Immy's Adventures - the Gang Bang

This is the fifth installment in my "Kimmy's Adventures" series about a college track star and her sexual exploits.

This is realistic fiction in that it involves people and events that could happen, however all characters are made up. Any resemblance to actual people is coincidental. The college referenced in the story is made up.

All characters depicted are over the age of 18.

Kimmy's Adventures-The Gang Bang

x

"Fuck, this skinny white bitch's pussy is tight!" Walton Hampton, center for the football team bellowed, as he pounded his throbbing cock in and out of me. Two of his line-mates, Fetu Ta'ala, and Ty'reke Smithton each had a hold of one of my legs and were spreading me wide as I laid prone on my back on the queen sized bed.

"You should feel what Freak is doing to my dick with her mouth!" Clifford Wideman, the left tackle, said as he throat piped me. I was swirling the tip of my tongue around the base of his cock at the same time his thick shaft filled my mouth and the large helmet shaped head rested against my tonsils. My hands tightly gripped his thighs for dear life.

My senses were on overload. My mouth was starting to go numb. I did the best I could to carefully breath through my nose while saliva cascaded down my face, precariously close to my nostrils. A lot of the spit river had already flowed down my cheeks and forehead and I could only imagine the mess it was making of my hair.

Just when I wasn't sure how much more I could take, I felt the right tackle, Bobby Pandella grab my tits roughly with his big paws and begin pulling my nipples like rubber bands.

"Oh-eye-gawwwddd!" I screamed, causing vibrations to course through the cock that was fucking my face. The two behemoths holding my legs clung tightly as my lower body lifted about half-a-foot off the bed, nearly dislodging the cock from my cunt. My arms flailed causing me to lose hold of Wideman's thighs. I shook spastically.

The cacophony of laughter from the five burly men echoed off the bedroom walls adding to my disoriented state.

And despite everything I just described that was happening to me, I have to admit, I was loving every fucking second of it.

You may be wondering how I came to be in that situation? Well, quite honestly it was my own doing. Well, with a little help from my "boy friend" at the time, quarterback Harrison Northman. By the way, the sadistic bastard happened to be sitting in a chair off to the side of the bed enjoying watching it all go down.

Let me explain.

xx

Harrison and I met during the summer semester between my freshman and sophomore years. Like most athletes we stayed at school during the summer to take a class or two to make up for the lighter course load we took during the school year in order to concentrate on our sports. And, like many athletes, we were both communication majors.

I tried not to stare as Harrison Northman, called North by his teammates, strolled into the "Intro to Social Media" classroom the first day of the course. But, it wasn't easy. You would have had to be living under a rock to not know who he was, but I'd never been in the same room as him until that day.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't immediately attracted and aroused by the sight of him. How could I not? His lean, muscular 6'3" 220-lb. frame was on display in his board shorts and sleeveless tee-shirt, feet clad in leather sandals. His sun bleached, shoulder length hair made him look more like a surfer dude or life guard than a football player. I think every female in the room, including our professor, a woman in her mid 50's, got wet upon seeing him.

I swear he looked right at me and gave me a quick smile before he turned his attention to someone he recognized sitting in the back row. If I wasn't already damp, I was then. I heard him greet Malik Pennington, our basketball team's point guard. I glanced quickly to see the two "dap each other up" before they took seats and started talking.

By the time the small classroom was about half full there was an audible din. Professor Margaret Simon interrupted the pre-class chatter, saying it looked like everyone on her roster was present and that she'd like to get started. After describing her background to us, she had us all introduce ourselves.

When it was my turn I was shaking like a leaf. I couldn't help but think that being this nervous talking about myself to a group of about twenty-or-so peers didn't bode well for someone who had aspirations of one day being in the public eye. I simply said my name, explained I was a rising-sophomore and wanted to become a writer or sports commentator but was still trying to figure that out.

"Oh Kimmy, I think you're being a bit modest," Professor Simon said, as she sat on the edge of her desk at the front of the room. "For those of you who don't know, Ms. Anderson is an elite distance runner. She placed third in the 3,000-meter run at the NCAA Championships last weekend and helped State College win the women's title. Quite an accomplishment for a first year student."

