautiously made eye contact with the two other men that had just arrived. A strange, quizzical triangle was created when the three noticed a similar card in each of the other's hand. Even though Clint could vaguely place the faces of the other two men from around town on occasion, he knew neither of them by name. "Must be a pretty big practical joke," one of the other guys chirped to break the tension. "Am I the only one here that doesn't know what's going on?" the third guy, who turned out to be Alan Messing, a 35 year old yacht shop owner and North Charleston Class of 1987, spoke up. "No...No...No," Clint quickly interjected. "I'm as much in the dark here as you two." "All you'll have room 133 on your paper?" the second guy asked which caused the other two men to look down at their papers as if they were all comparing lottery numbers. "Yep," both guys replied. "None of you'll have any drug dealers or crazy Ex's after you or anything do you?" the same guy, a 23 year old recent college graduate and North Charleston Class of 1999 named Keith Kinter asked, only half jokingly. "So...who's gonna be the first one to walk over there and see what's waiting for us inside?" Alan wondered aloud. "Why don't we just wait and let some of the new arrivals take a shot at it," Clint replied, casting his gaze to the right, along with the other two men, to watch another trio of cars enter the lot without first stopping at the office to check in. "And not be the first to see what's in there...let's go," Keith decided. The curiosity, and potential conquest too much to turn down, the three men closed ranks and began to walk towards room 133. "Who's gonna knock?" Clint offered the next question the three would have to deal with as they crossed the lot. Passively surrounding the entrance, Alan, Keith and Clint mashed their hands and took a series of simultaneous deep breaths before the oldest of the three extended his fist towards the door. "...I guess I will," Clint sighed. "...Come in...its...its...open," a frail, almost unintelligible female voice barely bled through the motel's door in response to the knock. "Did you hear that?" Alan whispered, like the other two men, vaguely recognizing the voice but unable to place it. "...Hurry up...please," the soft voice from inside the room implored. Turning the knob with the greatest of care, Clint was the first to strain his neck through the opening. As the oldest of the three leaned forward, Keith and Alan were able to poke their heads curiously over each of Clint's shoulders. What they saw when they caught their first glimpse inside the room was one of the few people in the whole world that all three had in common. * * * * * For the years that Jean Shulman had tweaked the fantasy in her head, knowing she'd never have the guts, let alone the opportunity to ever pull it off, she had no way to prepare herself for the numbness that spiked through her soul the instant that motel room door creaked open. Despite the hours it took to type the invitations up on her computer and spray a bit of her perfume on each before stamping and addressing them, Jean never fully grasped the wheels she would be setting in motion. Even as she hesitantly dumped the bulk mailing into a box on the far side of town, Jean never completely took into account the psychic overload that would occur when those first three shadowy faces peeked in on her. "...Please," she furtively begged for a third time to the initial trio that had answered her lurid call. "Come in...Please...Before I lose my nerve." * * * * * Two hours later Looking down the length of her body through clenched and burning eyes, Jean's head wrenched and flailed to each side as a virile and vein etched cock bore repeatedly into her swollen cunt. Having long lost count of how many men had entered the room, and subsequently entered her, Jean's entire world had become a foggy and blurred haze of groping hands, male voices and cock after cock taking its turn inside her now sloshing vagina. "Like their bees and I'm the Queen," she haphazardly assessed, for the first time in her life wallowing in the sensation of being the total and selfish center of attention with a group of men. A delirious cornucopia of hot breath, bone rattling thrusts and savage grunts rained down on Jean's senses as another one of her former students piledrived his meat into her pussy until she felt it explode, like a pistol, inside the burrowed confines of her inner sanctum. Lurching her back off the bed to meet the faceless ex-student's pounding thrusts, Jean felt several other warm and throbbing cocks slap against her chest and face as she bucked up. Looking up at them with a dazed and haunted gaze, Jean could see each of them jacking their own erections directly above her as they anxiously waited their turn between her legs. Feeling her insides on the verge of melting away when the man inside of her pulled his sloppy cock free, an overwhelming sense of emptiness billowed in the pit of Jean's stomach