Suck Sisters of Seaton

"I know. For a second or two I was upset and then I realized that that's exactly what we are. What a strange thing to be famous, or infamous, for, huh?"

"Anyway, I saw this guy who looked at me the way a guy looks at a girl, not the way a horny college kid looks at a girl who'll suck cum from any cock."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "It's like when you suck a dick or a guy's jerking off on or at you, the guy becomes secondary. You're focused on the cock, almost like it's separate from the guy. It's fun and I'm starting to actually be able to swallow -- I have you to thank for that -- but there's nothing intimate about it. I'm starting to find that lack of closeness a little bit tiresome too."

Nevertheless, it was Friday and we had our party to look forward to, the party that had grown in size a little. In addition to our initial gang of roommates, Leonard, Paul, Dan, and Patrick, another suite had just been accepted into the group a couple of weeks ago. We were expecting about a dozen guys, including Doug and his roommate -- and Rachel, of course.

We went shopping for dinner items, got home and put them away after marinating some fresh tuna. I got undressed and slipped under my covers to nap for a little while so I could have the strength to last as late as necessary that evening. I may have wanted a relationship, but I still was 'a horny college kid who'll suck cum from any cock.'"

As I fell asleep I imagined a large glass mixing bowl, like the one we have in the kitchen, full of semen. It might not be elegant, but it looked delicious.

I awoke realizing that I might have had the female equivalent of a wet dream. I don't know exactly what that must be like, but from what I've been told, well, I was wet between my legs and thinking about cocks and cum, glassfuls of the stuff. In fact, I woke up and felt like I could smell semen.

After taking a shower I met Barbara in the kitchen. We made a little bit of dinner, broiling the tuna with some new potatoes and steamed veggies, then realized while eating that neither of us could quite sit still, anticipating the coming evening's event.

"Have you ever thought about your defining feature?" Barbara asked me.

"I guess it's my height, why?" I asked in reply.

"For me, of course, it's my breasts. It's what people notice about me first, not my skin, my eyes, my teeth, smile, legs, butt. It's just my boobs. Men and women only see that.

"I realized last Friday night that, for the first time, in a sexual way, some of the guys were seeing my mouth and my eyes. I looked up at a couple of the guys when I was sucking on them. The eye contact for most wasn't there; they were focused on my chest. But a few of them were seeing me.

"Oh, sure, it was me and my ability to gratify them, but I was enjoying myself and I wanted them to climax; it gave me such pleasure to have them focus on me as a sexual person and not just a pair of big boobs. I think Leonard was the most turned on when I looked at him."

"That's cool," I replied, thinking about my own reactions to this year of cum soirees, knowing somehow that they could not continue next year. "I can't believe how much he wants to know your bra size. He went on and on about it. Don't tell him I told you, but Wednesday evening at the library he asked me to sneak into your room and take a peak at the labels on your bras."

"I don't want anyone to know, OK?" she said. "You see, I was wearing a C cup when I was in sixth grade! And I haven't quite stopped growing, believe it or not. That's what's in those packages I occasionally get in the mail. I can't get bras at any store in the mall. As long as the stores are going to special order for me, I'd rather order a few different sizes mail order and just send back the ones that don't fit well.

Deciding that it was none of my business, I just let it go. I was curious, too, about her bra size, but just in an I-can't-believe-they-make-them-in-that-size sort of way.

"You know, he's asked me out tomorrow night and I'm going with him," she said.

"Well, he's a nice guy, he's smart and just plain nice. You two'll have a good time. What are you going to do?" I asked.

"He's taking me to a nice restaurant and then for a walk down along the lake."

"Hey, maybe you'll get lucky," I kidded her.

Then I added, a little more seriously, "At least you've gotten the whole sex thing out of the way, so he can't be judgmental about your past. This way you can just enjoy being with one another." And then I thought to myself: You lucky devil. I wish I had a guy who was interested in me.

* * * *

Leonard, Patrick, Dan, and Paul were the first to arrive and they brought five very fine bottles of French Bordeaux wines with them. Paul's dad was in the importing business and didn't mind if he drank (a) responsibly and (b) nowhere near a moving vehicle. So the party began with a fine white Graves, chilled to perfection since Paul kept a clandestine wine refrigerator in his room!

