tagGroup SexSeems Like Old Times

Seems Like Old Times


CONNIE O'MALLEY HAD NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED IN HER LIFE, not since she'd been named Captain of the cheerleading squad at the beginning of the school year. She felt powerful, as if she could do anything. She knew that only she could be doing what she was doing now and come away from it smelling like roses. The other girls would call it shameful and wear it like sackcloth, never living it down.

But not Connie: her green eyes flashed with her new found inner strength, her body, lithe and muscular, writhed on all fours on the mats in the wrestling room just off the high school gym. Her pretty mouth engulfed the long, hard, black cock of the quarterback, who bucked his slender hips to and fro, his strong fingers tangled in her curly red hair.

Under her, pronging her tight pussy with his stiff, thick bone, was the wide receiver; and straddling her smooth, firm white ass was, fittingly, the rear guard, stroking his rigid dick in and out of her (until recently) virgin asshole. Ten other members of the football team stood by, naked, holding their poles in their fists, waiting their turns with growing impatience.

Connie fully expected to take them all on, until her pussy was sore, until her jaws ached, until her little poop chute was stretched out like the Holland Tunnel. Until her full, ripe body was painted white with the thick, gooey come of the entire team! Jesus Christ, she was in heaven! The wide receiver was mauling her freckled double-D boobies with his huge hands, sucking fiercely on her long, pink nipples. She had already come half a dozen times and knew she would have dozens more orgasms.

Connie grunted happily as the three big cocks skewered her, and as three giant loads of spunk simultaneously erupted into her three willing, eager holes. "Con-nie! Con-NIE! CON-NIE!" they all chanted: the young men who were rogering her as well as those who waited to take their places. "Con-nie! Con-NIE! CON-NIE!"

"Connie? Connie? Honey, you OK?"

"Huh? What?" Connie O'Malley Hansen rolled over and glared bleary-eyed at her husband Eric. "Whassa ma nah?" she asked.

"It sounded like you were having a bad dream," Eric whispered, concern in his voice. "You were moaning and thrashing around. Was it?"

"Was it what?" Connie snapped, now fully awake.

"A bad dream," he said.

"Yes," she said, not lying completely, "a very bad dream. So bad," she repeated, reaching for his groin. "So bad." As she sucked her surprised husband's soft cock into full hardness, then impaled herself on his big boner, Connie remembered lustfully the baker's dozen of young peckers that had serviced her that night ten years ago. Rocking back and forth on Eric's erection, she realized that it had been a piece of mail she'd received that day which had prompted her extremely sexy dream-memory.


ROBERT "ROCKY" VOIGHT HAD COME HOME THAT SAME NIGHT to find a similar piece of mail on the hall table. The envelope had a return address from his hometown in Illinois, but the name was unfamiliar. He didn't know anybody there anymore but his parents, hadn't even been back except sporadically in the past ten years.

Rocky set down his briefcase and walked into the kitchen, ripping the envelope open with his thumb. Pulling out the single sheet of paper, he glanced over it while getting a cold beer from the fridge.

"Ha! Fat chance," he laughed scornfully, swigging deeply from the bottle. Rocky folded the paper again and stuffed it unceremoniously into the envelope, then tossed it across the counter. He wouldn't throw it away until he'd shown it to Vicky and they'd both had a good laugh over it.

"Vicky? Vicky!" he called. He received no answer, then looked around the kitchen quizzically. A hastily scribbled note from his wife was attached to the fridge door with a fruit magnet, informing Rocky that she had gone over to her mother's and would not be home until 10:00. Shit, he thought. The funny letter he'd just read would have to wait.

"Ahem," came a sound behind him. Rocky whirled and saw Inge, their housekeeper for the past year, in the doorway. A 22-year-old Swedish import, Inge was five-feet-ten, pale and blonde, with sky-blue eyes, perfect white teeth, the high cheekbones of her Scandinavian race, and a pair of heavy, jutting breasts that Rocky really tried hard to keep his eyes off of.

Usually as she went about the housework, Inge wore a shapeless sweatsuit and nondescript sneakers. This evening, however, with his wife gone and no one in the house but the two of them, this Nordic beauty was leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, clad only in her birthday suit and a pair of French heels. In a show of false modesty, Inge had one arm down to hide her blonde pubes and the other across her full bosom, looking to Rocky like a yellow- haired Venus on the half-shell. He stared at her in awesome wonder, speechless.

