"So what do you call it?" she wondered.
"I guess its traditional name is 'cock.'"
At first she was dubious. The only handle her mind could get on it was that of some sort of freaky inside-out vagina, and she felt no particular interest at all in the twin sack loads immediately attached to it. It was when she handled and kissed it and it slowly responded by coming to life that she began to like it. It was like some animal with a will all its own.
She heard him groan. "Is anything wrong?"
"I've ... had a lot of sex lately, so please, if we could just be a bit gentle with it ... "
She wasn't very impressed by his request. After all, it was getting awfully hard, enough that it seemed ready to take on all manner of punishment. As it plumped and straightened she began to think of it more as a dildo, and some dildos she knew were the steeliest devices on Earth.
No, it was when she instinctively tried rubbing it directly into the depths of her cleavage that she felt a strange new thrill. This was different, something so very much like a machine of pleasure and yet alive and warm and full of brute lust, a kind of lie detector of this male's libido. His hardness, his readiness, openly signaled his lust for her, and she appreciated both that and the fleshy feel of his tool pistoning away in her deep snug valley of breastflesh. "Your cock really does feel very nice," she told him.
She was shocked, but nicely, as more instincts kicked in. She felt her vagina heat up and her vulva begin to spontaneously lubricate. It was as if her pussy was transforming into some starving maw crying out to gobble away on its favorite meal. She groaned and grunted as her horniness went right on rising and rising, and she tried to relieve that somewhat by getting on top of him on the bed and engaging him in a French kiss with lots of suction. She was delighted to find that somehow this "guy" could kiss back in a way rougher and bolder than she had ever encountered before.
"Mmmmmph!" Owen blurted out in a mix of awe and panic. "Your tits are -- "
"Shut up," she growled, though nicely. "I don't want to hear anything about my tits, you understand?"
This was fine by Owen, as he proceeded to grab and knead and kiss and lick and suck them with abandon, and this too she had never quite experienced before, her tits enjoyed the hell out of being handled and exploited so roughly.
At last she tried sliding herself down over top of him. The angle was awkward at first, but then it became more straight and even and she began to gallop with a good rhythm. The rhythm made her already humongous breasts flop and slap dramatically down onto Owen's face over and over.
At last Owen, despite all he'd been through, had to reciprocate. This woman was in so many ways the walking bosom he had long fantasized about, and he began to drive himself into her. Tommi's eyes bugged out as she realized that she was being taken on a roaring express train to orgasm, an experience that usually took a good while of nurturing. Owen hammered into her and she climaxed big and fast and hard -- and then realized that she had only begun.
"Your cock is amazing!" she gasped.
With encouragement like that, Owen went all out to keep on amazing her, and soon Tommi was thrashing and squealing beneath an onslaught of wrenching orgasms. If this was cock-sex, she decided, she wanted nothing else but this forever. She bit her lower lip in a vain attempt to repress one last orgasm, which came yowling out of her anyway.
At last her body decided to relax, and she disengaged from him and rolled off.
It had happened. She had found something truly more amazing than her own breasts. Her universe slid neatly into balance. |