until yet another young man took his place down there. Whiplashing her head backwards and collapsing back down on the mattress as the next former student eagerly staked his claim inside her womb, Jean's mouth instinctively shot open when she felt a stream of cum land, like a lava encased glob, directly across her lips from one of the boys above. Savoring the tangy sustenance before reflex made her swallow, Jean shot her eyes open wide, as if energized somehow from the taste, and met eyes with the man that had just knelt between her legs. "Oh my God...please... Shane...please...fuck me," Jean whimpered softly to the 26 year old young man that eight years earlier had been one of her most difficult and rambunctious students. Bracing her body each time the 6 foot 3 inch former high school wrestler and football player positioned his rock solid jock against her crotch, Jean guiltily raked herself over the coals for all the times she had, years earlier, imagined it was Shane fucking her on her desk in the classroom while in real time her Husband was trying his best to satisfy her on their marital bed. Trembling endlessly from the sensation of having Shane stab his blazing prick deep into her already filled cunt, Jean looked down to her crotch and was transfixed at the way her current lover's manhood was coated with the congealed jism of everyone else that had cum before him, as it sliced maddeningly through her vaginal cauldron. "Looks like all that time you made me spend in detention really left an impression Mrs. Shulman," Shane taunted as he ratcheted his grip around the insides of Jean's thighs, serving to force them even wider apart until his pelvic bone was colliding squarely with hers. "UUUMMM...UUMMM...UUMMMMMMMMMMMM," Jean's moans grew in volume, totally lost now where one pulsing wave of glee stopped and another of hers started. "Plenty of you guys have filled this pussy already," Shane told to the group of guys standing beside him. "I'm gonna do something a little different...something I've been dreaming about for 8 years." Wincing when Shane pulled his substantial girth from her throbbing pink fissure, Jean laid prone on her back and held her breath as he crawled up the length of her body until each of his knees were tucked just below her armpits. Trapped under the burning weight of Shane's balls pressing down on her sternum, a small gasp escaped Jean's lips when Shane swung his cock in front of her face. Feeling warm traces of the sticky arousal that saturated Shane's cock drizzle down against her cheeks as he pumped it above, Jean instinctively opened her mouth and waited for her former student to fill it. Her body tensing as Shane teetered forward, Jean's muffled groans filtered through the room as the precocious young stud stuffed his former teacher's mouth full of dick. "GRR...AAHHH," the 55 year old widow groaned a minute later when Shane mercifully pulled his dick free from her mouth. Turning her head to the side as the younger man tapped his throbbing tool against the side of her flushed right cheek, Jean awkwardly humped her cunt upwards against Shane's straddling weight. "Room full of guys in here still left to go Mrs. Shulman...I hope you ain't getting too tired yet," Shane mocked before rubbing the slimy girth of his dick over Jean's chin and back between her shamefully eager lips. Paint Her White Ch. 01 "YEAH...TAKE IT ALL," he grunted, plowing forward until the curly scruff of his pubic hair was rubbing against his former teacher's nose. Crudely inching his rigid prick down Jean's throat, Shane reached down and cupped the back of Jean's head in his left hand, holding her mouth securely in place as he fed his dick to her. "You pathetic pathetic Slut," Jean heard a female voice scold even though she knew she was the only woman in the room. "I said it," her conscience spoke up, somehow still able to detach itself from the unspeakable divide her mind and body had crossed. And still, Jean's lips continued to churn over Shane's embedded cock as his asscheeks rhythmically grinded on top of her chest. "Won't be long now," Shane hissed, grinning knowingly to the men assembled to each side and loving the way they all seemed to be hypnotized by the way he was humping their former teacher's face. A dizzying chorus of bees now buzzing in her ears, Jean contorted her mouth as wide as she could, choking down the 8 inch slab of throbbing flesh, knowing that any moment it could explode. She wouldn't have to wait for long. The intoxicating scent of Shane's masculine essence completely overtaking her, Jean fiendishly swirled her tongue along the underside of his girth until it exploded, flooding its molten and syrupy report past her tonsils and straight down her throat. "SWALLOW IT...UURRGGHHH...YEAH... SWALLOW IT," the husky 26 year old groaned, whipping his hips in short, brutal circles on top of the older woman as his manhood jerked and spewed in her mouth. Gulping as quickly as she could on Shane's scalding release, Jean