The Breast Way To Get the Girls
Martin — June
The days and nights right after I met Laura’s yoga teacher were a time for being horny and doing something about it. As I said earlier, I was editing the content for Dawn’s eventual website during the days, and we spent our evenings and nights in a cock-hardening/cock-draining rhythm of photographing and filming and fucking. But there were new concerns on the horizon—concern for Laura’s health, and the Siren call of Laura’s friend’s small tits.
On the former I really didn’t know what else I could do, because Laura wasn’t going to listen to me. She’d become distrustful of my sanity and my intentions at the coffee shop—funny how, even after splitting up, we still thought alike sometimes.
On the other front, what the fuck was up with Bonnie, truly? I didn’t even know Laura’s yoga teacher’s last name, and now her boobs were hardwired into my brain and cock? I could sense them moving around, and I knew they weren’t close, often miles away, as though her boobs bounced signals off a satellite that I tuned into through my weird iDick programming. Most of the time I could sense her breasts moving through distant space slowly, like she was walking around her apartment, maybe going out for coffee or groceries. Other times I could feel them zipping from one point on the map to another at a rapid clip—that had to be Bonnie on the subway. They low-level haunted me like two distant ghosts, but sometimes I’d get these intense hits that her breasts were being fondled or sucked, the nipples standing out with hormones blasting through glandular pathways as efficiently as any train system. It was like every time the woman had sex, my cock would turn into a lightning rod wanting to be thunderstruck.
I was horny much of every day, all while spending hours at Dawn’s apartment viewing breast-oriented videos of all kinds, trying to master what actually worked, both technically and in terms of getting me hot. By the time Dawn came home my cock was in powerdrill mode and we’d fuck and shoot, fuck more and shoot more.
As for creating content for Dawn’s site, I came to the conclusion pretty early that there were five basic themes that might be explored with a woman who had fetish proportions like Dawn, and they went like this:
- Cheesecake, which was essentially “Look at me, I’m beautiful and have monster boobs”
- Passive voyeur-cam, as if she didn’t know a hidden camera was recording her activities
- Active voyeur-cam, where the camera followed her movements and got into her personal space
- Web-cam, the opposite of passive voyeur-cam, where she flirted and engaged with the camera, teasing or showing off to her audience
- Flat-out porn, which could be solo or include other participants
Because Dawn was Dawn, and our intersection had done what could only be described as miraculous things to her, there was an additional option, which was to highlight the way her tits, when she was ready to cum, could melt clothing or turn water to steam. Call that magicam, I suppose.
Dawn was open to every option. Made up as Scarlet, she felt free to do anything that might make the site successful, including a good bra-burning or fucking me, graphically, for all to see. I was the one who drew the line on that last one—I didn’t know what the future held for me, but I couldn’t see where I benefitted from being identifiable on film. When she suggested I wear a mask I still balked; I wasn’t sure why, but I did.
The main thing was that I had a model as attractive as any I’d seen online, with just about ideally formed breasts and a torso-to-tit ratio that couldn’t be beat. Plus the magical fire-without-consumption thing, and my secret weapon, the ability to get inside her and turn her tits into orgasm-producing power-plants.
On a Thursday, the penultimate day before Dawn left the world of retail employment, I brought a couple of studio lights to her bedroom, and was setting them up when I got a distinct hit of Bonnie’s tits, far away, being fondled. When lips and a tongue began to work on her left nipple I thought I might lose it—it was a woman’s mouth doing the deed, I was sure of it. My dick pulsed a red-alert that got more and more insistent, and I was certain I felt current like a buzz inside my erection when she came.
I went to the street windows and looked out on what I could see of the city. It was almost time for the end of Dawn’s shift and good thing, because without knowing I’d fuck her soon enough, I’d need to roam the streets or bars or freaking lamaze classes, anywhere women with big controllable tits might hang out.
Dawn had probably been inflating dicks all day because she’d ditched the jeans and T-shirt outfit, and for the first time in years had walked outside her door, as herself, no cosplay, in a tight-fitting dress. Deciding that I would use my state of extreme need for our content purposes, I called her at work and poured phone sex into her ear, telling her I was going to leave her red wig in a bag outside in the hall, and that I’d start filming her the instant she walked through her front door. I told her to look right into the camera lens and just express what she felt, no matter what it was, and head to the bedroom to strip.
She was silent on the line, and when she did speak it was just the attitude I wanted. “I’ve been stared at the entire day, so the camera will hardly feel different. Only it will be different, because we’ll be in private and...”
“And baby do I want to light your fire.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I got everything ready and was so insanely excited and sensitive that I could feel Dawn’s tits approaching from four or five blocks away. I wasn’t sure if I could heat them up from such a distance but I tried, working on her nipples. With every passing block I could tell more and more that it was having an effect—it had to feel to her that every step towards her apartment, and me inside it, increased her horniness with Richter-scale intensity.
