I was on business in LA staying at a hotel where there were college cheerleaders everywhere. I think some kind of cheerleading competition was underway, and many of them were staying there.
I went for a run early one morning, and its being quite warm outside, just wore shorts and shoes. I was hot and sweaty when I returned to the hotel and stood there waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened at ground level, it was packed full of cheerleaders in full uniform.
I was almost sure the elevator had been descending, so I waited for them to exit. But they just stood there gawking at me. At such close range, it was obvious their eyes were cast at my crotch. Some were smiling, some giggling. All were cuties decked out in halter-style tops and short pleated skirts.
I glanced down to see that my profuse perspiration had printed through the thin, nylon, bird-egg-blue Frank Shorter running shorts to make them semi-see-through and closely hug the contours of my "penile-scrotal assembly."
Frankly, I was embarrassed. That, and given that they were not getting off and filled the elevator completely, I decided to just wait on another elevator. Just as the doors started to close, one of them must have punched the "open" button, and another said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Get on in."
So, reluctantly, I stepped in as they first parted, then, amoeba-like, surrounded me on all sides. We were packed in there like sardines and I could feel the unmistakable sensation of firm young boobs pressing into my back and arms. A hand squeezed a bun, then another, then another. There were so many hands on my butt that I couldn't begin to tell how many. At any rate, within only a moment, I was already half hard.
I called out my floor, which was near the top, but the elevator was stopping on every floor. It was too full for anyone to get on, and besides, we were going up, and, at that time of the morning, hotel guests were all going down anyway. It was too packed for me to see the control panel, but, apparently, one of the girls had punched every floor. This was going to be a long ride.
Shortly, the girl in front of me, the one who'd told me to get on, began to wiggle her ass on my cock. She was a gorgeous tower, almost as tall as me, so my now fully turgid cock nestled right between her firm, muscular buns as I inhaled the sweet odor and felt the exquisite softness of her long blonde hair. I couldn't see her bottom both because we were squeezed so close together and her skirt was draped over Mr. Johnson, but the feel left no doubt that no material came between my dick and her crack.
If she had on panties at all, they must have been a super-skimpy thong, for I sure didn't feel any. The only thing separating us was the extraordinarily thin nylon of my shorts; I'd long before cut out the built-in liner when it lost its elasticity from countless washings. I'd had them since college, and most people would have tossed them into the trash, but they packed so compactly and dried quickly--perfect for travel. And now they were proving their value in a new way.
Fingers, I have no idea whose, roamed up my thighs, encircled my rod, tickled my balls. From somewhere behind, a black girl's hand wriggled beneath my armpit to squeeze my left pectoral and twiddle its nipple. On the other side, I felt what I'm sure was a bare, rubbery nipple kiss the back of my upper arm.
The whole pack of them began to rock back and forth in unison to the lead of tall blondie milking my cock between her buns. For the briefest moment in the movement, I caught a glimpse of a short Japanese girl, a bit in front and to the side of me, with her hand up her skirt. She was masturbating. I'm not sure, but I think they all were.
With only a couple more floors until mine, and with tall blondie giving me a "crack-job," boobs in my back, hands squeezing chest, arms, and buns, and sharp nails dancing about my scrotum, I felt my seed rising. She must have felt it, too, because she picked up the pace of her up and down wiggling as she contracted and relaxed her butt muscles around my raging erection.
Just before the door opened on my floor, I buried my face in her luxuriant hair and blasted with an intense orgasm, she continuing to milk me squirt-for squirt until I was empty.
The elevator door opened, and thank God, no one was waiting on my floor, for the front of my shorts was drenched in cum. As before, like an amoeba, the cheerleaders parted and released me, this time to de-board. Feeling simultaneously terrific and weird, I stepped off into the hall and looked back.
Damn, they were a fine assortment of chicks—short, medium, & tall; big, medium, & little boobs; blondes, brunettes, & redheads; Whites, Blacks, & Asians—but every one of them was cute if not gorgeous and smiling ear-to-ear. As the doors began to close, the tall blonde, presumably the captain, said, "So, who'd like to fuck his brains out?"
A strong chorus of "Meeeeee!" penetrated the closed door.
I barely had time to shower, dress, and get to the training class I was facilitating, and, in full uniform, they obviously had a competition on their day's agenda. I don't know how good they were as cheerleaders, but they certainly knew how to function as a team on an elevator.
The training seminar I was leading lasted all week, but my evenings were free, and it was only Monday. Perhaps I'd have the opportunity to see how they worked as a team under different circumstances, like in the California king-size bed in my hotel room.