wallowed on the bed, bucking her crotch upwards ever couple of seconds against the litany of male hands rubbing at her exposed and now gaping cunt. A jumbled mass of men's voices barking, "Yeah Fuck her...Give it to her...look at that little Bitch go," ricocheted through Jean's senses until Shane finally pulled his slowly softening and greasy club free from her mouth and allowed it's gooey head to leave a trail of nourishment along her lips, chin and neck. "Who's next?" Shane huffed a few moments later to the assembled crowd before proudly dismounting Jean. What Shane saw when the next group of men stepped forward caused even him pause... Part 2 is on the way Paint Her White Ch. 02 "... So Jean... .this is where reality starts to set back in," the devastated 55 year old widow and recently retired teacher's inner voice guessed, her breath heavy and continuous as she trembled on the bed. At least a half dozen orgasms having tripped through her flesh like falling dominos, Jean's entire body was numb as Shane's salty ejaculate trickled into her belly. "How long had it been since the boys started coming into the room... an hour... two... three... And how many men had there been?" Jean dizzily wondered, feeling a bit melancholy that other than Shane, she would never have any clue which of her former students had done what to her. "That's the way it should be, " she reassured herself. "That's the way you wanted it." Still, Jean could feel the heat of the collective gazes of all the men in the room on her naked and spent body. And even in her debilitated state, she could also sense the strange, silent hush that hung in the room. "Exactly how is a moment like this supposed to end?" Jean's conscience wondered. "When you fantasized about this... all you needed to do was roll over and go to sleep when you were done... and it was over. But this is real Jean... what happens next? You left the proverbial door open for them Jean... but you didn't give a moments thought to how you'd close it when this was all over!" Before she could contemplate her lapse of planning however, a warm and steady grip took hold of the inside of her left thigh. "MMM... AAHH," Jean gulped in surprise as she tried to focus her bleary eyes upwards, sensing her new suitor's weight creeping up the bed. "... George," she sighed softly, once there was recognition. The fact that there was an assembled crowd of men surrounding the bed was lost for the moment as she stared at George Sanders' vivid face wickedly smiling down on her at the same time his coal black hand cinched around her pale thigh. "So that's what his touch feels like on me," Jean guiltily thought as she watched his fingers knead her cool, slippery skin. George Sanders had been in one of Jean's first classes back in the early 70's. Now 48 and married, he had been one of the few black students at the local high school in those days. Even though segregation had ended a decade prior to that, the presence of African-American students still elicited a good deal of tension in the mostly white school district, even today. A champion for the underdog and a deep-seated belief that everyone deserved dignity and a fair chance at an education, Jean had always had a special place in her heart for George and the handful of students like him, for what he endured in those difficult days and for what he had eventually made of himself. Over the years, Jean was often confronted with the whispers of racism from her friends, co-workers and at times, the school administration. As hard as she tried making her classroom a comfortable and safe place for her minority students to learn, it chilled Jean to hear many of her fellow teachers casually throw the "N" word around in private when they would often act the role of open minded liberal Southerners when in public. Thankfully with each passing year, the scourge discrimination seemed to lesson in the community, but Jean knew the undercurrent would long outlive her. She had made peace with herself though, knowing she had done the best job she could and as she laid there on the bed at the age of 55, shamefully naked and defenseless in front of George Sanders, her rubbery legs spread wide as his hand swiped across her reddened vagina, somehow Jean felt a strange vindication in what she was doing. "It's like an oven down here," George said to the throng of onlookers around him as his shiny black fingers angled through the puffy and flared folds of his former teacher's cunt. "UURRGGH... UURRGGHH... AAAHHHH," Jean shivered, bucking her hips upwards each time George's knuckles scrapped across her throbbing clit. "As bad as I want to... I don't think her pussy can take it right now," George said a few moments later, after assessing the condition of Jean's already ravaged genitals. Pulling his fingers out of Jean's snatch, George slowly rubbed the greasy secretions through the older woman's pubic fleece before carefully working the tip of his thumb into her puckered anus. The twinkle