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2015-06-19
This is a series of stories all with significant truth to them; names have been changed, and some details have been re-worked to make it a more appealing story, but be certain that most of the events happened, to me.
Randall is an old friend of mine from college. Both of us are in our early 20s, only a few years out of school and still trying to find our respective ways in the world. Randall’s a pretty big guy, about 6’5”, and on more than one occasion he’s been called to help out with a backcountry arrest for the local Forest Service. As far as I know, he’s never killed a man, but there were times in college I remember having to lock him in his room during a party that was threatening to get out of control for one reason or another.
While Randall and I were pretty much alike in terms of women, him being more around town than I am allows him to have more interactions with the local girls – interactions and relationships of all manners. In college he favored the smaller girls, usually the gymnasts and cheerleaders who usually overlooked his obsession with comic books (when they wouldn’t overlook mine) and went straight for his Herculean physique and Casanova charm.
One time at a party at our house, I was searching for another friend to go get high and walked into my own bedroom to see Randall and a coworker of mine, Jane, fucking with great gusto. She couldn’t have been taller than 5’0”, but was super fit and wore the most revealing, skin-tight dresses on a regular basis. Her body was unbelievably proportional: she accentuated her orange-sized tits with stiff bras, and often wore her hair up to reveal the soft slope of her back, interrupted by her perfectly rounded ass, before continuing on down to her tight bronzed legs. I don’t know if she dressed like this on purpose, for the attention, or just liked looking this way, but in our office on campus there was nary a straight man who could walk past our cubicle and not linger a glance in her direction.
It only helped matters that she was an education major with a 4. 0 GPA, sat on the boards of a few student councils, and was the teaching assistant for the freshman-100 class. She was the epitome of a college boy’s sexual idol.
Randall had Jane wrapped in his beefy arms, hooking his arms beneath her knees with her back against the wall, three or four feet off the ground. Her facial expression alternated between utter serenity, with half-closed eyes gazing dreamily into Randall’s eyes, her mouth slightly open and her shoulders relaxed; and absolute pleasure with her head arched back and eyes closed tightly, mouth open and neck tensed.
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Her toes curled and her feet flexed, and she hung onto Randall’s neck and hair for dear life as he threatened to join her as a wrecking ball through my wall into the bathroom. Randall’s hands grasped Jane’s shapely ass cheeks, and I’m certain he would fondle if not enter the exit only hole, dead center in that perfect rear end, at some time during the night.
Entering that forbidden abode was something he never would’ve tried had he and I not started trading stories. We were admittedly like sorority girls, Randall and me: sharing sex tales and tips. We found that since we ran in similar but slightly different circles, overlap of partners was to be expected even when she didn’t know we were friends until the next morning, when we’d cook our dates breakfast before driving them back to campus. I told him once about a girl, Lizzy, who liked fingers going where the sun doesn’t shine (but no more, as I promptly learned), and the next night he introduced his then-partner to analingus and fingering.
It’s not for everyone, but there’s no way to know if anyone likes it without trying!
When I opened the door and let in the dance music playing downstairs, Randall glanced in my direction. He continued pumping into Jane, acting like a pendulum slamming their pelvises together as his rod entered Jane’s cunt, then backed out, then re-entered with passionate force. We’d seen each other naked on occasion (coincidental accidents, I promise) and I know his cock to be larger than mine, about eight inches, and thicker. According to some shared long-term partners, though, I have much more finesse and passion than Randall, so regardless if size actually matters, the ‘motion of the ocean’ certainly counts, too. Randall kept his torso nearly still, using only his arms and legs to drive himself into Jane over and over again. She emitted little squeaks to match his deep grunts, and I saw her small but firm boobs squished between their bodies.
“Hey man,” he said through heavy breathing and sweat.
I quickly processed what I was seeing and responded, as if nothing unusual was happening just feet from the handwritten draft of my mid-term paper, lying on my desk.
“Hey.
mpourdela athina mpourdela athina
Seen Dave?”
Randall grunted a long moan as Jane leaned forward and hugged close with all four of her muscular limbs wrapped around him. He released one leg as Jane linked her feet behind Randall, and placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, allowing a brief respite from their seemingly violent activity to talk. He held her close to him with his other arm around her, and his cock stayed in her. Her legs twitched and shook as the pleasure continued to rock through her body, as she continued to massage his pulsating penis within her hot pussy. She squeezed her ass muscles to keep the action alive between them, and gyrated her hips into his, making him have to catch his breath again from the stimulation before answering me. Jane flashed a sultry grin at Randall and as she leaned back a bit from him, she took one hand to rub the nipple on one of her handful-sized breasts.
Randall looked at her then back at me, “Yea, outside, I think. [grunt]Smoking. ”
I looked at Jane, and she looked right at me with those gorgeous blue eyes, shaded by her loosely tied-up blonde hair. I winked, smiled, and waved jokingly. I don’t think she knew that Randall and I were friends, let alone that we lived in the same house. I have even greater doubt she knew that they were actually having their chimpanzee sex in my bedroom. We were co-workers, but rarely interacted outside of the office.
If she wasn’t in the throws of orgasmic pleasure with a man three times her size, I have no doubt she would’ve said something, or at least given me a confused look. But what she could accomplish then, with sweat dripping off her face onto Randall’s chest and down her back to cascade off her ass, was just a loopy smile.
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“Great, thanks. Don’t break anything,” I said as I pointed to the picture of my high school graduation class in its frame, inches from Randall’s massive hand resting upon the wall. I nodded to Randall, backed out of my room, closed the door, and shook my head at a couple standing in the hallway who must’ve seen that surprisingly calm – yet understandably potentially awkward – exchange.
“It’s alright. We’re good friends,” I said to them.
The guy in the couple chuckled, and went back to making out with his date. His date was leaning against Randall’s door, with her legs spread and the guys’ hand up her skirt. Her top was askew and one hefty boob hung out. I couldn’t see exactly who the girl was, but I’m sure she had spent more than a few nights in our house, in more than just one bed. Such is the life of the hosts of the designated party house at least three student clubs at a major state university. .