"Your vife, she bain gone, ja?" Inge whispered from the doorway.

"Ja, I mean -- yeah, she's at her m-mother's," he stammered.

Inge tilted her head to one side and smiled her bright smile. "You like Inge? Ja?" Her hand fell from her pale, gigantic boobs and she pushed herself away from the jamb. She repeated the question as she approached him.

Rocky stood mesmerized by the rhythmic swaying of her unfettered hooters. He had never seen tits that size before. Not real ones, anyway. In the heels, the girl was about the same height as Rocky, and now she stood just a few inches away, eye-to-eye, fists defiantly on her round peasant hips, feet apart, still wearing a dazzling smile.

Rocky gulped. "Yes, I like you, Inge, but - " He didn't get to finish his sentence before the housekeeper was on her knees before him, yanking his erection out of his pants and wrapping her tremendous boobs around it. She began tit-fucking him with vigor, dropping her chin on alternate strokes and letting his cock head enter her warm, wet mouth.

"Zo big," Inge muttered, "ja, zo big."

Rocky surrendered himself to the ecstasy of her firm titflesh and soft lips and tongue, and in a few moments he was ejaculating his hot seed over the housekeeper's beautiful face and tits. The letter he'd scoffed over lay forgotten in the kitchen as Rocky quickly led Inge to her little bedroom in the attic, to show her again how much he liked her.


TOM AND GINGER TANNER LAUGHED, TOO, AS THEY READ THEIR OWN LETTER, but it was with fond memories, not contempt. The Tanners had been sweethearts back then, since Junior year of high school, and had gotten married after they'd finished college. Everyone had been jealous of Tom, he now recalled aloud, because he'd gotten the prettiest girl in school.

"Still the prettiest, as far as I'm concerned," he added, raising his wineglass to his wife.

Ginger blushed appropriately. "Thank you, kind sir," she said. "Well, there was no end of jealous talk about me, too, you know. After all, I was the one who landed the captain of the basketball team, and a handsome devil he was, too." She sipped her wine and added, teasingly, "I wonder what ever became of him."

"I'm afraid he married you and filled you up with beautiful babies," Tom replied with mock solemnity. They laughed together, then Tom asked, "So what about it? Do you want to go?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's in September, that's four months away. I can't plan that far ahead."

"Well, I'd love to see what's become of that old gang of mine."

"Sounds like a song title."

"Do you like it? I made it up myself." He grinned at her. "Let's go. It'll be good for us. And for the kids, to see our folks," he added.

"You really want to go?" She gave him a skeptical look.

"Yeah!" he said. "I want to see who's gotten fat, who's going bald, you know. See who's successful, who's not, that sort of thing."

"I think," she teased, "you just want to go so you can see Connie O'Malley -- I know you always lusted after her. I saw how you'd look at her when I came to your games."

"Connie Who?" he asked. "You mean the cheerleader we all called 'The Angry Red Planet'?"


"Because she had such bright red hair, and such a bitchy attitude?"


"And because she had tits as big as globes?"

"Yep!" Ginger slapped his arm playfully, making her own impressive globes jiggle.

"Never heard of her," he said. He suddenly pushed his chair back and knelt beside her, putting his hand on her knee. "Mrs. Tanner, ma'am, you do something to me," he said, sliding his hand up her skirt.

"Don't change the subject, mister," she warned, but she didn't try to stop his advancing hand. Ginger put up only a token resistance as Tom spread her smooth legs and planted soft kisses on the insides of her thighs. "The babies," she sighed.

"The babies are fast asleep," he muttered into her flesh. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her forward in her chair, then began kissing her dampening pussy through her silky panties. Pulling the gusset aside gently, Tom teased her with tiny kisses on her labia, resisting her attempts to push his face against her slit. He kept up this agonizing pecking until she at last agreed, "Yes, OK, Jesus, we'll go to the fucking reunion, are you satisfied?"

Tom loved it when she talked this way. He chuckled throatily into her delicious cunt, then smooched some more.

"All right, then, eat me!" she ordered. "Eat me, you son of a bitch!"

He buried his mouth into her creamy blonde hair-pie and forced his tongue deep inside her. Ginger bit the palm of her hand to keep her pleasured shrieks from waking the babies.