in his eyes clearly told everyone in the room what he planned to do. "I've got a better idea," he finally nodded to the men on each flank of the bed. "Her pussy is shot guys... help me roll her over on her stomach and let's get her ass up in the air." Jean had somehow made the hesitant, all be it conscious, decision to give her pussy to a motel room full of her former students. The implication of the words she had heard out of George's mouth however signaled a reality she hadn't even once considered. If she had been either 10 years younger or it had been a hour earlier in the evening, perhaps Jean might have had the limberness and courage to fend off the inevitable progression of events. Before she knew it however, she felt her limp body go momentarily weightless as her equilibrium was shifted a full 180 degrees. Her face now flush against the pillow below, Jean was blind as George positioned himself on the bed above her. "You know what he's gonna do," that same nagging voice inside her head warned. "And you know you're never going to be the same after he's done!" Her vision useless, the only sensory information Jean could rely on was George's heated grip on her clamy flesh and the sound of his husky voice breathing down on her as he worked her up to her knees. Sensing the cadre of men surrounding her close in, in essence creating a claustrophobic huddle around the bed as they strained to get a better view, the sheen of the soft bed linen clinging to her sweaty skin caused Jean to feel as if she had been snared, for display, in a spider's web. Then a shattering bolt of electricity fissured down her spine. "UURRGGHHHGGHHHHH... Oh God... Oh God... Oh... God... Oh... God," Jean's muffled voice hiccupped through the room as George's middle finger dug into her rectum. Skewered on her former student's twisted digit, Jean clenched her teeth and swam her knees against the mattress below as George worked his finger down to the first knuckle. "MMMMMGGGGGRRMMMAAHHHHHHHHH," she strained under the pressure of George's anal probe. "Groaning like that with just your finger in there... what's she gonna do when you stick that thing inside her?" one of the men off to the side commented, making it a point to acknowledge George's fully aroused, and rather imposing penis as it waited for it's call to duty. "Oh... we'll go slow," George promised. "But one way or another... it is going in there!" "She always seemed like such a sweet and innocent lady," one of the other men added incredulously. "Who would have ever thought all this was boiling under the surface?" "I guess we're all here to give her what she wants... she's the one that handpicked each one of us... let's just make sure she remembers what happens here tonight for the rest of her life," George said before stabbing his middle finger to the hilt inside the retired teacher's virgin sphincter. The graphic, up close image of Jean's spine contorting and the way her guttural groans belted out from her lungs each time George ratcheted his wrist between her asscheeks, caused every mans' dick in the room to stiffen as they looked on in stunned wonder. "Now... hold... still... Mrs. Shulman," George whispered down with tender concern, his skin tingling from the way Jean trembled on her knees as he began to withdraw his soapy finger from the bubblegum pink grip of Jean's asshole. Not wanting to waste a second of time and face the prospect of Jean's prepped anus closing back up, George swung his throbbing onyx girth into the air and dropped it with a meaty thud between the crack of the older woman's cheeks. "Say the word if it starts to burn too bad Baby... we'll go real slow... we got all night," George soothed Even though he knew he was about to violate the 55 year old woman in a way she could have never imagined. "P... Pl... .Please... Please ... go slow... but ... but please... please George... please do it," Jean mumbled, her wanton lust now completely betraying her as she clenched her fists into the sheets to each side of her. "UUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAHHHHHH," Jean grimaced, her forehead rocking forward until she was balancing herself on the top of her head as George snuck the spongy, bulbous rim of his cockhead into her behind. * * * * * Nearly two minutes unsuccessfully passed with George trying to carefully ease his dick into Jean's anal depths. "It's never going to go all the way in from this angle," George knew, massaging his balls with his left hand to keep his phallus rock hard as he pondered his next move. "You guys up at the top of the bed... get her shoulders ... I've got her waist and her back... let's try to get her into the air for a couple of seconds... I'm gonna try and keep my cock tight in her ass while we flip her over so she's riding me reverse cowgirl," George decided. "What does that mean?" Jean dizzily wondered, hearing George's voice through the shroud of sexual fog that had enveloped the room. Before she could take a deep breath or brace