The Locker Room (Part 2)
Kathryn M. Burke
It didn't take long for Camilla to see what she had done by encouraging Matt and her sister to entwine their bodies.
It wasn't that he was any less attentive to her, in bed or out of it; but she could tell that he made every effort to spend as much time with—and in—Naomi as he could. Over the next several weeks she read the writing on the wall clearly and distinctly, and by the end of October she ordered Matt to sit down with her for a talk when Naomi was away.
"So," she began slow, "you and Naomi."
"What about us?" Matt said nervously.
"Oh, come on, Matt. I'm not blind. You're really taken with her."
"Well, sure I am! She's awfully sweet. But that doesn't mean I love you any less."
"I wonder about that."
"Oh, Camilla, you know you're my best girl!"
"It's very nice of you to say that, but I don't think you're telling the truth."
"You love her, don't you?"
"I guess I do."
"More than me?"
"Oh, Camilla, how can you quantify love? It's not possible."
"I think it is. You do love her more."
"Look, Matt, it's okay. I'm not upset. It's just how things work out sometimes. Naomi may be my twin sister, but we're not the same. And you just like her as a person and as a woman better than you like me. That's fine—it's just how it is."
"Even if that were so, why can't we just continue—"
"Continue with you bopping both of us? Well, I suppose we could, but I really want a guy of my own—one who doesn't think me second best."
"You do. Anyway, my mind is made up. I'll be moving out in a few weeks, as soon as I can find a place of my own."
"Camilla, you really don't have to do that."
"I do, and I will. Really, Matt, no hard feelings. Have fun with Naomi—marry her, for all I care. I'll be happy to have you as my brother-in-law."
And with that, she left the house.
This happened on a Saturday, and as she wandered around campus, she became lost in thought. At some point she found a little diner to have a quick meal, and then she resumed her walk. She heard some sort of hubbub in the distance and made her way toward it. At first she couldn't figure out what it was: it was a sort of roaring or shouting from a long distance away. Then she realized it must be coming from the football stadium. Of course! There was a game on, and at this college, football was a big thing to a lot of people. She couldn't care less about sports, especially about football—all the players were just a bunch of beefy, thick-headed jocks, weren't they?—but she headed in the direction of the stadium, just to peek in on an aspect of campus life that she knew nothing about.
Maybe it would help to take her mind off things.
The game now appeared to be over, as she saw a huge crowd of people filing out of the stadium. She had to fight her way in just as the fans were coming out. God knows what she was doing there—she still walked around as if in a daze.
The next thing she knew, she found herself in front of a door marked "HOME LOCKER ROOM / NO ADMITTANCE."
Well, a silly sign like that wasn't going to stop her. She strode right in.
The men of the Farquhar College team were apparently celebrating a victory, if the high-fives and slaps on the back they were giving each other were any indication. Many of them were already in various stages of undress, putting away their bulky equipment and heading for the showers. A large number of them were black, and Camilla couldn't help but admire the sleek, sweat-covered physiques of the guys: they all looked delectable, whether they had milk chocolate or dark chocolate complexions! And the muscles on these guys—Omigod! Matt was a fine physical specimen, but he had nothing on these huge, sculpted men.
So what else could she do but start undressing?
Her actions were almost automatic. In a daze, she peeled off her coat, then her shoes and socks, and then her blouse, skirt, bra, and panties. Incredibly, only a few of the guys even noticed her presence, since she was in a far corner of the locker room where not a whole lot of people were present. But pretty soon, she came under notice.
"Hey, look at that babe!" someone said.
"Oh, man, what a piece!" someone else said.
But most of them said nothing. They merely got up from the benches they were sitting on and approached her, partially or completely unclothed as they were.
Camilla had never seen so much undraped masculine flesh before. And the organs some of these guys had—Jesus, she thought she'd faint as she saw their cocks all rise to the occasion! How could she not feel flattered?
"Hi, guys," she said with unusual shyness.
