MarciaChapter 3 free porn video

Here we were in the classiest hotel in town; naked together in a luxurious bed ... had showered, during which we had a bent over quickie beneath the pelting water. We ordered room service—hamburgers—chitchatted about our week ... she tried to pin me to the wall with the question of whether or not I thought she was lovable. After passing the test I was primed for more sex. I thought the quickie in the shower was just a tune up for something more spectacular. Instead, after being in the hotel for two hours, an hour and a half of which I had a constant hard-on, I’d been listening to Marcia talking: sighing, sniffling, crying and talking some more. It was the kind of story that you might read about in some kind of lurid magazine, one where you would considered the subject of an overactive fantasy or just an outright pack of lies.

The ordeal of the three girls’ kidnapping was difficult for me to listen to. Marcia’s telling of it was straightforward enough and I didn’t doubt her veracity. When she was finished she was exhausted. Lying on her right side; my left arm was over her shoulder, my hand on her hip, her face was resting high up on my stomach. I was surprised that her perverse story could turn me on in such a way. But chronologically I was still a teenager brimming with hormones, ready for an instant plunge inside this soft, warm and trusting young woman’s body.

From the point in the story where Marcia and the girls were first raped I got an erection that was still rock hard an hour and a half later. I don’t have to explain “Blue balls,” to my males but, while most women have never heard of the condition none would be able to understand the intensity of the aching that such an everlasting boner can cause. Only one thing can help—a gushing ejaculation. She was finished with her story but, with the worst possible case of blue balls I was in desperate need of relief.

I felt a warm wetness on my stomach and realized that she was crying. In the throes of my anguish I asked, “Are you okay Marcia?” After a chest-deflating sigh she sniveled a few times before the damn burst. Sobbing, her body shuddering on mine as she whimpered, she moaned, “It just isn’t fair Toby! Why couldn’t I have been just a normal girl?”

In the midst of my urgent need it dawned on me that—to Marcia—I had become like a Vestal Virgin in ancient Rome to whom the ruling class entrusted their deepest secrets. I didn’t know it at the time that the sun would rise on the reality and I would soon learn of a situation that would seem so sordidly fascinating. But I wasn’t ready for anymore. I had paid my dues in listening to this exciting, naked woman who had literally melted into my body, telling a major portion of her story.

At the moment I could only hear my neglected testicles crying out like Englebert Humperdinck singing, “PLEASE RELEASE ME LET ME GO!” But I had to let Marcia cry herself out. My problem became more intense when the crying was taken over by her kitten-like snoring. She was dead weight on my body—an added discomfort.

Having long realized that the sex I had anticipated for the evening would not come to pass, my five-fingered friend would have to do the trick. Ignoring the demands of my selfish penis I repositioned our bodies and made her as comfortable as possible, as well as creating some space where I could take care of my dilemma. With the sleeping girl in Neverland I lamented what could have been as I brought forth the blessed relief. As my cock was wilting to an afterthought I set the clock to 4:30 and snuggled against my sleeping beauty. I had to open the gas station at six.

My slumber was peopled by a troubling dream that included a younger Marcia, two nondescript girls and a large number of small, Asian men. It was like some kind of pornographic horror film where Marcia and her friends were servicing lines of naked men with their dicks in their hands. To my distress I was the tall, out-of-place rapist standing at the end of the line. As I was probing her pussy with my hardness Marcia was smiling at me saying, “Thank you Toby.”

My eyes fluttered as the dream morphed to reality. Trying to clarify the body moving on top of me in the darkness I felt the delicious ambience of the moving wet and squishy warmth that sheathed my ecstatic cock. My hardness was enveloped by the warmest, most velvety glove, its moistness almost more than I could have imagined. Still between sleep and wakefulness my eyes caught the red numbers on the digital clock beside the bed—3:07. Inside Marcia’s vagina my rock hard cock was being stroked so completely. “Thank you Toby,” I heard, “welcome back to my world.” Chuckling she let me know, “I’ve been riding you for what must be five minutes now. It’s WONDERFUL. Thank you, thank you, THANK you.”