herself, it felt as if a higher power had caused her body to rise from the mattress once again, only this time she could the slab of burning meat buried a full three inches in her rectum keeping her tethered to reality. Feeling like a rag doll being spun by more hands than she could blindly count, the next time Jean was on solid ground she felt her knees pressing into the soiled sheets below, only this time her crotch was squarely placed between George's outstretched thighs and the sheer force of gravity had submerged his dick ever deeper into her rectal sheath. "AAHH... That's better," George said with a satisfied grin, feeling his jutting black sword disappear between Jean's anal walls. Lifting his shoulders off the bed, George reached up and cupped Jean's sagging breasts before gracefully pulling her down until her back was flush against his chest. Lurching his hips up as Jean reclined down on top of him, George anchored the remainder of his prick into his former teacher's cherry ass. "Relax Baby... just relax... let that tight ass swallow up my cock... just relax and let it slide all the way up in there... . shhhhhh... ssshhh... everything's going to be all right," George soothed with a baritone whisper, his heart racing at the way Jean Shulman shook like a scared but determined little girl on top of his crotch. "Once your comfortable and think you can Mrs. Shulman... I want to you open your eyes and take a good look around the room... take a good look at all the boys you invited here tonight," George added as he rubbed his strong black hands back and forth over Jean's snow-white belly. * * * * * "Go ahead... open your eyes... and take a good look around," George's words echoed through Jean's head as she fought to keep from exploding from the overwhelming burn of his burrowing cock. "God I can't... Good God I can't," Jean mumbled internally, half from the groggy weight of her eyelids and half from the fear of what she might see if she did. "His dick feels like its grinding against your spine each time he twists it inside you," a voice deep within Jean's bowels groaned as she slid side to side on top of George's sweaty torso. "Open your eyes Mrs. Shulman," she heard his voice beckon once again as he held her thrashing weight steady. Like an itch that grows too nagging to ignore, Jean finally forced her eyelids apart and cowered as the sensory overload began to kick in. The fog of her exhaustion slipped away as she scanned her eyes across the dimly lit room. A wife, mother and teacher for more than 30 years, Jean had grown adept at making eye contact with those around her. It was a reflex she had learned to quickly gauge the severity of a situation, and in many cases, the sincerity of another person. What she saw in that room when she allowed her vision to adjust however caused her to wince and quickly bow her eyes in shame. The image of that momentary glance burned into her retinas, Jean couldn't escape the acid stained silhouette of nearly two dozen men of all different shapes and sizes surrounding her, most of them completely naked with their cocks firmly entrenched in their hands as they stared like hawks down on her body impaled on George Sanders' manhood. Her eyeballs dancing wildly in their sockets each time George shifted his girth inside her, Jean felt her heart stop when something seemed to crawl up on the bottom edge of the bed. Once again detained in her self imposed darkness, too scared to visually commit the Pandora's Box she had opened to memory, Jean wallowed there on George's chest, feeling his right hand creep over her damp crotch to keep his cock steady inside her ass at the same time his left hand softly caressed her left breast, just above her heart, as the presence on the bottom of the bed crept closer. Mustering every bit of bravery she had, Jean opened her eyes and came face to face with one of her most perverse fantasies. "... Cory... " the drained and broken widow mouthed. "Uh... huh," the young man replied, a hint of surreal detachment in his voice as well. As unbelievably foreign as it was for Jean to be in such a predicament, deep down she knew it had to be equally as strange for the recent high school graduate that was crawling up between her legs. She had only sent out two invitations to her former black students. One was to George Sanders, who was now spread eagle underneath her, with his cock wedged like a spike up her ass, and the other was to George's 18 year old son, Cory, who was kneeling directly above her smoldering crotch. Jean had only masturbated once at work over the more than three decades she taught. It had been only a few months earlier, well into her final year of teaching when during her 5th period English class, she happened to look up to scan the class while they worked on a project and saw Cory Sanders sitting at his desk, and for just that lucent instant, she was struck by just how much the young boy resembled his Father at that age. The pen that had been grading