Her comment was met with some Oh's and Awe's and a light round of applause. Then I heard a voice from behind me ask, "You planning on running professionally?" I turned to see Harrison looking at me, smile on his face. He'd obviously been the one who'd asked the question.

"Well, honestly that's truly my main goal," I said looking right into his beautiful ocean blue eyes. "The other things are plans after my running career is over. Whenever that might be."

"Well we look forward to seeing you in the Olympics one day," Professor Simon said.

I blushed then turned back around to face the front of the class. I was trying to keep my legs from shaking as I sat and listened to the next student introduce herself.

When it was Harrison's turn, I rotated in my chair to look at him. He confidently focused his vision at the professor, said his name and mentioned that he played on the football team and that whether he played professionally or not he was preparing for a career in sports media.

"Again with the modesty," Professor Simon interrupted. "Mr. Northman is the predicted first string quarterback for the up coming season. Aren't you?"

"Uh, yes Mam," Harrison said. "But nothing's promised. I have some talented young competition. I'm confident in my ability though and have been working hard to achieve my goal."

"Well wasn't that said like someone who's been practicing his diplomatic media responses," the professor chided him good-naturedly. Her quip was met with a room full of laughter. "Well I think I speak for the whole class when I say we wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you Mam," he said politely.

Once the last student had introduced himself, Professor Simon had us refer to the course syllabus on her web page. She went over every aspect of the course, from attendance expectations to quiz and test grades.

Then she spent close to a half-hour explaining the main project which would be to work with a partner to design our own pod-cast or social media channel. We'd have to do everything from coming up with the premise, the target audience, advertising, etc. Then we'd have to act as our own producer, director, and on air talent. Then of course we'd have to produce at least one-hour long episode. Sounded like fun, but a lot of work to accomplish in less than five weeks.

One girl asked if we got to pick our own partners, but Professor explained that it would be done randomly. She'd put our names into a "partner generating application".

"So if everyone will look up at the 'Smart Board', I'll go ahead and press enter and, 'voila'," she said pointing up at the board.

And there on the screen was a list of 12-pairs of names. I nearly shit myself when in the third row down I saw Anderson/Northman. I slowly looked over my right shoulder in time to see Harrison staring right at me. He smiled and gave me a wink and a slight nod of the head. I quickly turned towards the front of the room.

"Holy fuck!" I mouthed silently.

Then I noticed at least a half-dozen of the ten women in the room shoot daggers at me with their eyes. "Bitches be hatin'!" as La La liked to say. I couldn't help but smile to myself.

Professor Simon said that we had the rest of the class time to meet with our partner and begin working on our project. She added that we could stay in the class or go somewhere else if we so wished.

I was just turning around to see what Harrison wanted to do when I noticed he was standing right next to me, his book bag slung over his right shoulder.

He suggested we go to the student union and get a snack while we made plans for our project. I readily agreed, quickly gathered my stuff and we headed out of the classroom to several pairs of staring eyes.

The less than five minute walk to the union consisted of some comfortable small talk as we traded where we were from, high school's we attended, and acquaintances we had in common.

After we got to the food-court, he graciously paid for my meal and we took seats at a corner table. We continued to talk while we ate. I found him to be down to earth and unpretentious. Rare traits in jocks who had been told all their lives how good they were. I knew from my own experience. We both shared stories about how our parents were great role models and integral to making sure our heads didn't get too big.

He had a self-deprecating sense of humor that had me giggling and laughing the entire time. He shared how his love of football came from watching his two older brothers game's while he was growing up. He said the battles with them in the backyard contests made him ultra-competitive.

I felt very at ease with him and found myself opening up to him in ways that I didn't with most people I just met. I told him about my love of running, how I'd begun racing competitively as early as 7-years old, watched my first track and field Olympics on television a year or so later, which prompted the dream I've had since.

Our topics weren't limited to family and sports. I found he was also intelligent about the world around him and knowledgable about current events. He actually read and had a favorite book. A first for most guys I knew.

I guess you could say we were "Vibing."