Her nipples brushed my chest as she leaned over and kissed my lips while her netherness flattened my pubic hair and her ass gently mashed my balls. I couldn’t imagine the kind of keggel exercises she must have done to tone her abdominal muscles so well that her pussy gripped my dick in such and inconceivable way. Still not sufficiently awake to understand that she was in the throes of a super, clamping orgasm I felt the puddle of warm liquid that was pooling on my belly which made me think that I had come on my tummy in my sleep. Puzzled, I was still rigid and didn’t feel the lethargy that my climax usually brought with it.

Through labored breathing Marcia rested and said with a chuckle, “I had to pee. When I came back to bed I felt your soldier boy standing at attention so I decided to hold inspection. Once again, just like at the gangbang in the fraternity house she reverted to military terminology. “He-he,” she went on, “so far it has passed.”

When she began riding me again I could tell that the wetness on my belly came from her vagina. Having never experienced a squirting female Marcia was my first. As she increased her pace the sound of her wet pussy washing my erection sounded like an old fashioned washing machine agitating clothes in the water. “I love that sound Toby,” she panted, “don’t you?”

Pulling back her pussy to the rim of my head Marcia tensed and made a couple of angular dips with her G-spot against it. She clamped her pussy around me and mouthed an eerie screeching sound just before freezing in her release. Flattening her body on mine she gasped, “If you need to cum Toby it’ll be okay.” Normalizing her voice she said, “I can ride you like this for as long as you like but I’m afraid you’ll be you late for work.”

“We’ve got time,” I responded. “Are you comfortable? Would you like to try a different position?”

“Actually,” she said in a honeyed voice, “I can get myself off better this way.” Changing the tone of her response she murmured, “But if you want to do it that way Toby it’s cool with me.” It was like she had decided to give up control.

After having listened so intensely to her story I tried to imagine how having all those men in Hanoi on top of her might have made her feel. Was it better for her to be on top? Taking to heart her comment about getting herself off I said, “If it’s more comfortable for you sweetie why don’t you do it your way?”

She continued riding me until 3:43. All the while I tried my best to enhance her pleasure by rubbing her clit, caressing her breasts and squeezing her nipples. Having gotten myself off before I went to sleep I had staying power to spare. I was able to hold back my ejaculation until 3:39 when Marcia’s orgasms came like a submachine gun, one after another and in quick succession, coating my belly, pubic hair and balls with her bountiful female ejaculate.

Showering independently I put on the clean uniform I’d packed in my gym bag along with clean socks and underwear. At that time in the morning room service was still closed and there were no restaurants open downstairs yet. Though I was still a naïve bumpkin Marcia, for a twenty-one year old woman, was lightyears ahead of me. I followed her through the lobby and into the kitchen just like we belonged there. “Good morning,” she said bringing surprised and cheerful greetings from the number of kitchen staff that was making preparations for breakfast. The coffee urn, which was the first thing attended to when the staff came in, was fair game. Nobody was going to deny a paying guest, particularly an assertive, attractive female, to fill two to-go cups and help herself to two pieces of bread and make toast for our morning ride.

On the way out of town, nibbling on toast and sipping coffee Marcia said to me. “I’m glad that we were able to make up for some of what we missed when I fell asleep. You’re pretty good at it by the way. Maybe you can fill me in sometime on how you’ve learned so much about a woman’s body.” She winked then continued, “I can’t thank you enough Tobe for being so understanding. I was exhausted. I’ve told that story of what happened to us in Vietnam to very few people: Daddy, Jerry and a couple of shrinks. Each time I go over it I feel worn out.” She had been trying to keep a happy face but it turned sad as she sighed and said, “I promise to make it up to you, ok?”

Before I got out of her car at the gas station she asked, “Same time next Saturday?”

I still didn’t understand why she had chosen to glam onto me this way but I had no objection. Who knew, maybe next Saturday night would be a full night of sex. Having never met a girl quite like Marcia Zillich though I still had reservations and asked, “What about Jerry?”

“We’ll have to talk about that the next time we get together Toby. Jerry’s on board though with what you and I are doing. He’s glad you’re involved and hopes that between my father, him and you we might be able to find some kind of an answer to get me out of the pickle I’m in.”

