Texas Share Experiment

I heard the fridge door open. Then the sound of bottle tops. Clink of glass against glass. Movement all around me. But I didn't open my eyes. A little later – how long, don't know – I picked up my feet, coiled my legs around him, and locked my ankles over the top of rock-hard buns. They were the tightest I'd ever felt. (Not that I've felt a hell of a lot.) His tongue was half way down my throat. Then mine was as far down his. The hem of my dress was up round my waist. My pudenda was spasming hard. This had gone way past the dangerous stage! I was about to be fucked. Hard. But this is the kicker – I didn't mind!

The first orgasm hit me after a period of genuinely exquisite agony, during which I have absolutely no idea what anyone else in the room, other than my partner in this ... thing we were doing to each other ... was doing. My mind has rarely been so focussed on a job, as it was on this job. What he was doing to me, and how I was responding. Inch, by grossly expanding inch he eased his massive penis inside my (by now copiously lubricated) vagina. But he did so with the skill and patience of an engineer. (Perhaps he was an engineer – we weren't introduced.) Clearly used to hurting his prey on account of his size, I must assume he'd learned to take it slowly and that way end up with a fan on the end of his member, rather than blood, and tears. (A life-long fan, in this case!)

He handled his advance like the operator of a fully-laden goods train, venturing into a tunnel that may not be safe. Two or three trucks at a time. Then a cautious reverse to build up more steam. Then a few more trucks. Then a thick oil truck, then another, then a sudden spurt and thrust ... then back. Keeping it patient, keeping it slow. Keeping the tunnel advised, keeping the honey slick coating abreast of the truck in the lead: the huge bulbous truck of liquid gas, or oil, or milk, or honey, or whatever they kept in the lead truck these days.

And then it was home. All in. Sunk deep. The tunnel filled. The line of trucks engulfed, engorged, devoured. The thought amused, at first, but then it hit home. I came to realise just how enormous he was. I allowed the thought to dwell in my mind, fed it more feelings from inside of me, pondered, thoughtfully, precisely what it felt like to have a cock this big, this fat, this long ... this far inside me. It blew my mind!

I came like a boiler exploding. Which he either noticed and ignored, or was too busy with his next phase of work, to notice at all. The heft of this great, rather noble invader was such, I was tempted to imagine, that the seismic disturbance it had caused, seated as completely as he was, and where he was seated, in me, perhaps did not register on any of the scales that someone with this sort of heft in his prick, commonly used. This man, this heft, this train, was something rather special, you felt.

I felt.

Boy! Did I FEEL this man!

What I felt next was the gargantuan presence, seated as it was, where it was, as deep as it was, start on something new. And I mean, SOMETHING NEW! This was over the horizon of all my experience to date. This was ... NEW! New, as in a different way to move. New, as in a different way to feel. New as in different ways to groan, and cry, and beg – though not for mercy!

When you have something the size of a large sofa fitted in a place overflowing with a hormonal drive coming at you with a rush not seen since the gold one (rush) of 1898, and it starts to move inside you in directions that take the inner linings not merely of you, but the wave upon towering wave of soaring hormones that threaten not merely your boundaries, but sanity too, and start, by the movement of a pelvis so powerful it feels like a part of the earth, to put you through what feels like a sexual mangle, simultaneously driving you up an orgasmic mountain with three great steam trains up your ass – or so it feels – then that ... is NEW! I blew my top again, at the top. This second orgasm was majestic, a huge molten lava sort of thing that just went on and on, and on, and on. But my stud hardly noticed, hardly missed a beat!

I usually like to rest, once I've climaxed twice. Collect myself, at least. Some people smoke, some sip a glass of water, some chat, or talk, reminisce, or so I understand. But I could do none of these things. I was still impaled on this great thing of this huge guy. Where the hell did he get the energy? He still stood tall and erect as he had from the start, feet widely placed on the carpet, shoulders broad as a kingdom, one hand round my butt holding me to him as steady as an anchor for a fair sized ship ... as I yelped and cried and groaned and gasped. As my pelvis, lewdly spread around his girth, flopped and flapped and drove and strained and thrust and thrust and thrust. One minute my backbone was curled like a whip about to be cracked. The next it was arched like a bow as I groaned and bore down, strained and demanded the man do more. To Me. And NOW! Crushing myself around this great piston-like penis of his as if it was a jack-hammer, and I was a kitten, hanging on for dear life! The third time I came, he did too. Unloaded hugely into me. I blacked out after that.

Dave was next, when I recovered some semblance of awareness. (Did you know women black out if the feeling's too intense?) I think he thought we owed him. With Dave, it was done in the simple, more straight-forward way. Laying me down on my back on the bed, opening my legs, and doing it from there. The missionary position I think it's called, though I'm not sure its something a missionary should be doing. At least not so often they name the position after you.

By now I was pretty well beat, it has to be said. Both sexually and physically drained. I noted the big guy leave, and for a fleeting moment considered running after him and asking him if I could stay with him a bit. But I didn't have the energy to get from my back on the bed to the door before he left, so let Dave part my legs and climb between.

After the black guy, Dave was tame. But he seemed to enjoy himself enough. And by the time Jim was where Dave had been, I was starting to feel raw, and pretty sore. I told them I needed a rest. I told them it was sore down there. That I was out of breath and I didn't see a gang-bang as a whole lot of fun. So Jim eased out, half way, and started talking like an uncle. And the guys all got together and wondered how they could do this, without doing me damage. They were a decent enough bunch of guys. All considerate, even if they had the hots for me and wanted inside my pants – which I'd now succeeded in drawing back on.

Bob threw me a towelling robe, collected from the bathroom. The macho guys sat down. I stayed where I was, curled up on the bed, pushed a foot into the hips of the guy in the three-piece suit, easing him off the bed. Reluctantly, he got off. Then I saw them drawing lots. Bob, my scheming husband, had it all worked out. I would be ready for another hot tryst this evening, round ten. One of them gets the long straw, so he's pencilled in, for me, at ten. Thereafter at six in the morning. One of them draws for me then. Then again, mid afternoon, I'll be excited again, raring for another bout of fucking. Another guy gets me for then.

I stared at Bob, wondering if he'd gone loco. But I didn't have the energy, or will, to object. I'd never been fucked like I just had, by the engineer with his great big train. I wondered how Bob would feel if I asked him to squeeze in the black guy again. (That had been heavy. And I mean HEAVY!) Could I take these other guys, over the next day, each a few hours apart? I wasn't sure.

In fact, I never found out. We checked out the hotel that evening just before dinner, while everyone else was in the dining room. By the time my ten o'clock appointment showed up at the door to our room – I am guessing here – we were a hundred miles up the highway. I was curled up in the back of our car, sleeping like a baby, sore between the legs.

Dreaming of choo-choo trains.