The Breast Way To Get the Girls
Martin — June
Everybody must have a breakthrough day or night in their sexual history. Maybe it’s the first time. Maybe it’s that risky illicit time. Maybe it’s that time with the ultra-hot one, or the time with the two frisky roommates, or the hundredth time which happened to be the first time with the final one, the one that brings commitment.
Here’s one way of describing the breakthrough sex with Dawn: Sex. All. Day. And. Night. And day again. Not non-stop, but as close to it as can probably be. We fucked this way, that way, came up for air or food or drink and went back to fucking again.
Here’s another way of trying to convey what that breakthrough sex with Dawn was like: Two cocks. Not literally of course, and if the words create the wrong image in your head then don’t misunderstand me; it’s just a male way of saying that she was the first where I had a brand new organ of perception come alive, a second means of experiencing sexual pleasure. The female equivalent, perhaps a better illustration, would be a normal woman where only one breast was ever able to experience delight during sex. Imagine her other breast as completely inert, as unfeeling as if it had been given a novocaine shot that lasted for all the years she’d ever felt any sexual stirrings. Then, suddenly, right when she has sex for the first time with someone new, the novocaine mask is suddenly lifted, and now there are two nipples that feel pleasure, a whole new organ of delight and twice the input streaming down to excite her pussy, doubling the pleasure, doubling the fun.
I was in her breasts during sex. I could make them feel more than most breasts could ever hope to feel, plus I could feel what they felt. And holeeeee shit was that ever a good thing! I could get Dawn going, get her going more, and in some ways her pleasure tied into mine, like her tits could speak back to my balls and cock through some sort of tingling feedback loop. Moreover, I could train her to give me what I wanted by ringing her tit-bell whenever she did something for me that I especially loved, my ecstasy resounding in her boobs until she wanted to give me more and more of it.
Her first tit-job had been like that, a variation she decided to try on her own that I rewarded like a Westminster dog who just won best in show. Even without any invisible aid she might have loved seeing how I reacted, as my response could not have been mistaken for anything other than Hell Yes! But why waste an opportunity—I made sure she loved it just as much by hyper-sensitizing every bit of flesh that conformed to the shape of my cock. It was like fucking my cock with all that boobage became a new means of fucking herself, and when her oil-slick compressed breasts had done their job and brought me to the point of exploding, I dropped fucking gland-bombs in both tits, that went off and off. I couldn’t even hear my loud groan of release over her delirious screams, because Dawn was going hyena wild, her rear humping up and down while she girl-roared and her hands clawed at the sheets.
Somewhere in one of the in-between recovery spaces we talked, and she told me about her past lovers, such as they were. The horny ex-teen part of my brain thought, “What a waste!”, that a hot babe with a rack-and-a-half like this had hardly engaged in any sex at all. But there was another part of me that was couldn’t have been happier—she might know that I was messing with her in a special way if she’d been more experienced, so I had a certain amount of freedom to experiment without it freaking her out.
A coincidence? I could empathize with the teen-age insecurities she expressed, and I heard, in light of what Miguel had said in the jungle, a certain rightness in how we’d ended up together. By any normal standards I was a bastard—I had lured Dawn, shortcutting what might have been the natural pathways to lead us into bed, assuming there even could have been any natural pathways, probably not. It happened because I made it happen, and if she had any inkling of what I’d been doing to her tits all day, she’d probably want to shoot me because it was dishonest, underhanded, manipulative.
And right. Odd, perhaps self-delusional, but deep down I really did believe it was right. I’d read somewhere that sexual interest and sensual pleasure are shut down in the brain when people are in a heightened state of anxiety, and it sounded like, sensible or not, Dawn had been anxious about the size of her tits since her early teens. What I could do in my clandestine way got her system so revved that it blew right past her anxious nature—it was like sex therapy as much as invisible tit-rape. I remembered how I had just been walking without a plan and had felt called in a direction, her direction, and here we were sharing in something neither one of us could have dreamed of. We fit together like interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle whose final image was beyond our scale to see. Or that was the story I wanted to believe in, and I was sticking to it.
That interlocking quality became even more obvious when she divulged the plan that had been at the back of her mind for the past several months, to model in some way on the internet, all for the purpose of quickly paying down her student loans, with enough left over that she could hop the pond to Italy and put down roots in her field of art history.