essays in Jean's right hand slipped softly from her fingers and landed with a delicate thud on her pile of papers as a strange mix of anxiety and euphoria swept through her stomach. Her thoughts disjointed for the remaining 15 minutes of class, when the period was finally over, Jean tried her best to cordially say her daily farewells to each student as they passed her desk, until she had the room all to herself. A determined, nearly hypnotic glaze spreading across her face, Jean locked the door as quickly as she could once she was alone before pattering her feet across the floor to sit back down at her desk. Within a ten seconds she had worked her right hand under the hem of her modest, calf length skirt and twisted her wrist upwards until her fingers splashed into the molten pool that had been building in her cunt during class. Her feet tapping the floor beneath her desk in a rapid and noisy rhythm, Jean wrenched her hand all the way between her thighs and fingerfucked herself to a obscenely quick but bone jarring orgasm. Instantly feeling a deluge of guilt wash through her soul before she could even pull her forehead off the pile of papers now scattered across her desk, Jean removed her right hand from underneath her dress and looked out over the rows of empty desks lining the room. "What in the Hell have I become?" she numbly asked herself. Rationalizing it as punishment for such a vile, primal and uncharacteristic act, Jean forced herself to drive home after leaving school with the damp and stained panties still lining her crotch and the musky smell of sex that inevitably went with them surrounding her in the car. Little would she know as she bowed her head at the every stoplight that fateful afternoon on her way home, to keep from making eye contact with anyone she might know, that six months later she would be naked on a motel bed with a room full of virile, ex students who had responded to an invitation of her own making. "He looks so young... .so fragile... so innocent," the untainted part of Jean's conscience noted as she studied Cory hovering above. Skewered on the spit of George's cock, Jean did the best she could to allow Cory between her legs. A raspy gasp escaped her throat when she felt the warm insistence of Cory's knees nudge her thighs further apart. Keeping her gaze locked on the young black former student's youthful and excited eyes, Jean wasn't prepared for the locomotive-like percussion of his cock when he slammed it against the entrance of her swollen pussy. "GODDAMN... AHHHHH," the extremely religious widow immediately moaned when the 18 year old brushed his meaty girth over her most tender of spots. Disorientated and woozy between two generations of Sanders' men, Jean had no way of knowing how much physical engineering would go into getting both George and Cory securely inside her. The chore of conjoining three sets of genitals through the tangle of six arms, six legs and three stacked and sweaty torsos proved to be difficult as Jean twitched helplessly in between. By the time Cory had sunk the head of his granite cock into his teacher's raw and cum soaked fissure, his Father was on the verge of busting his own nut from the tight anal noose constricting around his own embedded manhood. "Hurry up, Son... get that thing inside of her and start fucking her before I explode down here," George urged. "UURRGGGHH... AAHHHH... YYEEAAHHH," Cory groaned, following his Father's edict and plowing his pelvis forward, causing Jean Shulman's feet to strain outwards and flop in mid air as he stuffed her full of his raging wand. "Good thing so many guys have already cum inside her," Cory thought to himself, wondering just how tight his entrance would have been without the added lubrication of the men that had came before him. A nuclear jolt tore through Jean's flesh when the tip of Cory's phallic spear collided with her cervix. Wrapping her arms savagely around Cory's back as he prodded places inside her no man ever had, Jean dug her fingernails into the boy's oily flesh and held on for dear life as George and Cory's cocks see-sawed back and forth between the thinnest of membranes separating her vaginal and rectal cavities. Her 55 year old body compressed between nearly 400 pounds of churning male muscle, and impaled on nearly a foot and a half of collective manhood, Jean's spastic shrieks and groans only intensified until all the pictures on the motel room's beige walls were vibrating on their mount. On and on the lurid coupling went until all four corners of the bed's fitted sheet peeled loose, leaving the squirming threesome writhing on soiled, twisted linen and a bare mattress. Buried under the weight of Jean and Cory humping on top of him, George Sanders gritted his teeth and held his own, using his right hand to keep his cock wedged deep in the white woman's bowels as her greasy and pungent dew leaked from her crotch, soaking his large black balls with a velvety sheen. "You better cum quick... before they break