Just about on their heels came the second and relatively new quartet. Rachel, Doug and his roommate followed shortly thereafter. Doug asked if it was OK that he invited a friend who'll be over in a little while. Both Barb and I were fine with that when he insisted, "Don't worry. He's cool."

We were next treated to another display of dancing by Barbara. This time she did a strip routine for the crowd for which imported chairs from other rooms to accommodate everyone.

Pat, Leo's roommate, was a music major and put on some classical piece that started out quietly, but built to a slow, inexorable climax. It wasn't quite like Ravel's Bolero, but in that vein.

Barbara, to give her credit, had become so comfortable with her breasts in this weird sexually charged environment -- and was obviously the center of attention during the warm-up period, before my mouth and I took over for the payoff -- that she stripped down to pasties with tassels (Where did she get those things?) and a G-string. She obviously had been practicing special lessons as she made her boobs do things I'd never seen before. Then again with boobs her size, very few had ever seen tricks done this way before. She even did the old tassel thing, spinning them in one, then the other, and finally in opposite directions. How cool was that!

My little roommate -- and only college sophomore: I was so proud of her!

In fact, we were all so comfortable that I got up and danced with her. We hadn't choreographed anything, but things just worked themselves out as I stripped down to just a thong. The two of us must have been quite a sight given our differences in body style and height. So comfortable that at one point she used her nipples to stroke my pussy -- and she didn't have to bend over much at all. Of course, I did what I thought was a graceful leg stretch that brought my shin almost to my nose, so it was not that hard to access it, but nevertheless, we were quite a pair.

Then, after I returned the favor, I stood behind her, caressing her breasts and eventually playing with them. That was a turn-on for everyone, especially when Barbara let me rub her nipples while she had one hand in front of her, stroking her pussy and one behind her stroking mine. All the while we were moving to some intense chamber music whose occasional dissonance actually heightened my orgasm, just standing in front of this gang of guys -- oh, I keep forgetting -- and Rachel.

Surprisingly, Rachel had become a part of the events, not taking an active role too often but putting in a hand or tongue on occasion, especially when her relationship issues with Doug were going well. Mainly, she kept track of things. Being a business and accounting major she actually kept a count of who came, how often and even where and when. It was kind of neat during the week to review her spreadsheets, statistics, and graphs, though I think it was a way of procrastinating her studying. At one point she estimated that I must have had at least a gallon of semen since the semester began.

Anyway, after the dancing ended, Barbara and I wound up comfortably on pillows on the floor taking care of business -- and not just for Rachel's benefit. We each sucked everyone in turn and, unlike many other nights, the guys' orgasms were not relatively simultaneous. This was good for a change since it let me stay sucking on a cock till I'd gotten all I could out of it. I didn't have to finish quickly to take care of another that was suddenly about to come. Of course, that's always fun, but this was more satisfying on a personal level.

At one point I had this very nicely shaped cock deep in my throat. It was well above average, perhaps eight or nine inches, and not with an enormous circumference. Given all of my practicing I was easily able to deep throat him and even let him move in and out while down there. I was enjoying the fact that the guy's pubic hair was soft and not tickling my nose. Then I looked up and was surprised to see that it was the guy from the bus stop.

I almost gagged and quickly moved my mouth off his shaft.

"Hey, uh, hi," I uttered inanely.

"Hi. Geez, that felt wonderful. No one's ever done that to me, ever," he replied.

"Oh, uh, well, thanks," I responded smiling up at him, still quite surprised. How did he get in? Who was he? Most importantly, would he respect me in the morning?

In retrospect it probably looked idiotic, but I actually reached up with my cummy hand to shake his. "I'm Angela, um, Angie. I saw you at the bus stop the other day, didn't I?"

"Guilty as charged. You looked so beautiful running by. It was very exciting just watching you. I'm Jones, by the way," he said.

Newly recharged and knowing that there were others in need of my services, I decided there wasn't much I could do about gaining his respect at this point. He'd either want to be a friend or not.

I went straight back on his dick with a fervor I hadn't known in months. I liked what little I knew about this guy and I wanted him to know about my talents.