I felt her ascent up the stairs, and though it was tempting I didn’t crank up the tit energy further but waited to give her time to properly don her wig. She was right outside the door, breathing fast, her breasts lifting as she arranged her real hair or adjusted the wig. I didn’t need to be able to see her to know when she was done; the attitude of her breasts changed when she lowered her arms, and she took a step towards the door, her right arm outstretched.
I poured more excitement into her tits as she made that gesture, and felt how the surge of energy interrupted the movement and sent her reeling. Her breasts heaved and her nipples strained, and she stepped or collapsed backwards, her tits jiggling from what must have been the impact of her back against the hallway wall. I heard a tortured sound, maybe a moan, turned on the camera, raised it and approached the door from the inside, and opened it.
The camera saw what I saw—a woman in full-on heat, a tight-body redheaded bra-buster with her mouth hanging open in a certain way, almost dazed by the excitement coursing through her. A woman staring straight into the lens with sex-spots darkening her eyes, presaging violent flares to come.
Some people believe a beautiful woman dressed just right is sexier than the same woman completely nude, and what stood—barely—in front of me put me firmly in that camp. Dawn must have been a terrible cock-tease at work wearing this teal sleeveless dress with its deep V neckline, because her cleavage was epic and the material was thin, her hard nipples deeply arguing two pornographic points of interest. It didn’t hurt the sexiness factor the way she breathed, taking deep heated gulps of air that had her breasts behaving like creatures grown too large for their cage, ready to burst free.
“I can’t even believe...” she began, speaking to me through the lens. A hand went up to cup and squeeze one breast through the dress, then the other, the hem rising high enough to show black panties. It might be plenty erotic to have her masturbate right there in the building’s hallway, but the light wasn’t great and the mood would be destroyed if a neighbor happened by. I slowly backed up and beckoned a finger, and her flaring eyes caught the gesture.
I stepped backwards and aside, and as Dawn passed I focused on the torpedo shaped profile of her tits, the dress and underlying bra so overwhelmed by their outward projection and the excited state of her nipples. The stress folds alone were reason to slow this footage down in editing—really, had there ever been a dress with lovelier radiating folds at the sides, the fabric placed under such cock-hardening tension?
When she had passed I fell into step a few paces back, tilting the camera down to watch her ass move, back up to show how much of her tits you could see from straight behind, all that exquisite boobage spilling out wider than her narrow torso.
She went straight into bed, kicking her heels off, and the pressure in my pants was so intense that I used my free hand to unzip and unleash my raging cock. Her eyes went to it and she licked her lips before reaching out to grab it. I darted to the side and retreated, keeping the camera on her. She got the idea, teasing my dick by chasing it for the camera. “I need to be fucked so badly!” she spoke to the lens, and there wasn’t one ounce of acting in the statement.
She dropped onto the bed and curled her feet beneath her ass and played with her tits through the fabric of the dress. All that bulging flesh being worked through the fabric was golden, and I didn’t allow it to become mechanical, heating her nipples, which was the same as urging her to lose the dress. Her mouth and eyes conveyed plenty of what she was feeling inside, and when her bra came off and the oversized breasts surged free, they too told a vivid story of a woman on the verge, the nipples reaching out like they were begging the mouth behind the camera to suck on them.
I didn’t indicate to her that it was time to stroke her pussy through her panties, and I never gave direction to pull them off with frantic swiftness. I never told her to rise onto her knees and lean into the camera and heft her tits and suck on her nipples, and I never told her to expel her girlish animalistic breath-grunts as one hand left her tits to finger her pussy. I merely provided the inescapable and ever-increasing necessity, turning Dawn’s magnificent milkers into sex turbines. They became flush with energy, blood rushing into them as her need intensified. I caught a sudden distortion of the outline of her face—it was heated air rising up from her tits, giving a slight optical waviness to her neck and head.
Her eyes rolled back the way they sometimes did, and when she came with the flesh of her tits quaking, she toppled sideways onto the mattress and looked like a woman being given shock treatment. I never really decided how that image would be perfect for the last frame of the film. No, I just faded to black and ditched the camera and fucking pounced on her, adding the pummeling from my hard rod to the electric shaking of her ongoing orgasms.
Later I filmed Dawn’s tits in their state of languorous post-coital recovery. I’d never been with a woman whose contours could change the way hers did; most parts of the body stayed in place with only slight variations depending on the flexing of muscles, slight pull of gravity and so on. But Dawn’s breasts reminded me of mercury, solid to look at yet able to elongate, or fatten and flatten, to be pushed together or spread apart, almost like they expressed different attitudes or emotions through different modes of weight distribution.
One favorite attitude was on display right now, as I filmed her huge tits swaying and rolling as they hung down above me, her body moving up and down with the unmistakable rhythm of furious fucking. In some of what we filmed we were crossing the line into outright pornography; I kept the field of sight just above my cock, letting Dawn’s tits and face and half-crazed cries tell the story of what was happening just beyond the frame.