I’d known two girls in college who uploaded racy semi-nude videos to a site I’ll call DM, but what Dawn was talking about was several steps more serious, with a subscriber base and frequent updates. I knew I could help at once. I had no experience with creating the exact world she was describing—I looked at soft and hard porn on the net like every other male in the United States, but had never thought about constructing or managing a site of that nature. But I had all the technical skills needed for photographing her, filming her, editing, constructing a site, setting up payment options, the works.
She wasn’t clear if she wanted to initiate and maintain her own site, or model for an existing venue. She was good-looking enough that in the old days, we might have submitted test-shots to Playboy to see if they wanted to make her their bustiest playmate ever. It was a different world, however, with more options than you could shake two magnificent milkers at. And there was another element to consider—Dawn didn’t want to be easily recognizable, as in she didn’t want to apply for a serious art history gig at some point in the future and have a prospective employer say, “Hey, this resume is from the girl with the huge tits I’ve been masturbating to for the past six months!” In Italian, I suppose.
So issues to solve, but I didn’t think she was dreaming of a future she couldn’t have—she could attract paying viewers with looks like hers, no question. We left off that subject with me saying I’d sleep on it, and when I did sleep I ended up having the weirdest dream that night, that I was lying on an operating table undergoing some sort of procedure. I was under sedation so I felt no pain, but still conscious enough to know the doctors were working on my chest. I couldn’t lift my head to look down my body or even open my eyes, but I somehow knew they were operating on my heart.
“I’ve opened him up and... my God,” one of the surgeons said through his mask, probing my insides with an instrument.
“What do you see?” another doctor asked.
“Goddesses,” the first surgeon said. “I can’t even count them all.”
“What are they doing in there?” someone else asked, sounding concerned.
“Growing, multiplying and making his cock hard, what else?”
My cock was more than hard; it felt like someone was washing it, or even sucking on it. I thought one of the nurses might be giving me a blowjob and really wanted to see that, and when I forced my eyes open I was really awake with my cock being teased hard by Dawn’s oil-slickened boobs. That was just the opening bid of yet more sex, and I was pretty sure the dream I’d had was instructive. I didn’t know how many times I’d cum already; whatever the number it was more than could be attributed to how sexy Dawn was or how long I’d gone without a girlfriend. I was being fueled as needed, and I thought my cock and balls might have actually grown a tiny bit. Not by much so maybe it was just that I was getting harder than ever before; I really couldn’t tell, but wouldn’t be surprised given how my cock had felt during the hallucination in Peru.
Later in the day we showered together, which turned into more sex when I got carried away soaping up and fondling Dawn’s tits. All slick and wet they felt like warm cuddly sea-creatures in my hands and I couldn’t stop playing with them, and when she soaped my dick in response I couldn’t resist fondling her tits on the inside, too, which had the expected result of bending her over to fuck her from behind, great splashes of water flying up every time my abdomen pounded into her ass.
In the afternoon I finally felt sated, and thought it might be a good idea to give Dawn’s pussy and tits a break. She let me know that she had a commitment that night, a get-together with a couple of art history friends that she said she shouldn’t miss. Nevertheless she expressed doubts about going, and I didn’t encourage or discourage her, thinking I’d wait and see how I felt about it when the time came. It might be good to hit refresh; if not, I knew I could make it impossible for her to leave by getting her tits so aroused that she wouldn’t be able to walk out the door.
As the sun stretched long shadows on neighboring buildings, we sat naked in bed with lemonade and chips on a tray, and talked more about websites and photo-shoots. I could tell the idea of erotic modeling remained at a distance in her mind—the possibility was real enough, but she was a woman who hadn’t even had the courage or flexibility to show any cleavage during college, not without pretending to be someone else. She could hardly believe she was thinking seriously about baring her tits, or even more than that, on the internet.
With her laptop earning its name, we took a tour of the big-boob fetish world together. She was more familiar with the different sites than I was, as she’d been thinking about this for some time and had been doing her homework. There were tons of hardcore sites, sites with more of a pin-up model slant, sites where women played with other women, sites where women only showed a little bit, sites where women masturbated with anything from a dildo to a cucumber. Lingerie models, cheesecake models, amateurs who stripteased for a webcam without ever showing their face—there were so many ways a terrifically endowed lass like Dawn could choose to present herself.
It was wild, perusing porn with a woman who looked like she’d stepped right off the screen, which was exactly why I thought it was going to work—Dawn looked like she’d stepped off the screen, and I had been studying the ins and outs of content creation, strategies for making content go viral, progressive enhancement vs. graceful degradation in site functionality, the works. I had always thought I’d work in advertising or some strain of new journalism, but I had the skills for creating some good old-fashioned or newfangled porn, too, and getting it out there.