When we finally got down to the business of planning our pod-cast, I admired the way he listened to my ideas. He wasn't one of those people who demanded we do it his way. Nor was he going to expect his partner to do all the work. He asked questions to clarify if he didn't understand something. He had his own ideas as well and gave good reasons why we should use them. But, he wasn't overbearing. I could see that he had the attributes of being a team leader.

We came up with a basic outline to do a podcast that would incorporate our love of sports. We'd do two half-hour interviews of famous former athletes from our college who could share their stories and advice. We already had some names of people in mind. We made plans to contact the sports information department later in the week.

Maybe not real original, but we thought interesting nonetheless. Before we'd realized it we saw we'd been working for an hour past the end of class time. Harrison said he had a meeting with the athletic trainer and that he'd see me in the morning.

For the rest of the week Professor Simon would use the first half of the class to teach her lesson or lead class discussion about the previous night's text reading, then give us the second half of the class to work on our project.

We used our time wisely and by the end of the first week had made good progress. Our time together seemed effortless and fun. We shared stories and laughed constantly. I really enjoyed spending time with Harrison. I guess he felt the same way because at the end of Friday's class he asked if I'd like to get a bite to eat at the diner then see a movie Saturday evening. I willingly consented.

xxx

Harrison picked me up at my off campus apartment that I was sharing with Mena. When I had told her that Harrison and I were working on the class project together she'd joked that it would be less than a week before I had sex with him. Actually she was surprised we hadn't yet. I just smiled.

I met him at the door wearing jean capri's and a floral mid drift shirt that flaunted my fit abs, flip-flops on my feet. He looked fine in his cream colored Ron Jon shorts that went to just above the knees with an olive, skin tight, v-neck tee-shirt. He had white tennis sneakers with no socks on his feet. The outfit showed off his tanned, muscular frame. The one thing our shirts had in common was that we were both showing nipple.

When I introduced him to Mena, he gave her a friendly hug then said, "I swear our women's track team has to be the prettiest in the country."

She blushed three shades of red and I thought she was going to leave a puddle on the floor.

"Now you did it Harrison," I joked lightly punching him on the shoulder. "Now she's going to have to go change her panties."

"You kidding me," she sniped back as she reached for the button on her shorts. "I'm never going to wash them again. As a matter of fact Harrison, would you mind autographing them?"

It was Harrison's turn to blush while Mena and I busted out laughing.

"Don't wait up," I whispered to her as I gave her a final hug good bye.

As soon as we walked in to the diner, people were staring in our direction. We were seated by the owner who recognized Harrison immediately and thanked us for coming. Our waitress quickly took our order. He had a hamburger and I had a chicken sandwich. We shared an order of fries. Sodas were the drink of choice. Not the best meal for athletes, but we both rationalized it as our cheat day.

During our meal we talked about everything from our favorite baseball team's to the class project. We were just about finished eating when I happened to notice a boy no more than ten-years old holding a paper menu and a pen heading our way. The kid nervously walked up to our table.

"Um Mister, my Dad said you're the quarterback for the college. Uh, can I get your autograph?"

Without hesitating Harrison said, "Absolutely. What's your name?"

"Uh, Tommy," the boy stuttered.

And with that Harrison scribbled Best wishes Tommy, # 16 Harrison Northman.

Harrison was just about to hand it back to him when he said, "Hey do you also want my friend's autograph?"

"She's on the football team too?" he asked innocently.

Harrison and I let out a burst of laughter, before he was able to say, "No, this is Kimmy Anderson and she's a runner. She's going to be in the Olympics one day."

I shot Harrison a quick, "I don't believe you just said that!" look. He responded by flashing his infectious smile.

"Wow!, Really?" Tommy asked, very impressed. "Yeah, sure."

And with that Harrison handed me the menu. Honestly I was impressed the kid even knew what the Olympics was. I looked for some empty space and scribed my signature.

"Now don't lose that Tommy," Harrison warned the boy as he was walking away. "She's going to famous one day."

"Hey Mom, Dad, look what I got," Tommy was shouting as he ran back to the table where his parents were sitting.

