Nessa's 18th Birthday Buae

"'Atta girl, now hold that breath -- know you got some strong lungs after all those laps," Mr. Clayton grinned, holding his cock in place, partway down my throat. Students had to run laps around the basketball court when he didn't think we were 'giving our all' in whatever gym assignment we had that day. And I never seemed to be able to clear that bar back in school.

"*Ghhrrkk...kkhhggg...*" I could feel drool spilling from the corners of my mouth while my eyes teared up, dropping fresh spatters of warm, clear fluid onto my dark, slimy cleavage. Mr. Clayton, or Coach C as he liked to be called, didn't seem to mind the remnants of half a dozen other loads being smeared onto his crotch, as he reveled in the warm, tight bliss of penetrating my young throat hole. And then, he started humping.

My classmates and parents' friends watched as I gagged and spluttered on Coach C's thick meat at the center of my party tent. Every powerful thrust nudged the tip of my nose closer to his dark bush of wiry pubes, and I could feel my neck stretching out like a bullfrog as he buried more and more of himself into me. I splattered his thighs with wet, slobbering coughs that shook my tits and squeezed my ribs, until his full, dangling balls were dripping with frothy strands of spit.

"Oh... Fuck..." The sights and sounds were clearly too much for one of the other guys in the crowd, because after I heard him curse breathily, I felt a hot splash of cum flop onto my belly, between the coach's legs. The white slime slid down my tight midriff before filling my navel, then it continued on toward my bare clit. Another unseen guest approached and grabbed my right wrist, wrapping my fingers around his cock and using my hand to jerk himself off. When someone got the idea to use my left hand the same way, I dangled back against Coach's grip on my head while he tried to tunnel into my stomach through my mouth.

Just as I felt like I was beginning to really understand the term 'ragdoll' I was wrenched forward all the way, mashing my face into Coach's soggy bush, with all 7 or 8 inches of full-grown cock buried through my lips -- and he started to cum, hard. I whimper-screamed through my nostrils, never having felt that particular sensation before, and the vibration made his balls flex against my sloppy little chin. Swallowing seemed impossible, but it wasn't really a choice with the source of the load buried so far down my throat. So I wriggled in his grip, desperate for air, while my slender hands were thrusted into by my mom's massage therapist and a guy from my biology class.

When his dick stopped spasming, Coach C wrenched the whole thing from my gullet in a swift, cruel motion -- eliciting a surprised belch that sent a stream of throat-jizz spilling down my chest. I might have fallen over backwards if my arms weren't being held by the other two guys, and I gasped raggedly, trying to blink my vision clear from the smeary mess and lack of oxygen. Coach's load was still hanging from my lips when another guest stepped forward and tunneled his hard shaft into my panting mouth.

"She's grown so much since I last saw her!" My mom's friend Anise said to her as they watched from a nearby table. She and her family had moved away when I was starting high school, which was a shame because I'd been close with their son, Tyler, growing up. They made sure to come back for my birthday, though, and Tyler was waiting for a turn at the edge of the crowd.

"Oh it makes me feel so old," my mom replied, "I'll be a wreck when she moves out for college." The ladies talked about where I planned to go and how Tyler's new girlfriend also just turned 18 a couple weeks earlier. He didn't go to her big party, but he apparently took her out for a private one a few days later.

"Poor thing was cleaning cum from her ears for weeks," Anise whispered to my mother, and they giggled like a couple of old biddies reminiscing. As if on cue, one of the hand-cocks flexed and streaked the top of my perm-straightened, raven-black hair with a thick white ribbon, before splashing a second one over my cartilage piercing and onto my earlobe. I flinched, and the guy humping through Coach's sloppy seconds did not like that.

"Careful, slut -- watch those teeth," I heard Fran Whittaker growl, before his hands adjusted on my head and he hooked a thumb into my lower jaw to open it wider. He owned probably half of all the restaurants downtown, and was a major donor to my father during his first run for office. A gruff, cynical old man, his slate-grey hair matched his stony personality. And he retained much of the 'women are things' mentality of his generation's heyday.

His navy-blue slacks hung from his lanky, sun-starved thighs, and the buckle of his belt beat against my tits uncomfortably as he picked up his pace. I could have predicted this -- he wouldn't miss the coming of age party for me or any of my friends who frequented his restaurants. Angie was the only one from our group to turn 18 before me, though, and her family had taken her home to the West coast for her birthday. When I asked her about her party all she told me was that she used a whole bottle of shampoo getting her hair clean.

I didn't even want to think about what kinds of havoc all that jizz would wreak on my artificial straightening. A little protein is great for strong follicles, but this... I'd probably have to go naturally curly for a couple of months just to let it all recover. My mom swore up and down that my skin would glow for weeks afterward, but at the time I just felt like a fish-hooked swamp creature.

Another classmate came on my back, his load trickling down between my ass cheeks, and a teller from my dad's bank stepped up to cream the side of my face while Mr. Whittaker fucked it crudely. The old man didn't slow down, despite the little bit of friendly fire -- these parties were probably the only action he ever got, since he was married to his businesses and just a generally intolerable human being. My jaw was sore from his sour-tasting thumb forcing it open, but thankfully he was about done.

"Nngh... Look here," he grunted, plucking his throbbing prick from my mouth and gripping it with arthritic fingers, as he tilted my head back and took aim at my face. He came a LOT for a man his age, and the first heavy, wet rope shot up my nose, making me gag and jerk against his hold on my head. "Sit still," he barked as his second, third, and fourth ropes arced over my cute, upturned features in sloppy, white rows.

When he was satisfied, he practically pushed my head away, and I fell back against someone's legs. It was Tyler, stroking patiently while his dad and mine caught up in the golden light of evening outside the canopy.

"Hey Nessie, it's Ty," he said, knowing I couldn't see a damn thing and probably didn't know which way was up. Despite it all, hearing his voice really was a relief. And when I felt him reach his arms under mine to lift me up, I thought maybe the party might be ending early, or that more guests had finished and left than I realized.

"Hre-*pfft*," I swiped at my glue-streaked lips with the back of my hand, still cum-blinded as I struggled to my feet, "hey, Ty, you're here..." We were too young to have any kind of romance between us before he moved away, but spending all your free time playing Cowboys and Indians was as close as kids got to that sort of thing. He was always the Cowboy, and I was always the Indian. But I didn't mind, I pretended that I was Pocahontas, and that my conqueror would inevitably fall in love with me.

I stumbled a bit, realizing my legs had fallen asleep from kneeling for so long, and he steadied me with a hand on my back. He didn't even seem to mind the haphazard smears of other guys' loads coating most of my body.

"I wouldn't miss it! We'll be here a few days, maybe we can get lunch tomorrow or something... If you're up to it," he sounded like he was smiling. I knew he had a girlfriend, and wondered if she knew where exactly he was, or what he was doing.

"Mmh, yeah... That'd be great," I tried to speak out of the side of my mouth that wasn't glazed with cooling spunk. I reached up to wipe at my eyes, but my hands were just as sloppy, and I mostly made it worse. I must have looked like some kind of porn casting reject. The thought made my cheeks burn.

"Here, I got you," Tyler said, and guided me a few steps out of the center of the circle. I felt my thighs bump against the edge of a table, then a pair of hands pressed my shoulders forward and I caught myself with palms pressed onto the tablecloth. The hands on my back disappeared, and then I felt them working a rock-hard cock between my thighs and into my puffy, cum-soaked snatch.

(To be continued...)