“I’d like to meet your father Marcia,” I said. I didn’t fully know why. It wasn’t as if I was going to ask for her hand or anything, it had more to do with the fact that I was being included in this mysterious “We.” I knew if there was ever going to be a team concept all of the players had to be in synch. It was just such a totally weird concept to be on an equal plane with a father who knew his daughter allowed herself to be gangbanged and that I had been one of the gang, Strange.

The next week was normal with the exception of what had gone on during the past two. I’ve often wondered what my life might have been like had the gas station not needed to replace their underground storage tanks that weekend, the one of the gangbang. But so many things in life are like that. How might it have been different had Roy and Kathy Warren not been my neighbors? Or, what wouldn’t have happened at the convent had I not started moving lawns (see Penguin’s Preference). One thing was for sure, it seemed that sex was a magnet that attracted me in such a peculiar way that it led me into circumstances that most men would never know. Each taught me volumes on the subject of sex.

My relationship with Kathy was pretty straightforward but my experience with the nuns was so unusual that had I told anybody about it they would never have believed me. Finally this most unusual circumstance began with an introduction at the Corner Bar that led me—ashamed of myself—to be standing naked with fifteen other guys, waiting to have sex with the sweet and alluring girl that I met there. It was most perplexing. Marcia Zillich who, with the exception of Jerry Willis who brought her to us, would probably never be seen again by any Delta Xi brother but Toby Wakefield. And here I was.

What made the situation even more mystifying was that I liked Marcia from the moment I met her. It was a meeting where I thought I was just being introduced to an attractive, sweet girl. But the girl turned out to be a sexual aberration that, even though she was acting as a result of prior troubles she was DOING it and I was one of the sixteen guys that would have sex with her that night. Because of Jerry Willis’s friendship with my brother I ended up tending to her needs in the morning, taking her to breakfast and then taking her home. Now having spent all of Saturday night at the Hotel Cleveland with her a new week was beginning with the prospect of spending the next Saturday night in bed with her as well. In addition to that I had to keep my mind on my studies which, under the circumstances I found hard to do.

Stunned by the story Marcia told me of how she and two other American girls—the daughters of families on a business mission for an American rubber company—were kidnapped and repeatedly gang raped, I tried to juxtapose the forced sex in Southeast Asia to the gangbang that went on in the fraternity house. It was becoming obvious that the later was influenced by the former. What I couldn’t understand though was how Marcia left the U.S. for Vietnam as an untouched virgin, was brutally raped and came back a nymphomaniac.

She told of being terrorized then purposely addicted to opium in conjunction with the repeated sexual abuse which made the horror seem like an “eerie kind of dream. My exposure to drugs was like that of most of my peers—nonexistent. The only negative thing we knew about drugs at the time was when the movie star Robert Mitchum had been arrested for smoking marijuana. None of us could have understood the incredible highs of opium much less its addictive power.

The innocent girl in Vietnam had been forcibly raped then drugged into sex by her captors. But in the fraternity house she appeared to rejoice at the prospect of being “done” by such a rowdy crowd of sex-crazed males. She seemed ecstatically wild in the process and almost maniacally out of control before the night was over. The next morning however she was morose. Saturday night at the Hotel Cleveland during and after the telling of her story she seemed devastated. I was a nineteen year old kid who was not really ready for such a complex psychological exercise. The more serious issue was how attached I was becoming to Marcia. It didn’t make sense to me. I should have been turned off by a female who engaged in such aberrant sex. Still, at the bidding of my pre-adult hormones I could barely walk to any of my classes without a huge bulge in my pants brought on by reliving the experience.

On that second Saturday, while I checked my watch every five minutes, I had never spent such a slow day at work. At six o’clock the guys were asking, “Where’s your girlfriend Toby?” They had been quizzing me all day about where we went after work last week, and if she was a “good lay.” When six o’clock came I had planned better than last week, clocking out then changing into street clothes. I would only be carrying a gym bag into the hotel and wouldn’t feel like some kind of blue collar creep, something I had accepted. I would be taking a shower right after I got there so I didn’t have to worry about stinking up my clean clothes. Last week I had actually never worn the clothes I took. I didn’t really expect that I would need to this night either.