When she was finally spent late in the night, I dimly lit her and filmed the woman sleeping, and how the light played on the volume of her breasts as she shifted from one position to the next. With a bit of editing to clean up certain transitions, I could imaging three or four different films and a few photosets from this single night, and they would all be smoking hot. Once Dawn had lost the job and was free during the days we could increase the pace, and in no time would have enough material to update content to a site for months.
I finally spooned into Dawn’s backside around three in the morning, and it was perfectly restful sleep until the mattress shifted near me. I could feel gravity affecting Dawn’s tits the way it did when she sat or stood—she was no longer lying beside me.
“You’re awake,” she said when I rolled over.
She was sitting up in bed, holding her breasts in her hands and contemplating them.
“Yes. And you look like someone who reads palms, only you’re trying to see your future by divining your cleavage line.”
“I think I’m in love with my breasts.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I don’t think you understand how monumental this is for me. I love my breasts. I can’t even believe I used to be so uncomfortable about them, that I couldn’t accept how they are. Now they’re like... I don’t know, purring sex organs that perform magic tricks. And when you show them to me on the computer... They’re way too big for the rest of me, but when I see the whole picture on my screen, see how they move with me, how I can lift them and squeeze them and stack one on top of the other... It’s so sexy, and they make me feel incredibly sexy.”
She slipped back down and snuggled tight against me, grabbing my right wrist to place a hand on a boob. I decided that it was Fortune that had placed a firm nipple right between my index and middle finger, making it possible to squeeze and play just by letting my fingers vibrate. She moaned just the way a woman should moan, and I was lightly pulling at her nipple when a jolt of energy shot into me, causing my whole hand to grab tight. I felt pangs of lust and physical excitement coursing through me with the power of a rising sun, and my cock hardened in a weird way, like it was being stroked from the inside.
Dawn felt the change, probably my hard-on pressing against her thigh like it was seeking a bone-job. She slipped a hand around my cock, pulling on it, and I moaned and felt hardness get harder, like my erection got an erection. Different senses kicked in and I realized what was going on—somewhere in the city Bonnie’s breasts were being played with, and they were like a star so bright in the sky that it would be visible even in the daylight. I could feel her nipples grown fat and stiff, fingers pulling at them and rolling them in clockwise circles. She was definitely masturbating—I couldn’t make out every detail, and the main impression that came to me was that these tits wanted something from me. I knew that like I knew my own name, though I couldn’t figure out why they, being very nice but on the small side, should break all the rules I’d learned up to that point.
Dawn shifted her position, rubbing my cock with one hand while reaching out with the other. I felt my cock being doused with oil and knew what that meant—she loved being on top of me and getting on all fours, letting her boobs hang down to surround my dick. Sometimes I shot extra juice inside her tits, but it wasn’t always necessary because she really was a new woman when it came to tit-fucking, cleavage-squeezing my hardness with pliable soft flesh, using her breasts as sexual weapons.
She worked me slowly, attentively, my erection like the meat filling inside a foot-long tit sandwich. She made me glide, stroked from two sides, her body position changing enough to make the pressure go back and forth, wobble-stroking me. For a little bit all the contact was right there on the bed, but suddenly my cock twitched because I felt Bonnie climaxing across the river. She came and her tits somehow sang out the cumming and the song did something inside me that was extremely powerful and... something. Something extraordinary, but elusive.
Either what I experienced created an atmosphere of increased sexual need in the room, or the twitching of my cock got Dawn’s tits overheated. I had my eyes closed, just feeling the speeding up of the beautiful sensations of all that tit-flesh along the length of my cock. A sharp strange gasp from Dawn was the first indication that something was up. She stopped the tit-fuck in mid-wobble and softly spoke my name.
“Yes?” I said, opening my eyes.
She had big beautiful eyes, and right now they were unnaturally wide. She was straddling me at the hips as before, but had raised herself straight. Reaching up for more contact was my cock, and she was looking at it. So did I, and I saw at once why she’d stopped.
My cock was too big. Like it had grown fatter and longer in mid-tit-fuck, pornographic fairytale style.
“Martin? Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
I was. The change wasn’t extreme, but it was enough that it couldn’t be argued away as an illusion. My cock was bigger. Hell, it even felt bigger.
“Oh shit, what have I done to you?”
“I don’t think you...”
“It’s spreading! Something’s freaky about me and it’s spreading!
People who always think something is about them tend to be egoistic pains in the ass, but in Dawn’s case the mind-frame was a blessing. If she was convinced that, being the possessor of literally smoking hot tits, one too many tit-jobs to the ol’ wangeroo had rubbed some of her fairy dust onto my dick, then I wouldn’t argue, letting her believe it was all her doing.
I knew better, though. And what I knew, without quite knowing how I knew it, was that it had happened because of Bonnie Whatsherlastname, furiously cumming somewhere across the East River. Her energy was in me and her petite tits beckoned in a way I couldn’t even understand, and they had reached out and given me a spectral tit-job of the weird-ass kind, fucking around with my anatomy.
Would miracles never cease? And perhaps more importantly, would I ever be able to get in front of them and direct them, rather than being broadsided every other day by something I didn’t understand?