Brand New Whores

"Oh, Oh, oh. Finally came. Okay, fuck her till he gets here."

Standing to one side, Mark was fascinated watching his Mother's tits swinging from the impact of an ass driving a cock into her. He had no idea what this Elroy person was. Drunk, he was now a spectator.

Into the room walked Elroy, the Tank, Johnson, and all three hundred and forty six pounds of him. He stood six feet eleven. He wore a size twenty shoe. His sleeve length was forty-six inches. His chest size was an amazing seventy seven inches.

Without saying a word, he rolled Glenda onto her back. He pulled both legs fully up next to her body. Her pussy was now unguarded, undefended. It was loose from previous fucking, thank God.

Taking his time, he slipped the end in. Effortlessly, he lowered his ass, pushing his cock down, down, deeper into her. His thick shaft took the elastic stretch from her pussy lips, so that they clung to his shaft. With his power, body length, and weight, he would start low, inserting his shaft horizontally. Once in, he would slide forward, so that her pubis bone acted as a lever. His cock would sweep a full one hundred and eighty degree, so that it was pointing towards his feet. For Glenda, it was as though all her sexual being was being ravished.

The hair on the back of Marks neck rose as she screamed. It was a wild frenzy scream, not unlike that of a mare when she first received a three-foot horse cock, or when a female elephant first takes a seven-foot long cock. Had they been outdoors, the scream could have been heard for a mile. As it was, several voices could be heard laughing. "Ha, Ha, Elroy playing out tune."

Several heads peeked into the room to see the proper fucking.

Angel was alone in the office when the last call came. "Yes, may I help you?"

A soft voice said, "We are having a little party up here in Room four-o-nine. We would like you to join us."

To this point, Angel thought that if she made herself scarce, that she would be able to slide through the fifty-three days without fucking anyone. Sex, after all, was a lure to get a man to marry you, keep you in the lifestyle that your deserve. It was a messy business. One would sweat, have to douche out after.

She countered. "Oh, perhaps, you would be interested in some snacks. I could bring your favorite alcoholic beverage? How many of you are there?"

Greg Howard, the quarterback, had spoken to Tom Hunter. He knew exactly what the deal with the women was. He knew that the gal on the phone was yanking him around. Seizing the moment, he softly said. "There is just me. I would like to have a chat with you. You know, find out who you are."

"I'll be up in a few minutes."

Greg went to all the rooms on the floor. His message. "Look, I have a gal coming to my room. Let's pull a train. I'll fuck her. When I finish, I'll say out loud, fumble. You guys come in. Each guy has three minutes on her. When I blow my whistle, you're off. There are twenty of us. Give her sixty minutes of hard fucking."

Just before Angel left the office, her nervous husband phoned. It was the seventh inning stretch of the Yankee vs. Boston game.

A pointed question. "How is it going, Angel?"

"I have not done a thing. I should be home before the game ends."

"Gosh, it make me nervous thinking that you. You know. I sure would like some?"

"Tonight, I'm yours," Angel said, smugly.

As she went to room four-o-nine, she thought to herself. I'll bullshit this young guy, and then sneak home. Tomorrow, I will tell the other gals that I had sex with several guys. How could they know otherwise?

Two soft knocks. The door opened. Angel tried to hand the tray to the guy, so she could leave, but he stepped back. Thinking that she would set it down on his dresser, she walked over to it.

As she turned, he was in front of her. "Your Angel. Your twenty-one?"

"How did you know that?"

"I've seen your sheet. You are married. You don't have any children. Your husband knows that you are here fucking for five hundred dollars a night. I am going to fuck you. Get undressed."

Angel just stood looking at Greg. No man had ever ordered her to do anything, not her father, not her husband, certainly. Chills went down her spine. She tried to walk around him. He held her, as he unzipped her dress. She had not planned on having sex, so she had cotton panties under her pantyhose. Always the lady.

Greg lowered her panties and pantyhose with one motion. He lowered her to the bed. Her shoes and clothes were thrown aside. Greg took a long look at her. There was nothing remarkable about her body. What was remarkable was she was here. His cock was hard. He and his buddies had a game to play with her. It was fun to listen to what a woman says during a long train. They talk. Of course they talk. They don't do this. They have never had more then one man. They also come, a lot. They want to know what is going on. Well, duh?

What Greg really got a kick out of is that after the third guy, every woman is the same. She will lie there on her back with a silly smile on her face, loving the constant sexual stimulation; better than finger fucking yourself, any day.

Holding Angel on her back, he used his other hand to open her legs. Without fanfare, he lowered his mouth to her pussy. She tried to push his face away, of course, but could not. As his tongue danced back and forth, her efforts to remove him eased, until he felt her relax. Ever so slowly, her legs opened. It was time. He slid his two hundred and twenty-five pounds upward, until her legs were split wide apart. In his mind he called, hut, hut, hut. His ass shot forward to impale Angel, who let out a long moan. His ass went on a fucking rampage.

"Fumble"

The door opened. Nineteen huge men rushed in. Angel's legs were captured, to be raised above her head. A fucker pounced upon her, aware that he must cum in three minutes.

An hour later, the Angel that had entered room four-o-nine no longer existed. The new Angel had fucked twenty professional football players. She had come four times, which belied her protests. She lie on the bed contemplating the fact that there would be fifty more days of being on her back being fucked by all comers. She showered, dressed, and went home.

When she walked into her home, her husband, who had heard her car in the drive, was standing naked with a hard on. Without missing a beat, a sore Angel said to her husband, for the first time, "How about me giving you a nice blow job?"

He smiled. Things were looking up.

I'm Softly.

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