It was 6:07 when I came out to meet Marcia but she wasn’t there yet. The guys kept looking at me from the pumps. I don’t know if, because they were jealous, they were hoping Marcia wouldn’t show up or I they hoped she would. After ten more minutes of waiting she pulled in faster than she should have, coming to a screeching halt. She had been held up in traffic.

The twenty minute ride from the gas station to Cleveland was different than last week too, we were much more relaxed. After having been upset at being late she seemed totally at ease while driving. Though I was anxious about getting in the sack again with Marcia she seemed rational and unrushed. While she tried to dig into my past she was, in a funny kind of way, mainly just trying to get to know me better.

One would think that after such an event like the gangbang at the fraternity house, being together with her again would have been such an unlikely thing. Throughout that depraved debauch I had the impression that Marcia’s involvement in the seamy incident was undertaken with swaggering brashness. She could have been saying, “I don’t give a shit about any societal norms, I’m just doing whatever I damn please. If you don’t like it fuck off.” But at breakfast the following morning she was visibly depressed. It was as if she were ashamed of herself. I was only there with her because of my commitment to Jerry Willis, to get her home safely. But by the time breakfast was finished I viewed her as a damaged soul that was crying out for help.

The last thing I expected was to be going out with Marcia Zillich much less spending a night with her in a hotel. Had I been a kiss-and-tell kind of guy I suppose that there might have been value in the bragging rights of being alone with the “celebrity” who did sixteen guys in the fraternity house attic. Otherwise I was confused as to why I was there. Maybe it had to do with a lifetime of unintentionally walking on the edge of the dark side. Or maybe it was my compelling need to experience things such is the kind of contradictions that can go on in the mind of a Gemini. Marcia knew what her purpose was though; she found a willing ear to fill with her story. The sex between us wasn’t anything spectacular until she attacked me in the middle of the night. But could that just a way to express her need for absolution?

In the car she said to me, “So you never gave me an answer to my question about where you learned so much about a woman’s body.” Totally opposed to telling secrets that could compromise another person I told her about Kathy Warren—leaving out her last name—as a quid pro quo for relating her experience in Vietnam. “And, she asked, “What could a fourteen year old girl teach a young kid about satisfying a woman?”

“We did it quite often from the time I was fourteen ‘til we both graduated high school,” I said. I didn’t tell her that her brother was having sex with her too. “She was a very curious girl who explored her body pretty well. She knew about her clitoris and had discovered her G-Spot, --though we didn’t know that’s what it was called. She wanted me to know where it was and told me what to touch, how and when.”

Marcia thought about it for a good fifteen seconds before saying, “I guess most girls are either too intimidated or too brain dead to tell their boyfriends what turns them on. Sounds like Kathy might be my kind of girl. The fact that she shared those secret places with you Toby must have meant that she trusted you very much.”

I didn’t share with Marcia that though Kathy was comfortable with the three way sex she and I and her brother had together, I doubted she would have thought much of a gangbang, nor of a girl that would allow herself to be used in such a way.

Rolling my eyes at her I said, “It’s turning out that that’s one of my problems Marcia.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“That women trust me so MUCH.”

“What makes you say that Toby?”

“Just is,” I replied. I didn’t want to talk about the nuns at the convent. Nor did I want to tell her that after the gangbang I should have never have seen her again. Despite that, here I was with another female that trusted me, all of whom I had sex with.

She didn’t push me further on my short answer but said, “That’s an interesting story about Kathy. Somehow though Toby I think there is more to your story than you are telling me.”

As I waited in the hotel lobby I was more presentable than I had been the last week, thus more comfortable. Looking over at me Marcia held up her hand, as we discussed, and showed me the number of fingers indicating the floor where our room was—five. I took the elevator to the fifth floor and waited for her.

Once inside the room on the fifth floor it was as if we were hurled into each other’s arms. With our mouths wide open in a tongue-twirling kiss we seemed to be driven by a mysterious need of two people thrown together by such an outlandish introduction. It was like we were trying to gobble each other up.