The men were actually salivating as they surrounded her. She was so small, and they were so big, that she seemed like a pygmy by comparison; but that didn't stop them from wanting her. The guy nearest to her reached out to stroke her face—a surprisingly tender gesture. Then he let his hand slide down to one of her breasts, which he squeezed with a delicacy that surprised and touched her.
Another guy had come up from behind and was running his hands all up and down her back, including her thighs and bottom. And another pair of guys had managed to find a small, thin mattress from somewhere, which they now placed on a bare spot on the locker room floor. Camilla knew what this meant, and she made her way there and lay down on her back. Her action spoke volumes: Come and get me, guys!
And they did. Over the next hour and a half or so, they poked her in every way possible—one, two, or even three at a time. There were moments when she all but disappeared from sight, as the men probing her were so enormous that she could hardly be seen. There were at least forty men in that locker room, and every one of them wanted to touch her, or to taste her, or to enter one of her three orifices.
Camilla had never done double penetration before, but she found it a stimulating experience. There were, of course, different types of double penetration: mouth and pussy, mouth and anus, and the most intense of all—pussy and anus. There was a time when one guy lay on his back on the mattress, with Camilla on top of him; he entered her pussy, while another guy came up from behind and plugged up her bottom; then a third guy approached from the front, lifted up her head gently, and stuffed his cock in her mouth. Even this wasn't the end, as two other guys placed themselves on either side of her, each taking a hand and placing it on his cock. Manipulating five male organs at once was quite a task, even though the two that were in her lower cavities were doing most of the work themselves; all she was doing was providing the places for their entry.
They came over and over again, and as soon as one guy finished, another took his place. She marveled at how different each cock felt in her mouth or vagina or ass: they were long and thin, short and thick, long and thick, straight, curved, and everything in between. There were black cocks, white cocks, Asian cocks, Latino cocks. This was something like a United Nations of cocks!
Much as Camilla was thrilled at all the attention she was getting—a strong antidote to what she felt was Matt's increasing indifference to her—she gradually came to the realization that she had bitten off more than she could chew. The men just kept on coming, in every sense of the term. She thought she might have passed out a couple of times; and every time she woke up, she sensed another guy poking her in one orifice or another. She had now lapsed into total passivity, letting the men toss her around like a ragdoll, entering her at will and showering her with come all over her body—face, breasts, stomach, thighs, back, bottom, and everywhere else.
The whole tumultuous session only came to an end when a sharp voice said, "Hey, what's going on here?"
Camilla thought a coach must have shown up to take charge of the situation. But in fact it wasn't a coach—it was an African American player named DeAndre Wilkins.
He was the team's star running back, and he had been instrumental in the victory earlier that day. He and a few other players and several coaches had been talking to the media for more than an hour in postgame interviews, and DeAndre had only now drifted down to the locker room to get cleaned up.
When he saw the mass of male bodies surrounding the helpless female in their midst, he quickly approached and, surveying the situation, barked, "Get off of her, guys."
"But DeAndre," one man who was waiting to get his turn with the girl, "she wanted us to do her!"
"I don't care. Get off of her—right now."
DeAndre held such a position of honor and respect on the team that the other guys immediately pulled out of Camilla, even though one or two of them were achingly close to spurting their seed over her. As the naked form now languished in a heap on the mattress, he bent down to her.
"Are you okay, miss?" he said with obvious concern.
A kind of dreamy smile came over Camilla's face. "Sure, I'm okay. . . . I was happy to have them enjoy me."
DeAndre had a somewhat rigid code of morals: his parents had emphasized that women in particular needed to be treated with courtesy and respect, and he felt that his teammates had woefully violated that principle. Looking at her come-spattered body, he said, mostly to himself, "We need to get her into the shower."
He didn't take her there immediately. Instead, he went to his own locker, quickly stripped naked, and then returned to Camilla. Scooping her up effortlessly in his arms, he walked into the communal shower stall, turned on the water, and held Camilla in various ways to make sure the come was washed off of her body. Then he called a teammate over, placed Camilla in his hands, and lathered her up with soap. Another rinse, and she seemed reasonably clean. In fact, her skin now had a rosy glow, and she felt fabulous as the hot spray revived her.