I went deep down on him and put pressure on the root of his cock with my lips, top and bottom. I milked his cock with my throat while massaging his balls gently with one hand, rubbing his thigh and abdomen with my other.

This had the effect of turning both of us on. I could feel a small, slow sizzling sleeper forming in my groin. I really wanted to have him come, but I wanted to see if I could excite him further.

I moved back off him, holding his cockhead in my mouth while tightly stroking his cock with the non-ball-massaging hand. He was starting to make more noise, but it was low pitched still so I figured I could find some other ways of pleasing him.

Trying something I'd seen in movies, but never did myself, I went down on his cock and buried it deep in my throat, pushing it up, forcing it to the roof of my mouth. This permitted me to reach out with my tongue and lick between his balls simultaneously. He began to make a sound that reminded me of one of the pieces Pat had played earlier.

(For those uninterested, please skip this aside. However, the piece was Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring. The very opening is a solo bassoon in its highest register. Something that in the early years of the Twentieth century was almost unheard of for a concert bassoonist. It practically doesn't sound like a bassoon, more like an oboe-clarinet combination of some sort: reedy but biting. Anyway, he sounded like that bassoon, making a noise like a moan and a cry deep in his throat. My throat, on the other hand, couldn't make a sound with his cock buried in my esophagus. OK, back to the story.)

Jones was making louder, unintelligible sounds that really excited me. I was doing my job well and we were both enjoying ourselves. Then he said, "Uh, Angela, Doug told me you like to drink sperm, but I'm sorry I didn't get the invitation until just an hour ago. So, uh, I masturbated a couple of hours ago, uh, second time today. You see, I was horny because..."

His candor surprised me among all of the chaos going on. This was a kind of neat guy. He was comfortable telling me about his personal life -- his very personal life. But, then again, his phallus was fondling my pharynx. (Couldn't resist that one.)

I put my finger to his lips to shush him.

TMI. Too much information. I didn't need to know anything as long as he was going to shoot. If there was a little less for me, that's OK. I was having a good time. His cock just felt great in my mouth.

As much as I was enjoying this ball licking I wondered if there was something else I could do to him that would just blow him away. (Pardon the vernacular.) I began to wonder if I could actually get his balls in my mouth while he was deep in my throat. Could I actually get both a cock and a pair of balls in my mouth? This was not something I'd ever seen or even heard of before. It excited me to consider it and I was trying to figure out how to begin, when --

I felt an explosion of warm semen coat my forehead and both of my cheeks. Then I felt a second and a third and they kept on coming.

It was clear there was something else going on which demanded my attention. Jones's cock and balls would just have to wait. I quickly looked left and right. On both sides were coming cocks seemingly shooting endless volleys of sperm in my direction. (As Rachel had once put it: I was spermy.)

I rapidly withdrew Jones's dick from my depths and tilted my head back with my mouth open, tongue extended down towards my chin to capture whatever was left in these simultaneous semen sorties. And surprisingly, the guys still had some of the goods left. I was rewarded with a nice mouthful from the two of them.

I'm not sure whether it was my guilt at not being able to suck everyone simultaneously or my sense of loss as it seemed that there was cum going untasted and unswallowed.

"If you can't get to my mouth when you come, come in your free hand and don't spill any," I announced and went back to the cocks at hand, gladly greeted by several nice little gushers.

Then I circled a part of the room, licking and sucking up any cum pooled in their palms. It was fun to suck up most of the cum, then suck what was left in the hand's owner's cock, then return to lick the remaining cum and suck their fingers deep into my throat.

When most of the guys nearby finished their spritzing I used both hands to collect as much of the cum on my forehead, temples and cheeks into my cum-filled mouth. This labor of love-juice, the taste of all of this nice, fresh semen rewarded me with a new orgasm that was much larger than any previous one of the evening.

Part of me felt sorry for Jones, having left him mid-blowjob, but when I opened my eyes -- after clearing most of the cum off my eyelids -- I noticed that he had handily taken matters into his own hands and was rapidly stroking that lovely penis with one. Believe it or not, I surprised myself to find I was massaging his balls with one of my own. (Sometimes I amaze myself. What concentration to be so multitalented -- and multitasking!)