Marcia wasn’t romantic about it. We showered separately; she had worked all day at the lab and I needed to clean up from my day at the gas station. There was a sense of orderliness about our “date;” I wore a white dress shirt and khaki pants, she a blue pleated skirt and attractive blouse and heels. We could have been an attractive young couple—maybe honeymooners. There was a dress code at the hotel restaurant. They loaned me a jacket and tie.

For appearances she asked me to order wine but helped in the selection—she was more knowledgeable than I. They carded me, I showed my brother’s Navy Reserve I.D. We ordered chateaubriand. I objected to the cost which I couldn’t pay. Once again Marcia told me that she had a very well-paying job. “Besides,” she said with a grin, “Daddy is not only extremely well-paid, he inherited a lot of money as well.”

The restaurant was the kind of elegance to which I was not at all accustomed. The room service hamburgers were more my style. But Marcia had traveled and had lived on a higher plane than me. Being a “kept man” rankled my pride. Like any meeting where something hovered over the conversation things needed to be addressed that amounted to three elephants in the room: my objection to being a male who couldn’t pay his own way, her relationship with Jerry and the obvious—were gangbangs a way of life with her?”

The first was addressed by Marcia’s commentary about her job and her father’s wealth. But I still registered the complaint. On her relationship with Jerry I said, “I notice that you’re not wearing Jerry’s engagement ring.”

With an aura of guilt she covered her left hand with her right and answered, “Jerry and I aren’t really engaged Toby. Daddy bought me the ring. I only wear it at my um events—shorthand for gangbangs. Jerry is always there to maintain order. Somehow the ring is a show of ownership that tends to back some of the more aggressive men off.”

I don’t why the knowledge that she and Jerry weren’t planning on getting married filled me with a sense of relief. I hadn’t realized that I was becoming possessive of her. The main elephant was the gangbang and the fact that I was in on. I thought that what had happened in the fraternity house was bizarre enough. But when she said that Jerry was acting as a bodyguard for her “events,” my stomach dropped. “Events” meant that they must have gone on with a certain degree of frequency. I could see the uneasiness on her face as she recognized a change in my demeanor.

Reaching across the table she tried to take my hand but I pulled it away before letting her take it. The uneasiness turned to pain as she said, “I’m not dirty Toby and I’m NOT a slut.”

Trying to fudge my demeanor I was apparently unsuccessful. Marcia was no crybaby but as her shoulders slumped, moisture gathered in her eyes that were throwing darts at me. “I was a virgin when I went over there Toby,” she snarled, “Sure, I had fantasies and I played with myself but I had never even been with a boy. And then,” she took a deep breath, “And then there were ALL those MEN.” The disgust on her face and her body language made me imagine that she was trying to avoid a swarm of bees. “They were all over me Toby, pushing their COCKS inside me and at my mouth.” The way she slid out of her chair and bolted from the table I thought she was nauseous and had to get to the bathroom.

Feeling like a jerk I was helpless. Sitting for about fifteen minutes self-consciously sipping my wine and reflecting on everything that had happened over the past couple of weeks, I still couldn’t get my brain in synch with what she had allowed at the fraternity house. From my perspective “good girls” didn’t even go all the way with their boyfriends. Going down for the troops was so totally unacceptable that I couldn’t even rationalize why I was sitting there.

Then, remembering how gleefully I played with Kathy Warren and her brother. I had no problem with him screwing his sister, wrong by all moral standards. I did the nuns which was DEFINITELY wrong. But I rationalized that I was lured into it by the Mother Superior (See Penguin’s Preference). I kept hearing the voice of my mother who in her 9th grade wisdom told me things like: “Most people are good people,” or “There is always a reason for people doing things we don’t understand,” and “Every obstacle carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit.” I heard her say, “Grow up Toby, there is more to life than the things people do. It’s all about WHY they do them.”