THE GYMNASIUM OF ALISTAIR CROWLEY HIGH SCHOOL was festooned with colorful strands of crepe paper, helium balloons, shifting lights and three -- count 'em -- three disco balls. The committee, made up of alumni still living in town, had outdone itself.

A platform had been specially built to contain the live band, hired for its proficiency with 90s hit songs. A long table along one wall held punch bowls, cups, finger food, and a large cake that read, "WELCOME CLASS OF '97".

Smaller tables surrounded the makeshift dance floor, and folding chairs lined the remaining walls. The idea of the committee had been to make the 10th Reunion remind the attendees of their senior prom all those years ago. With the exception of the wet bar and the keg of beer on ice, it was an almost exact replication.

Of course, many 1997 prom attendees had gone on to kegger parties that night, so the resemblance was even closer than most committee members realized.

The party was going strong when Tom and Ginger Tanner arrived, followed a few minutes later by Connie and Eric Hansen, and then, to the surprise of no one but himself, Rocky Voight.

Vicky had convinced him that he should go, saying that he was probably the one in his class who had changed the most in the intervening years. Of course, she hadn't gone to Crowley, she hadn't met him until his last year of college, so she hadn't known him when, so to speak.

She couldn't get away from work to go with him, but she made sure he had a new photo of her for his wallet to show around. Vicky wasn't quite naked in the portrait, but close enough. Rocky had taken it out and stared at it several times during the flight.

During the four or so months since Rocky had received the reunion announcement, he and the Swedish housekeeper, Inge, had been keeping house together in more ways than one. That first night together had been incredible -- the girl really knew how to please a man -- and once Inge's fire had been kindled, she proved to be insatiable.

One morning she had been so bold as to sneak into his and Vicky's bedroom while his wife was in the shower and give him a quick blowjob, deep-throating him skillfully, swallowing his thick gunk and escaping before Vicky had turned off the water. Vicky came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her slender frame, her day's work already on her mind, and didn't seem to notice the goofy-ass smile on Rocky's face as she brushed her hair.

He was gonna get caught one of these days. There would be hell to pay, but for the moment he was as happy as a two-peckered Billy goat.

So here they all were, back home after all these years, each in his or her own world of memories. Connie O'Malley Hansen immediately plunged into the center of a circle of former cheerleaders, squealing with excitement at the sight of all her old friends. Her husband, Eric, momentarily forgotten, joined some other Cheerleader Widowers at the bar.

Tom and Ginger Tanner were absorbed by the basketball squad alumni, and spent quite a while showing pictures of their children and exclaiming over others' snapshots.

After a minute or so of this, Ginger caught Tom looking over his shoulder at the cheerleaders, especially at a coiffed mop of red curls. She gave her husband a covert elbow in the ribs as she carried on exchanging a recipe for piecrust with another wife. Tom rubbed his side gently and returned his attention to the group he was with.

Rocky Voight wandered around alone. Seems like old times, he thought. Back in high school, he was always alone in the cafeteria, in the hallways, at his locker. Ten years ago he had been a skinny nerd with stringy hair and thick glasses. As he made his way to the beer keg, he felt the eyes of his former classmates upon him and thought they were staring in disbelief that Robert "Needledick" Voight would dare to show his face at this event.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. His fellow alumni were staring with wonder at someone they absolutely did not recognize: broad shouldered, barrel chested, massive biceps straining at his jacket sleeves, chiseled features, clear blue eyes and wavy dark hair.

Who was this handsome stranger, they asked each other, unaware of the cliché. He seemed vaguely familiar to many of the men, and some of the women, but they couldn't quite place him.

Rocky served himself a beer from the keg, and turned around to find a petite, pretty woman standing in front of him, peering up at him with astigmatic brown eyes. She squinted, seemed about to apologize, then recognition dawned on her face. "Robert Voight? Robbie? Is it you?"

"Marcia Huffman? Oh, my god, how are you?" He bent to receive her peck on the cheek, and grinned broadly at her. "It's nice to see a friendly face," he confided. "I think everybody's been wondering what I'm doing here."

"Well, they are," Marcia said, "but not for the reason you think. Holy cow, Robbie, you just look so different! I mean really great! What happened to you? What are you doing these days? Are you married? Answer my questions in any order you want," she giggled, laying her hand on his. Rocky noticed that her palm was a little sweaty and her face a little flushed.

"Let's sit down and chat a minute," he suggested. They moved over to a vacant table, and once again Rocky felt all eyes on him as he walked, but this time there was a different feeling in the air. He held a chair for Marcia and she sat primly, then he sat down opposite her.