DeAndre couldn't trouble to put her own clothes back on her, even if he could have found them in the now untidy locker room. So he carried her to his locker, fished out one of his own jerseys, and managed to get it on her. He did find Camilla's coat and her purse; so after he got dressed himself, he picked her up again—she was still not very steady on her feet—and carried her out of the facility and to his car.
He placed her in the back seat, so she could recline at full length. At some point he had managed to get her name and tell her his.
"Can I take you home now, Camilla?" he said.
Camilla, who had been on the point of nodding off, suddenly woke up. "No! I don't want to go there!"
"You really ought to go home and get some rest."
"I tell you, I don't want to go home! Please—please, DeAndre, don't take me there! Can't I just, um, stay with you tonight?"
He frowned. "All right. I don't know what your situation is, but if you're that dead set against it, you can stay at my place."
Along the drive, Camilla haltingly told him the situation with Matt and her twin sister. Shaking his head with disapproval at the bed-hopping she was describing, he said little.
They got to his apartment in short order. It proved to be a spacious two-bedroom pad, austerely but tastefully furnished. Some alumni had contributed to giving this rising star a comfortable place to settle down when he wasn't in class or on the gridiron.
Camilla was getting quite used to having this big, strong man carry her around in his arms, and she only reluctantly got to her feet once he had entered the place. Even so, she had to stagger to the sofa, as her legs were still pretty unsteady.
"Would you like something to eat or drink?" DeAndre asked politely.
"No, thanks," she said in a small voice.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine—just a little tired . . . and sore."
"Then you'd better go right to bed."
He nodded to the guest bedroom, where there was a small bed that had clearly not been used in a while.
DeAndre himself was tired, and he was making his way to his own bedroom—which had a much larger, queen-size bed. But then he noticed that Camilla hadn't made a move.
"Something the matter?" he said.
Camilla was tracing circles on the couch with a lazy finger. She remained silent for quite a while, then said: "I don't want to be alone tonight."
DeAndre peered at her closely. He didn't think she was being merely a coquette—he sensed that she really was going through some emotional turmoil. His expression softened as he said, "Okay, you can be in my bed."
A broad smile came over Camilla's face, and it touched DeAndre right in his heart.
"Do you, um, have some nightwear for me?" she said. That jersey surely wouldn't do.
"Actually, I do have a nightgown, if you'd care to wear it," he said a little nervously. "Don't worry—it's clean."
That wasn't what Camilla was worried about. Whose nightgown is it, exactly? Does he have a girlfriend who just happens not to be here tonight?
"That'll be fine," she said.
He fished it out of the closet and tossed it to her. DeAndre himself only slept in his underwear—but since he figured they'd already been naked in front of each other (even if Camilla hadn't been very aware of his nudity in the locker room), he didn't think much of disrobing in front of her.
But Camilla, taking the jersey off and putting the nightgown on over her head, watched in fascination as DeAndre blandly revealed his incredible physique to her—the broad shoulders, expansive chest, washboard stomach, stovepipe thighs, and tapered calves. She covered her mouth in awe, almost fainting at the spectacle of this astonishing display of male beauty. And even though DeAndre kept his underwear on, she couldn't help but notice a substantial bulge underneath the thin white fabric.
She slipped into bed next to him, feeling like a little girl sharing space with her dad. Were they going to go right to sleep? Wouldn't there even be a little cuddling first? She just didn't know what to make of this heart-stoppingly handsome man. Was he attracted to her at all? Did he only come to her rescue in that locker room out of decency and chivalry?
As he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, she ventured to snuggle up next to him. He deigned to place an arm around her back as she draped her own arm across his muscular chest. It was rock hard and entirely hairless, the nipples somewhat erect.
Camilla didn't think she'd ever wanted a man more than at this moment. He was a prince, a god—and he was her savior. Didn't he want some kind of reward for that?