It became suddenly quite quiet in the room. The music had changed to a piece that I sort of knew (One of the Ancient Airs and Dances Suites by Respighi, very calm and gentle, and as Pat explained it: Twentieth century orchestral arrangements of renaissance music) and I realized no one else was moving. In addition, I felt that Jones and I were the center of attention.

What, I asked myself, did everyone else know that I didn't? Was my make-up a mess? Well, duh! Of course, you've just been assaulted by a slew of sperm, so anything like eyeliner, mascara or eye shadow was probably all over your big head. But, why would they be focused on that. I looked that way during all of our Friday night flights of fancy.

I just couldn't imagine what was going on. I knew I was moaning a little, having an orgasm build, just waiting for the jerking of Jones's joint to end and the coming to begin. But, again, that was nothing new. What was going on?

There are times in life when a little goes a long way. Sometimes you find that a shampoo bottle that feels almost empty still has a bunch of washes left in it. Wasn't it the miracle of the oil in the lamps at the temple, enough to burn but for one day, that lasted eight, the reason for the celebration of Hanukah? How many times have you looked at your gas tank, telling you that you're empty and you still have enough to get the fifty-six miles into Cody, Wyoming, to buy gas? (These are, of course, rhetorical questions. No need to answer. There will not be a pop quiz.)

Well, Jones uttered one of those things that to this day I'll never forget. "Uh, Angie, I just have to tell you that I won't come as much as I usually do, but, um, I do come quite a bit. I'm sorry if it's not my normal amount."

OK. What was going on here? Was this why everyone had quieted down to focus on the two of us? Here I am, on my knees, my skinny butt sitting on my heels under me, staring straight at this good-looking cock, now dribbling profusely with pre-cum, and this guy tells me that he's just jerked off twice. Then he warns me and apologizes in advance for not coming as much as usual?

Does this mean that he's another Emanuel, big cock, little cum? Or does it mean that he comes a lot, but won't now? I was confused, but it was obvious that all eyes were on his dick and my lips, now licking the pre-seminal fluid off his head. What did everyone else know that I didn't? And, why didn't I get the memo?

My curiosity was not to be unsatisfied long since, while I was pondering these weighty thoughts, he began to start a medium-sized stream of cum and began to make a guttural sound (now more like a trombone than a bassoon) unlike I've every heard in my life. It wasn't loud, it was just a straining sound, like just before a release.

Well, it turns out that the stream of cum, or what I thought was cum, was actually pre-cum, just so much of it that you'd have thought it was an actual ejaculation. There was more in that stream of pre-seminal fluid than little Manny ejaculated in his entirety.

There are days when you discover new things that pleasantly surprise you. This was not one for me. On this day, I found Nirvana. This was not merely a pleasant surprise. No, this was an E-Ticket ride; this was a trip to Jupiter. This was galactic in its magnitude.

I could feel Jones's cockhead as it seemed to grow suddenly to about twice its size. It became purple and the skin became very taut. The pre-seminal stream became a gush of salty deliciousness and it quickly filled my mouth. I needed to swallow if I was going to get me more of that stuff.

And then it happened.

The gush was not "the stuff." It was just the warm-up. Here came the juice just as I closed my mouth to swallow what'd accumulated in it. In that second while I was swallowing I saw a stream of thick, white, glorious goo shoot at me non-stop for two or three seconds. I'd never seen anything like it.

Of course I'd seen some porn videos where a guy comes all over a woman's face and even hits the wall behind her a few times. But, Jones's cock made that look like a kid's water pistol. This was a three-alarm fire's hose turned on full blast.

This one blast completely covered the lower half of my face, even though midway I was able to open my mouth to capture some.

The next shot was even more impressive. It lasted at least four seconds. I mean, four seconds: One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand. Four one-thousand. I'd never seen any cock shoot a stream for that long.

What was truly amazing was that he did that again and again and again. He must have shot seven or eight of those big, slow, rich, thick creamy globs of semen.

There was no way I could keep that much cum in my mouth so I managed to time it almost correctly and swallow each right as it finished, just in time to open my mouth for the next one.