They exchanged small talk, filling each other in on their successes and failures over the past decade. Rocky admitted he was happily married, no kids, maybe someday. Marcia told him she was happily divorced, no kids, thank god. Marcia said she was working as a programmer for an up and coming software company. Rocky said vaguely that he was between jobs, but had just finished a big project out West.

"What are you in," Marcia hinted, "construction? Is that how you got to be such a hunk?" She giggled again, batted her eyes shamelessly at him.

Rocky smiled. He was flattered, but realized that he didn't want to spend the rest of the evening talking to just one person, even if that person was Marcia, one of the only friends he'd had back then. Vicky would be disappointed to learn that he hadn't mingled at least a little.

He downed the remainder of his beer and stood. "Will you excuse me, Marcia? Time for me to find the boys' room." He stooped and kissed her cheek. "We'll talk later, OK?"

She smiled and nodded, then warned him saucily not to leave tonight without dancing with her. He grinned and waved as he walked away.

Finding the restroom was simple enough, even after ten years. If you were a kid who dreaded gym class, like Rocky had been, you never forget those long, fearful walks to the locker room. He pushed open the swinging door marked "BOYS" and strode over to the urinals. The familiar odor of sour sweat and chlorine assaulted his nostrils. Jesus, he thought as he pissed, some things never change.

Rocky was thinking that this evening might not turn out so bad after all. If people were looking at him with admiration, the way Marcia had suggested, instead of pity or contempt, he might be able to look upon this event with a fond memory.

He was zipping his fly when he heard a stifled giggle in the stall behind him, followed by a shushing sound. He smiled to himself and went to the sink to wash his hands, thinking that high school nostalgia had overcome a somebody or two.

Rocky was reaching for a paper towel when in the mirror over the sink he saw the stall door open and two pretty female faces peek around it. One was a redhead, the other a blonde. He turned and leaned against the sink, folding his arms and saying facetiously, "All right, ladies, come on out. I won't bite you."

He recognized the redhead at once as Connie O'Malley; the blonde took a little more time to place, but after a moment he pegged her as Ginger Fairchild. "Ginger Fairchild Tanner," she corrected, curtsying a little drunkenly.

"And Connie O'Malley Hansen, kind sir," the redhead giggled, "'but you have the advantage of us', she said hopefully." The two women snorted at Connie's joke, then Ginger said, "Yeah, she's right - who are you, tall, dark and handsome?"

"Roc -- uh, Robbie Voight," he said. "You probably don't remember me."

"Oh, my fuckin god," Connie lurted. "Needledick Voight? You're -- you were -- I mean -- holy shit, Robbie, you're a fuckin beefcake!" She approached him with tottering steps and put admiring palms on his pecs.

"I remember you, Robbie," Ginger said thoughtfully. "But I never would have known you tonight. You sure have changed." She came over and tentatively squeezed his biceps.

"Thanks, ladies," Rocky said, appreciating the attention but not wanting their husbands to walk in on them, "but may I ask what you're doing in the boys' room?"

His question brought on a new fit of giggles from the women. "We always wondered what it looked like in here," Connie admitted. "If it was that much different from the girls' locker room."

"Probably only the smell was different," Rocky opined. "That, and the urinals on the wall." He gestured to the white porcelain devices.

"Yeah," Ginger stage-whispered, "we watched you peeing. It was very exciting." She looked at Connie, then back at Rocky, a puzzled look on her face. "Why did they call you 'Needledick'?"

Rocky felt his face get hot. He also felt his dick beginning to swell at the thought of these two beautiful women engaging in voyeurism at his expense. "Well, no one's called me that for a long time. In fact, nowadays my friends call me 'Rocky'."

"Rocky, did you ever wonder what the girls' locker room looked like?" Connie asked, letting her hands slide down from his chest to his crotch. She tugged at his growing erection through his trousers and whispered loudly to Ginger, "Now I know why they call him 'Rocky'." The blonde smiled and felt for herself. "Mmm, yeah, I see what you mean."

"Well, I was always curious, um, about the girls' locker room," Rocky began, "but, ah, won't your husbands be looking for you anytime soon?"

"They're talking sports," the two women said in unison, and pulled him by the hands through the locker room, away from the reunion crowd, and through the swinging door at the opposite end.

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