I won’t give the models’ names, but I can say that Dawn was especially intrigued by three examples she might follow, three particular big-bust women whose paths might serve as a template. Alphabetically, they were E, H and W. Body-wise, W was probably the closest to Dawn, slender with really huge tits. Dawn compared favorably here; she was younger and cuter, and if the point was slim-and-stacked, the 32-inch band size on W’s enormous bra was outdone by Dawn’s mere 28 inches. W never showed the whole of what she had—no nipples, no vagina shots, no masturbation or other sex acts. It was all about how unique she was in a proportional sense, while leaving plenty else to her admirers’ imaginations. The formula worked, because according to Dawn, W had risen to the top or nearly so in terms of paying subscribers to a solo big-bust site.
E wasn’t as built as Dawn or W, but slim and very sensual, and something in the shaping of her big breasts looked wonderful to my eyes. She had a singing career and was an excellent tease, again nothing hardcore but not at all shy about showing all of her breasts or playing with them, going in the direction of masturbation-lite, turning her nipples hard and perhaps fingering herself through semi-transparent panties. I noted the cooperative camera work, the lens sometimes intruding right into the space of her tits, making it clear what it would be like to have them within reach, right in your face.
Lastly, H, a quirky webcam presence who didn’t even show much skin but always wore low-cut tops that exposed enough of her ample breasts to give the impression that they must be absolutely peaches-and-cream perfect. It was a more subtle form of tease—the term that came to mind was cock-tease, actually. The main tie-in for Dawn was that H was a cosplay enthusiast; her Elvira was wicked good, and the real Elvira, Cassandra somebody, could only dream of having a face that lovely, and cleavage that bulged so tastily.
“I do like the big eyes,” I said in reaction to H, not sure whether they were natural or enhanced through some trick of make-up.
“I’ve seen a couple of pictures of her without the eye-shadow and lashes. I don’t think you’d recognize her on the street. That would be important to me, you know.”
I got it. She knew she could be unrecognizable, too, with a wig and just enough well-applied make-up.
Looking at all these models and sites had me thinking. It also had me feeling like I could get back to more fucking. But it was late, and Dawn had her date with the girls.
“I should get dressed if I’m going to meet up with my friends,” she said, glancing at the clock. “But I don’t really want to leave you.”
“What if you see your friends and we hook up afterwards?” I said, thinking it might be good to have the thrill of re-uniting later. ANd, after seeing what my abilities could add to action in the sack, I thought it might be nice to wander the streets again, and play outdoors.
“I’ll call you when we’re done,” she agreed. “Or you can just have a spare key, and be here to welcome me home. With this,” she added, reaching to give my cock a squeeze.
How much can change so quickly. A few days before, Dawn had been a stranger, the conspicuously built looker too hot to even ask out. Now I had a key to her apartment, and it could also be said that I held the keys to her sexual nature. Sex-wise I could do with her as I wanted, essentially by giving her immense pleasure whenever she wanted what I wanted.
I went home and changed clothes. It was summer in the city, which meant opened doors in bars and clubs, and young attractive women showing lots of skin. Strolling from block to block, I saw them dressed to kill in small groups on the sidewalk, or exiting taxis or limousines. I felt some of them, or felt their tits, and their tits wanted to party.
In jeans and a polo shirt I probably wasn’t dressed sharply enough to be let into any of the trendier clubs, although it occurred to me that I could gain entrance anywhere if I had a woman with the proportions of Dawn on my arm, and we had her dolled up just right. By myself a casual bar was the way to go, and I decided I’d walk east and enter the first one I came to. It turned out to be a place called Greg’s Gin Mill, a dark and crowded joint frequented by what I took to be mostly Columbia students.
The bar’s geometry made for several areas beyond my sight, but I knew within seconds that there were three sets of tits inside that spoke to me. I ordered a house special gin and tonic and as I stood at the bar, I calculated that the tits were located at two o’clock, four o’clock and nine.
The ones at nine were the closest and seemed to be the strongest at broadcasting. I sampled them without looking—they were big but not too big, something like a D-cup, pushed up in a bra that might be deliberately small to give them some extra bulge. Nice wide nipples but no real hint of excitement—whoever she was, she hadn’t found any reason to feel thrilled in here. I tried to see more of the woman in my head with the idea that the breasts alone could paint a portrait of the entire body, but it didn’t really work that way—I could read her tits and only the tits. If she got all hot and steamy I might be able to sense more of the connection between her breasts and other regions, but for now she could look like anything.
