
My damn vehicle wouldn’t begin. I’d halted for a Coke on the exit from town, and presently I was in a bad way. I was a first-year fraternity vow, a simple sophomore, and I totally needed to come to Norman for the Midwest Territorial Olympic style sports Title, the last large occasion for our college before the Nationals one week from now and afterward summer break, and presently this.
Before you get some unacceptable thought, I’m no competitor; no, I was working one of the snack bars as a pledge drive for the fraternity, and in the event that I didn’t show, my butt would be toast. At the local meet, every college will run a snack bar to fund-raise for different causes or projects; I’d focused on it to fund-raise for our club. I Must be there!
All of us Oklahoma State Ranchers loathed going to our most despised rival Oklahoma Sooners Arena in Norman, yet that is where it was being held, and I was an hour and a half away with no transportation, confronting an all out flop on my responsibilities.
I had jumper links and attempted to wave to somebody to give me a leap, however up until this point I’d been overlooked. At the point when a more established Toyota Avalon I perceived pulled in, I assumed I was saved! It was Trevor Wilson, the leader of our club and an incredible competitor, with a vehicle brimming with colleagues and their lady friends, without a doubt en route to the College of Oklahoma as well.
He brought down his window. “Greg, what’s happening? Shouldn’t you be most of the way there already?”
“I know! My vehicle won’t begin. Could you at any point hop me?”
“Sorry, we’re running late as well. Listen for a minute, heap in and ride down with us.”
I probably looked wary in light of the fact that I was; his vehicle was stuck. In the secondary lounge were Paul “Tank” Arthur, a shot putter and disk hurler. He was called Tank for an explanation; strong and wide, his beef took up almost 50% of the seat.
Alongside him was his sweetheart, Marsha “Goods” Fleming, no smooth figure herself. With wide hips, an extravagant base, and huge containers, the relationship I generally considered was “Rubenesque”. Tank referred to her his as “large fun magnificence with the succulent goods” (subsequently, Goods), who bluntly acknowledged the way that she cherished getting boned. The young lady was interminably, shamelessly horny, yet so was Tank.
Crammed into what little was left of the rearward sitting arrangement were Hank “Stretch” Barnes and his peaceful, drab sweetheart, Brenda Taylor, tucked firmly on his lap. Hank was a tall, thin high leap stud and above and beyond at high obstacles too, with his long legs. Brenda thought he strolled on water; given the size of his feet, she might have been right.
In the front pail seats were the previously mentioned Trevor, a top competitor and a runner who ran the hundred meters and was the 4 x 100 transfer anchor and played football in the fall, and his better half (and my heart breaker) the shocking and sweet Rachel Jones. Rachel is soul-painfully lovely, with long, sparkling chestnut hair, shimmering earthy colored eyes, a dainty and wonderful figure, and a grin that caused me to feel faint.
Rachel seemed as though she was destined to be the prototypical team promoter; not unintentionally, she was one. She had no clue about how I had an outlook on her, obviously, yet was dependably kind to me, which never really hosed my ardor.
Trevor probably seen my suspicious look since he promptly assumed responsibility and began to modify things. “Greg, you’re short. How about you ride toward the rear? Stretch, you and Brenda climb front and slide the seat back so you’ll have space for those legs; you will not help the group in the event that you can’t move when the meet starts.”

He crushed Rachel’s hand. “Rachel, child, since you’re so minuscule, how about you sit on Greg’s lap in the back seat?”
The ramifications of his traveler shuffling didn’t completely occur to on me until I’d slid into the secondary lounge, traveler side, my hip squeezed into Goods’ curve, and Rachel painstakingly settled herself onto my lap.
The young lady of my wet dreams, in her short little creased team promoter skirt and tight top, her warm, firm, wonderful minimal base settled cozily into my crotch, her sparkling hair right in front of me, and something I hadn’t expected, her delicate, unimaginably hot fragrance flooding my olfactory faculties… for the following 90 minutes! I was in profound trouble.
She turned and checked out at me behind her. “I’m not excessively weighty, am I?”
“Umm, no, uh, you’re fine. I mean I’m fine. You’re not weighty by any means, you’re… ” I nearly said ‘great’, which was valid, however I stopped.
As I followed off, she leaned toward me with her megawatt grin. “All things considered, great – yet let me know as to whether you get awkward, okay? I can continuously change positions or something, however for the present, we should relax.” So saying, she squirmed and wriggled and settled herself all the more solidly into me, and I could nearly hear the sound of blood hurrying to my groin. It was my most extravagant fantasy materialized, Rachel riding my lap as I became stimulated, yet within my head, I was shouting, Nooooo!
The reality, in any case, was that this was an erection that wouldn’t be denied.
It developed. It thickened and solidified, expanded, and gradually worked its direction upstanding, extending my jeans tight done with everything, and I reconsidered, for the umpteenth time, how frequently it’s a detriment to have an enormous chicken. An underendowed fellow, or even one of normal extents, could hold onto some expectation that she wouldn’t take note. With a rooster the size of her lower arm, I got no opportunity of remaining unnoticed… or, all the more precisely, pulsating unpretentiously under her ass.
Sure enough, she unexpectedly quit wriggling and kept extremely still, my lump stopped in the superb valley between her cheeks. She gradually turned and took a gander at me behind her, her eyes wide.