She was also coming to a realization that her prior relations with men—even, or especially, with Matt—had been all wrong. She had previously taken pride in her sassiness, her boldness, the sharp tongue she wielded whenever she thought that some guy had overstepped his bounds with her. But now she sensed that this man was not going to take that sort of treatment. Without being in any way arrogant or full of himself, he was naturally dominant and he expected females to be—well, not passive or submissive exactly, but "feminine" in the classic sense of the term. There was not a shred of brutality or violence in him, except on the playing field; but she instinctively sensed that he wanted his women to be sweet and delicate. And she was ready to oblige.
Pasting little kisses on his shoulder and chest, she said, "Thank you again for saving me. I was reaching the end of my tether."
"Why did you do it?" he said gently. "Was it just to get even with this Matt guy?"
"Partly," she admitted. "Maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that I was still—desirable."
"You don't need to have any worries on that score."
"Really? You find me desirable? I guess you saw everything I have to offer." She blushed a little, remembering how he had carried her around naked in the locker room.
"I only saw your physical assets—not your mind or heart."
"Well, I hope you can get to know those things too."
Camilla was so bold as to give him a kiss on the mouth. He kissed back, and encouraged by that, she began placing little kisses all over his barrel chest, working her way down to his stomach, and then to his groin. With a naughty glance at him, she pulled down his underwear to his knees, exposing his organ.
"Oh, my goodness," she breathed.
It must have been at least ten inches long—or would be soon, once it got fully erect. It was swelling and hardening before her eyes: she'd never seen anything quite like it, since most of the guys who were in this position with her were already as big as they were going to get. But as his member kept engorging, her mouth dropped and her eyes widened.
"You shouldn't be doing this," he said mildly.
But that gentle rebuke wasn't about to dissuade her. With one hand she raised up his cock to a vertical position, and with the other she took hold of his enormous balls. Then she popped the first few inches of the cock into her mouth. She was no expert in deep throat, and that was all she could manage. But as she licked and sucked and actually chewed it a little, she got a good sense of its heft and texture. It tasted just fine!
She lifted herself up to her knees, peeled off the nightgown over her head, and squatted over his thighs. Taking his cock with both of her small hands, she first rubbed it against her thick bush. DeAndre made no protest. It's possible he was too tired from his exertions during the game to make any strong objections; but she also sensed, from the fixed gaze he was giving to her naked form, that he was more than a little excited.
She had to raise herself up to get that huge cock into her vagina. At first she did nothing but rub it back and forth between her labia, coating it with the juices that were now flowing out of her. Then, slowly, she lowered herself inch by inch onto it, watching it disappear into herself with a sense of amazement, almost of shock.
Oh, man, was she filled! That enormous member actually vanished all the way into her, as she felt her labia pressed against his groin. And yet, it wasn't merely that his cock was in her; she felt that his entire body had gone into her. And there was also a dim connection with his heart and soul, little as she knew of either so far. She somehow perceived that this was a man who had a lot more going for him than mere brawn; there was a kindness, a gentleness, a tenderness that in no way conflicted with the brute strength he displayed on the field, and Camilla intuitively grasped that the physical intimacy they were now enjoying would lead to emotional and spiritual intimacy as they got to know each other better.
But meanwhile, she was bouncing up and down on that magnificent cock, sometimes balancing herself by placing both hands on his chest. For his part, DeAndre at times reached up to seize her breasts, at other times reached behind her to squeeze her bottom. Throughout, he was gazing at her with the admiration her beauty and femininity deserved, and she already felt a renewed sense of her worth as a person and as a woman.
A kind of mild grimace now came over his face, and it became clear that he was about to reach his culmination. Camilla never wanted a man's seed more than at this moment; and when he finally exploded, groaning heavily and sending multiple streams of his emission into her, she thought she could actually feel it splashing against the walls of her vagina. He kept coming and coming, filling her up so copiously that it engendered a shivery climax in her as well; and those shudders along her entire frame seemed to squeeze yet more come out of him, until she fell on top of him at full length.
His cock, lying between her legs, was still pulsating, sending little dollops of come onto her bottom. Meanwhile, his huge discharge was leaking out of her vagina, even though she desperately wanted it to remain in her as a reminder of their union.