He was all excited as he showed them our autographs. When he revealed to his mother my signature, he pointed at me and I heard him say "Olympics". The mother looked in my direction smiling and mouthed "Thank you so much!". I grinned back and mouthed, "You're welcome."

That moment made me realize two things. One was the importance of being kind to people. The look on that kids face and the appreciation of the parents was priceless. The other was what a warm hearted and generous person Harrison was.

It wasn't an act. While we were out that night he signed willingly for anyone who asked. But, signing autographs was only part of it. About a week or two later I went with him to the local hospital to spend time visiting sick kids at the pediatric ward. To see the way he boosted those kid's spirits was awe inspiring. It motivated me to begin a children's charity with some of my teammates that we sponsor to this day.

Harrison paid the bill and left the waitress a generous tip. After about another five-minute ride he was parking his car in the theater lot. Upon entering the movie house, he purchased our tickets to the latest hit action flick, then stopped at the snack bar for a bucket of popcorn. A minute or two later we were settling into seats in the center of the second to last row.

The theater was only about one-third full by the time the lights dimmed and the coming attractions began. The closest other movie goers were two rows in front of us. We took turns sharing the popcorn for the first few minutes of the film. There was still about a quarter of the bucket left when we decided we'd had enough. Harrison placed it on the floor between us. I put my arm through his and snuggled closer to him. He didn't object. We settled into watching the flick.

About a half-hour into the movie I was bored and horny as hell. It appeared he wasn't going to take the initiative so I figured, "what the fuck". I took a quick glance around then rested my hand in the middle of his crotch. I was pleasantly pleased to be greeted by a hard cock that was stretched out inside his pants, pointing down his left leg. Its warmth emanated through the fabric. I guess he was more turned on than he was letting on. He made a surprised grunt, turned cough. I giggled.

The woman in front of us, who I estimated to be in her thirties, gave a quick backward glance. I froze and acted like I was staring at the screen.

Once I was sure no one was looking, I began my ministrations again. For a couple minutes I drove Harrison crazy as I lightly slid my finger tips up and down the length of his fabric covered cock, while I feigned interest in the movie. I could feel it quiver as he did his best to stoically stare at the screen. However, I felt him squirm in his seat.

I then swiftly moved my hand to the waistband of the shorts, deftly unfastened and unzipped them in one stealth move.

"Kimmy, what the fuck are you doing?" Harrison whispered in surprise, but interestingly didn't try to physically stop me.

"I think you can figure our what I'm doing Mr. football player," I said teasingly. "I'm trying to sack your little quarterback." I giggled at my pun.

"I-I d-don't know if that's a good idea," he stammered.

"So does that mean you want me to stop?" I asked looking at him with an impish grin.

Several seconds went by and he still hadn't answered.

"I'll take your silence as a no," I said and I stuck my hand in the pee hole of his boxers and fished his cock out.

"Oh, he's not so little after all, is he?" I joked some more. The fingers of my small hand barely fit around his girth as I began stroking Harrison's circumcised cock slowly. I ran my index finger over the slit in the tip of his dick and smeared the pearl of pre cum around the bulbous head. I did this for a minute or so, listening to his breathing become more labored.

Another minute later I tapped Harrison on the hip prompting him to lift his ass off the seat. He did as directed which allowed me to slide his shorts a bit more over his glutes exposing more of his underwear. This made it easier to display his balls which I began caressing with my other hand. While I stroked and fondled him, I leaned over and pressed my lips against his. His warm mouth on mine felt as good as his hard cock and swollen balls did in my hands.

Our lips together felt so fine that I naturally had to have more of him. So, my tongue slithered into his mouth and wrestled with his at the same time I increased the speed of my strokes on his cock. He leaked more pre cum allowing me to naturally lube his cock and help my hand glide up and down his shaft effortlessly.

A couple minutes later, still lost in my lust, I felt a sound catch in Harrison's throat. He removed his mouth from mine and gave me a startled look of concern. I knew immediately what it meant. Rather than back off and torment him, possibly risking detection from other patrons or theater personnel, I decided to mercifully finish him off.