Once I had my drink I did see, by turning and taking her measure the normal way. The one with the talking tits was a blonde in a shiny blue tanktop. She wore glasses, a nice surprise, and was definitely a good-looking woman. It was her brunette friend sharing the table, however, that hit me as the more desirable knockout, because her legs were so stunning, all sleek and tanned and athletically muscled up just the way I liked.
The women caught me checking them out, and the blonde held my eyes an extra second before looking away. Did she know somehow that we were connected by her tits, even when I wasn’t doing anything?
I felt out of place being in a bar atmosphere by myself—I’d never been one to make the scene trying to pick up girls, so I stood there without a clue how to position myself, wondering why it couldn’t be the one with the killer legs that I could get inside and make dance. Her tits were probably big enough, maybe just a little bit smaller than the ones coming in loud and clear, so I tried. I lowered my drink and concentrated with all my heart and mind on the brunette’s tits, but it was a no-go. To get my head between that woman’s workout thighs, I’d have to go through the same hoops as anybody.
I noticed the blonde’s eyes on me again, and I raised my glass in acknowledgment, sending a flush of excitement into her nipples as I did so. Her mouth rounded and her eyes lowered, and she put several fingers to her sternum, just above the lovely cleavage. She’d felt it, and her body language reminded me of someone dealing with a breath mint that had more punch than expected, or finding a drink too strong.
I got distracted because one of the other sets of broadcasting tits was on the move, coming my way. It turned out they belonged to a really curvy Asian girl, Chinese or perhaps Taiwanese. She also had great legs on display beneath a red leather skirt, and I was sorely tempted to approach her with a pick-up line riding on the wings of her nipples feeling drunk with lust.
I’m not sure why I didn’t try—the burly boyfriend almost hanging on her ass, probably. But it did give me the idea to try something I hadn’t attempted before, to get inside several sets of tits at once and see if I could affect them as a group.
It wasn’t easy; in fact I couldn’t do it. The booze was strong and that probably didn’t help, but it was more that my attention had to be divided—I couldn’t relate to three pairs of breasts as one larger grouping, instead having to treat them individually, like separate keys on a piano. So I went with what I could do, sending sudden heat into the Asian girl’s tits first. She lunged forward as if to hug the bar, and I made the intense sensations spread throughout her breasts before switching to the blonde. I didn’t look at her but went inside and thought of the excitement of her nipples as thought-oriented tit-sucking, and damn if there wasn’t an immediate, “Jesus!” and the clatter of fallen silverware to my side.
All eyes went to the blonde; mine went to Miss Asia, who was comforting or being comforted by her boyfriend. And that was the thing—some of the heat I’d instilled there lingered like an echo, but I hadn’t been able to keep it up with her when I’d turned my focus onto the blonde. I went inside the third pair of tits out of sight and felt them to be somewhat larger than the other two, with nipples that were already stiff—someone was having a decent time all on their own. Just for the hell of it I juiced them and kept my focus there, upping the intensity over time. The woman with these tits didn’t cry out at first—I felt her breathing go all haywire, though, and at a certain point her breasts were heaving out and in like someone speed-blowing up balloons. Then came the cries, like confused moans from the back of a cave.
I drained my glass, set it on the bar and left all three women to interpret the night’s strange passions as they would. Anyone who lowered their eyes and cared to look would know I was walking stone hard, which had me thinking I should change my style and start wearing ponchos.
As I meandered back to Dawn’s apartment I wondered whether I was one bad-ass dude, or more like a kid unable to ride a bicycle without training wheels. I could definitely do some cool and sexy things, but my imagination about the ability’s reach extended beyond my actual talents. Would I get better at it? Could I?
And just like that, walking up Amsterdam with a cool breeze funneling between tall buildings, I got a sudden hit of lips sucking on my ex’s nipples someplace to the south. My reaction was to want to spit, as if Laura’s fucking fiancee, what’s-his-face, had just laid a big bacteria-laden slobbering kiss on me.
I was only a few blocks from Dawn’s place, and about the same from mine. My phone hadn’t rung and I didn’t sense her breasts at home, so I made a pit-stop and grabbed my cameras and a couple of lights. After feeling my ex getting fucked I only thought it right to pound Dawn’s pussy into oblivion, and why not make photographing or filming her a part of that? She thought she wanted a sexy website; well, after tonight there wouldn’t be any doubts, not after I had her tits clapping for it like two trained seals.