Wondering if Marcia was coming back or if she went up to the room I had come to grips with the fact that I needed to hear what she had to say—all of it—then see if I could make sense out of it. There was no question that I acted like a jerk. Worst of all, I had a raging erection. When I saw Marcia coming back I was surprised to see that her head was high, her shoulders back and she was walking with confidence. As she neared the table I stood up and tended her chair. She glanced down and with a sarcastic smirk said, “See? There are just things we just don’t have answers for, like why are you NOW treating me like a lady in your condition?”

As I sat back down I asked, “What do you mean by that Marcia?”

“You mean that you don’t know that your dick is hard?” Her tongue in her cheek made her appear self-satisfied.”

My face was so red that it felt like it was burning. I needed to clear the air. “First of all Marcia I owe you an apology for hurting your feelings.”

With a knowing smirk she looked at me out of the corners of her eyes and said, “Does that mean I can touch you now?”

Feeling like an even bigger asshole I took her hand and sandwiched it between both of mine. It was warm and soft but resistant. “I’m really sorry Marcia.”

“Are you REALLY sorry Toby or are you just saying that because you’re trying to make me feel better?”

“I AM trying to make you feel better Marcia.” Some of my mother’s words were traipsing through my brain and I felt very small. “I’m truly sorry that I acted like such and asshole.”

Marcia asked, “Are you still hard?” I nodded. “Can you tell me why?”

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I guess you excite me.”

“Does the Marcia Zillich you are sitting with excite you Toby, or are you excited because you were thinking of the Marcia Zillich with those naked guys crawling over her body, tied up in a human puzzle?”

Studying hard over her question I answered as honestly as could, “I don’t know.”

Giving me a sweet smile she added her free hand to the sandwich of our three and said, “At least that’s an honest answer Toby, that’s a start.” She squeezed my hands with hers and asked, “Do you have any idea how badly the Marcia Zillich that’s with you now needs affection?” Her plaint brought an unexpected lump in my throat.

She asked, “Still hard?” I nodded and she followed up, “For which Marcia Zillich?”

Realizing that she wasn’t going to let me off the hook I answered, “For the one holding my hands.”

“Sex is a strange thing Toby,” she said. “When you stood up and I could see your bulge I was pissed off at you. But the outline of your hard penis made me feel horny.”

I started to respond but she shushed me and said, “There are some things there are no answers for.” Snorting, she shook her head and went on, “And try this one on: imagine that you’re an innocent, fourteen year old girl that has just been kidnapped by a gang of strange men. You’re terrified, right? They tear your clothes off and throw you down on a cot in a large dark place. One of them forces your legs open ... forces them OPEN Toby, I was a VIRGIN remember? I had something to protect. You feel something hard and warm forcing you open. You’re terrified but you can’t stop your vagina from lubricating as if to say ‘fuck my cunt big fella.’ Then the dirty and nasty cot you’re lying in that smells like stale sweat, your pussy is aching from being traumatized by the size of not one cock but twenty or thirty ... you don’t know if those cocks have even been washed. Then another one or two or three men come in and fuck you again. You hate it. Your pussy aches from the first gang of men but it still lubricates and you can’t possibly figure out why.” Ruefully shaking her head she murmured, “There’s usually not a psychological answer for desire during rape Toby—just panic. Are you still hard?”

With my throat constricting I found it difficult to swallow. She seemed to be leering like an inquisitor. I had to get her out of the attack mode. “What happened to the other two girls?”

With the look of a cornered wild animal she answered, “How about this? Mary Francis became a nun. Sandy committed suicide, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Bolting from the table again she ran out of the room. Not knowing what to do, I sat there for a half an hour. With Marcia gone I had plenty of time to think about what she said ... time to visualize three girls: one killing herself, one going into enforced hiding. With my experience with nuns I was already familiar with that kind of escape. And one had turned into a nymphomaniac regularly being gangbanged by strange guys.

I had the only key. She could have picked another one up from the front desk but when I got back to the room she wasn’t there. After pacing the room, going back through the hotel to look for her and coming back to the room there was finally a tiny knock on the door. It could have been housekeeping but I hoped it would be Marcia. When I opened the door she looked like she had shrunk. In a little girl voice she peeped, “I’m sorry.” I hugged her outside of the door then walked her into the room.