your cock off at the root," George told himself as he reached up with his free hand and took a firm grip of Jean's left breast. Jerking his jock upwards with rapid and renewed desperation, George's lust finally let loose. "GGGGGRRRRRHHHAAAAAAHHHHHH," the elder Sanders growled with primal clarity, sending a potent wad of jism deep into Jean's churning intestines. Jean Shulman would never know what it felt like to experience an exorcism or have every nerve ending in her body set ablaze at the same instant, but the closest she would ever come to it was being trapped like a screaming shrew between George Sanders and his Son and having the older of the two's cock explode violently inside her flared asshole. Paint Her White Ch. 02 Before she could even swallow a deep breath however, Jean felt Cory's dick pulse and jerk several times, like a python that had slithered into her womb, until her already greased pussy was flooded with his own steaming jism. Feeling George's heartbeat pound against her shoulder blade and Cory's race equally as fast against her right breast when he collapsed down on top of her, Jean's eyes flooded with tears and she bit down hard on Cory's shoulder as she gave into the most ludicrously intense orgasm of her life. ""UUURRRRRRRRAAHHHH... .UUUHHHHHHHHH... UUUHHHHHHHGGGAAHHHHHRRRGGGGGGGG," Jean choked over and over, her voice ripping straight through the ceiling to the sky above. * * * * * All three laid there for over a minute after their collective release, looking more like tangled driftwood on the bed than actual human beings. Cory was the first to initiate the slow and tedious process of disengagement. Leaning to his right, Cory carefully tugged his half limp cock from Jean's custardy depths and took a seat on the edge of the bed. After steadying himself, Cory reached down to Jean's waist and delicately pulled her weight of his Father's spent manhood. A visceral gasp of relief whistled from both George and Jean's throats when Cory finally got them untethered. Nodding approvingly to his Father as George tried to regain his bearings, Cory then looked down at Jean and the way she was clutching his naked thigh with her arms and chest as if she couldn't stand not having some sort of tactile contact after hours worth of sustained sensory overload. "Come on Mrs. Shulman... Just lay back flat on the bed and relax... yeah... come on... just lay back and relax," Cory soothingly whispered into the older woman's ear, holding her warmly in his arms as he lowered her quivering upper torso down on the tattered sheets below, the whole time sensing what was about to happen next from the way the men remaining in the room closed in around the bed. * * * * * The outside world ceased to exist for Jean in the moments following Cory easing her down on the bed. Her entire body throbbing as if her clitoris had suddenly been stretched from her head to her toes, she couldn't help feeling the warm goo left by both Sanders' ejaculate sloshing around her rectum and vagina each time she so much as breathed. "Oh... God... Thank You," she tried to mouth up to the men she had invited to the room, but her voice came out strained, raspy and barely audible. Keeping her eyes clenched shut, to keep out the heat of reality and the burning embarrassment she was sure would go with it, Jean had no way of knowing what was about to happen next. Unhitched from the warmth and shelter of George and Cory's bodies, Jean naked and clammy skin grew increasingly colder as the room's air conditioning kicked in. Reaching to grab a sheet to cover herself, Jean's attention was caught by a vague sound of friction that bristled through the room. Creaking her heavy eyelids apart ever so slightly, the only reference point Jean had for what she saw was what it would feel like to be stretched out on an examining table while a group of alien doctors huddled around her. Only this time through the shadowy light and her tear soaked gaze, Jean could see each of the boys had their dicks in their hands and each was preparing to empty them directly above her. Opening her mouth, as if she had crawled across the desert for taste of their sustenance, Jean extended her tongue and felt a wave of lurid accomplishment sweep through her soul when the first sizzling droplets of cum landed against the back of her throat. Within the next few moments, a chain reaction played out with the men surrounding the bed until every nook and cranny of her naked frame, from the waist up, was smeared and saturated with the boiling lust of at least two dozen of her former students. "Give it to me... Give it to me... Please give it to me," Jean begged incessantly, her mind unable now to control anything that seeped from her lips. Within a few strokes of 1a.m., it was finally over and all that was left was a seemingly new Jean Shulman laying naked on the bed, covered like a newborn in a warm layer of life-giving fluid, as if she had just somehow been birthed herself. THE END Thank You for reading!!