Blushing red, I murmured, “Sorry,” supplicating she wouldn’t agree that anything. Best case, I’d be humiliated and removed from the vehicle in no place; assuming the worst possible scenario, Trevor would severely thrash me!
She stayed mum – however she didn’t profess to overlook it or let me free! All things being equal, she grinned at me, a shrewd grin that I didn’t realize she had and scoured her butt on my lump. She then, at that point, reclined, murmured, “Amazing!”, and stuck her tongue profound into my ear. Fortunately, it was a concise oral/aural investigation or I could have come in my jeans. Ends up, my sweet dream holy messenger has a decent piece of Satan in her too!

She then, at that point, inclined forward on the rear of the seat before her and participated in the progression of discussion in the vehicle, gabbing away with her companions like a little bird for the following 25 miles while quietly grating her butt against my hard chicken every last bit of the way. In some other circumstance, I would have been in paradise; in the jam-packed vehicle, I was breaking out in a cold sweat and trusting no other individual got on.
I was likewise starting to feel that perhaps, quite possibly, I could get through the ride without spilling a heap in my jeans. About that time, she sat upright, crushing me between her strong ass cheeks, then, at that point, gradually snuck her right hand – the one toward the entryway – under her and started to investigate my concern exhaustively. Her hand crossed my length from balls to head and back, crushing, stroking, fingering, prodding, tormenting, and completely wrecking my resolve… as well as my will not power.
This time when she murmured in my ear, she said. “OMG! Greg, you’re fucking huge!”
I pitifully murmured back, “Rachel, please… “
She just laughed, then hung over and murmured something in Goods’ right ear. At the point when Goods turned and gazed at me, and afterward her eyes dropped to where Rachel laid on my lap, I had a very smart thought everything she’d been said; when she guilefully hinted her hand underneath Rachel and into my groin, where she solidly held onto my balls and the thick base of my chicken, I was sure.
She murmured, “Fuck, Greg!” and started to caress me. We actually had close to 60 minutes to ride, and that’s what I knew whether they went on it was basically impossible that I planned to make it without sending off a heap. They continued.
I did long conditions; I attempted to recall Wordsworth’s sonnets and Shakespeare’s works, in exactly the same words; I envisioned the occasional table of the components exhaustively and did other confounded, mind-including, erection obliterating things, yet to no avail.
I prevailed with regards to waiting for an additional twenty minutes, Rachel giving me the world’s best however most unobtrusive lapdance and Goods kneading my balls, yet when I came, it was a beast. I siphoned and erupted and spouted. With the exception of one little squeak and a profound moan, I stayed quiet, however every muscle in my body was basically as unbending as my rooster, and I rested my brow up against Rachel’s back and endlessly came.
I thought it was never going to end, and I understood that I was firmly grasping Rachel’s hips as I ground my chicken against her, erupting happily away the whole time. Goods knew it all, her hand situated to feel each siphon, flex, and fit of my climax as each spurt of cum went through me and into my jeans. She grinned at me, evilly victorious, and kept on crushing me until she’d drained me dry.
Rachel, as far as it matters for her, rested back on me and murmured, “Oopsie daisy!” prior to chuckling madly. I felt faint – and wet, and I started to think about how some time before the front of my jeans developed dull with semen smudges. Rachel, evidently guessing what I might be thinking, murmured, “Unfortunately I needed to do that… assuming it helps, my undies are drenched too.”
Shanie Reichert
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