I let myself into her apartment, set up the lights in her bedroom, then snooped around. She had four wigs, the red one I’d seen, two blondes and a dark brunette. Lots of different bras, everything from plain white to intricately laced. A couple of bustieres, one a deep scarlet that I couldn’t wait to see her fill out, or strategically overfill. I wondered if she’d ever worn these sexy things for a lover, or whether they were something one of her cosplay selves paraded around in at home.
My phone rang and Dawn said she was about ten minutes away. With everything set up I went outside and sat on the front stoop, taking in the cool night air. I imagined her breasts jiggling as she walked in my direction, and at a certain point imagination became a tangible impression. It was different than the other morning, when I’d only been able to sense her breasts when they were less than a block away. They were easily three times that distance now, like my radar had been given an upgrade.
I didn’t affect them, not until she turned the corner onto her block and, looking ahead, saw me there. I gave them a quick nipple-hardening thrill, and saw how that changed the cadence of her walk. She had gone out in her everyday uniform of jeans and a tight-fitting T, but her breasts filled out the shirt differently. A different bra, a push-up; I could feel it in the way they were harnessed upwards.
“Hi beautiful,” I said when she stopped a few paces away. I tingled her nipples, and her weight shifted from foot to foot.
“You really think I’m beautiful?” she asked, her head down and eyes up.
“Can I tell you a dirty little secret then?”
“Sure. The dirtier the better.”
“When I see you,” she began, pausing to breathe deeply a couple of times. “It’s like my breasts are so happy they want to do back-flips.”
I could think of several responses to that. “What does that tell you?” is what I went with.
She giggled. “That my breasts are big enough to do back-flips, for one.”
I laughed, and sent in more energy.
“You make me feel... My friends said I was glowing tonight, and I told them I’d met a special someone. I’m... I think I need to glow more, so let’s go upstairs, huh? And fuck.”
“Put on a blonde wig. In fact, dress exactly as you did the night you said you went out to a bar and went home with some lucky guy.”
“When I became ‘Helen’? Don’t want me as me already? Ready for a whirl with another me?”
“It’s a little more than that. I set up lights in your bedroom, and I brought my cameras.”
“Oh dear. I still haven’t decided...”
“No one will ever see the footage, but I want to see you looking hot through a lens,” I said, sending a more intense stream of energy into her nipples. “This is just to help you get past the presence of the camera in the room. And for you to see how incredibly sexy you are compared to every woman you showed me on your computer.”
She kept shifting her weight, and her nipples looked like they might eat cotton to get out into the night air.
“How do you feel about this?” I asked.
“Feel? I need sex! My breasts... My God, if you had any inkling of how much you excite me!”
“You’ll get sex. Dressed up as somebody else, on film,” I said, setting off a small tingle-bomb inside both tits.
“Oh fuck yes?”
“Yes! Fuck yes!”
I followed behind again as we raced up the stairs. On the first landing I pulled her to me and kissed her, slipping a hand under her shirt while my erection made contact near her pussy. I dug under her bra and gave her right nipple a hard rolling tug, and she hissed into my ear, followed by: “RIght here on the stairs! Right now!”
“Patience,” I soothed, turning her around and pushing her forward. “I’m into blondes tonight.”
We embraced again outside her door, and touched each other in different ways all the way back to her bedroom. She let out a nervous breath at the sight of the lights clamped into position, and my video camera on a tripod.
“Dress sexy, Dawn,” I said, standing behind and pressing my hand between her legs.
She was wet like a marsh, her pussy hot to my hand. She mewed at the contact, a shudder passing through her body. With what had to be a tremendous effort of will, she moved away and took hold of one of the blonde wigs. Opening a drawer I hadn’t snooped through, she removed a sliver of dark fabric I couldn’t quite decipher, and hurried into the hallway bathroom to become her sex kitten alter-ego, Helen.
I’d never performed, sexually, in front of a camera either, but what the fuck. I stripped down to my boxers and sat on the edge of the bed, and turned on my CB, for Colossal Boob, mind-radio.
Through shifts in the way Dawn’s boobs moved and felt, I could sense the removal of clothes, a freshening up with soap and a washcloth, the donning of her wig. I kept stirring her tits and she had to be wondering why she was getting so turned on at the prospect of posing and fucking in front of a camera. Or not thinking at all, because her need for sex was so insistent that it obliterated all other considerations.
My cock twitched sympathetically when I felt fabric being stretched over her breasts, hugging them with a silky touch. She leaned forward and gravity pulled at her tits, yet they were contained. She straightened and her breasts shook, like a cat fluffing its fur.
When she left the bathroom her footfalls had the click of heels, and the way her boobs bounced was an aphrodisiac unto itself. I stood to turn the camera on, then sat back on the bed like an innocent first-time porn-boy.
I had an erection straining my boxers even before seeing Dawn, but new life surged into my dick when she came in and struck a pose. The blonde hair shone, and the expertly applied lipstick and eye make-up really had transformed her face, turning her into a not quite Dawn. She’d even added a movie star beauty-mark to the left of her mouth. Below all that her trim bod was sheathed inside a translucent black bodystocking, the power boobs stretching the daylights out of the material at the front. A targeted opening down below showed her glistening labia, looking especially pink in contrast to the dark color all around.
I just stared, my cock wondering if it had ever seen anything sexier. And the look in her eyes... I’d thought she might fixate on the camera, like it was an unwelcome third party observing what should be a private mating ritual. Instead her eyes were glued to the bulge in my underpants, her hands caressing the inside of her thighs like the area needed to be warmed up for me. She came a couple of steps closer, just entering the camera’s field of view, and the sexual tension between us was so palpable I wouldn’t be surprised if the camera could pick up undulating pressure-waves connecting our bodies.
She kneeled at my feet and pulled off my boxers, and out sprang one very excited dick. “I need this so badly!” she said, and after that it was wordless lovemaking, beginning with her joining me on the bed, pushing me back to swish her semi-contained tits across my face. I’d always loved the texture of stockings on a woman’s legs, and this was like Dawn’s tits and everything else had become like that, easing against my body with nylon smoothness. I reveled in her touch, in her incongruous trim and tight voluptuousness. And I didn’t waste much time finding that opening in the garment, the head of my cock teasing at her pussy, almost entering but not quite. With every almost-penetration I shot energy into her nipples, and it wasn’t until she was panting like a marathon runner that I thrust all the way in, eliciting a wanton wail. Smooth in and out stokes, slow and steady, all the while dousing the cells inside her tits with napalm heat.
“Oh God!” she cried out, the flesh of her breasts visibly reddening even through the dark filter of her outfit. I rubbed my palms against her nipples and they were bullet hard, and hot. I thrust harder and closed my eyes, going inside her tits, and it was like something at the core of me let go, and I became Dawn’s tits in a more profound way. They pulsed and I pulsed, glowing hot and bright like two stars locked in a duet of existence. With every in-thrust of my dick there was a flare of brighter energy, the core of Dawn’s tits burning, roiling, generating.
I only had half a second of warning that she was cumming, and when she did it seared me, or the me inside her tits, and the hot connection flared too bright, like being blinded with my eyes closed. I was cumming before I even knew the cock doing it was mine, a warm flood release pouring against the flare of Dawn’s explosion.
I felt like rushing steam. I felt like a hyper-active volcano erupting into a thundercloud. Sound cracked and fumes burst and her pussy vented as I kept bursting inside her, nature meeting nature.
“Martin?” her voice came soft out of somewhere.
It took a few moments to know where I was and who I was. My right hand moved and it touched soft smooth flesh, so much of it that it all came back. Dawn. Tits. I gave the breast at my palm a loving squeeze, happy to be there.
“Martin, open your eyes. I think... I think I’m...”
I opened them. She had scooted her body so she was partly sitting up, back against the headboard. Her eyebrows were knotted in puzzlement, or perhaps wonder.
“What is it?” I asked, although I knew the moment my eyes swept south.
“Is this... real?” she asked in a small voice.
It was real. Her wonderful tits stood out just like they should, only the shouldn’t, because they’d been covered by the bodystocking. Which had melted away around them, like someone had set fire to the garment.
“I thought I imagined...” she began. “Somewhere in there I thought I smelled something burning. But I never thought...”
I’d smelled fumes, too. And had felt consuming energy and fire in her tits, or in me, or wherever one goes when cumming inside a woman as I had.
“I’m a freak,” Dawn whispered. “I’m not only huge, I’m... I don’t know what.”
There was nothing wrong with her flesh. Her breasts, so perfectly smooth in texture and form, weren’t scorched, or reddened, or anything. Yet you could see how the edges of the hole that had been burned away were melted.
“Hold me,” she said, and I did.