J Long - Connie_s young lover

Martin was disgusted. The fucking book was nothing like the cover. Hell, he got more thrills jacking off over the bra ads in the Sears Roebuck catalogue.

He got to page thirty. Finally a fuck scene. Annie was starting to give his prick a rise. But the goddamn author was really getting with it. Shit, the writer wasn't even describing how cunts looked when they were stroking madly up and down on a cock!

Page fifty was another fuck scene. Annie was sucking a nigger's cock. Disgusting. A real turn off. Why the fuck did all those modern fuck books have to have white chicks fucking niggers? Equal rights? Take a nigger to bed today?

Shit, his cock drooped down again. When the hell was Annie going to get her titties fucked?

Martin read on, getting to page eighty-five before some more skin-action occurred. Annie was looking through a peephole, watching two queers sucking each other's cocks.

Martin's prick not only was limp now, but it felt dead. Really disgusting. Every goddamn fuck book always threw in a couple of scenes where fags were buggering each other. What ever happened to straight people like him? Who the hell were all those fuck-book publishers trying to impress?

Gay guys. Fuck 'em.

Shit, he was halfway through the book and not one scene had given his prick the full hard erection that he wanted.

Then on page 155, four pages from the end, there it was-a titty-fucking scene. Martin's prick jerked and throbbed. Well, it was about fucking time!

Annie's tits were, as the author described them, not tits but mammaries, and the prick that was shooting cock-juice all over those mammaries was called a masculine tower of strength that poured its vast resources all over Annie's bosom.

Martin couldn't take any more reading. He had just finished reading an inadequate sex scene about one of his favorite pastimes titty-fucking.

Martin grabbed his eight-inch prick, ran his hands over the tip, then down the shaft. He needed titties. He wanted Connie Ryan's titties, but she had told him that she had lain too long in the sun and that her nipples were burned raw. No more titty-fucking for a while.

Martin sighed.

He nudged the huge form of his wife as she lay spread-legged, curlers on top of her head, mammoth fits inflating and deflating with each snoring intake of breath.

Martin had never titty-fucked his wife.

He wondered why.

His prick felt red-hot. Well, why not? Why not just titty-fuck his wife for the first time in twenty years?

Martin sat up, looked at his wife's face.

Ruddy cheeks, ruddier lips, flaring nostrils that seemed to balloon from her fat-cheeked face. It was a good thing her eyes were closed, because they wouldn't look so piggish had she been awake.

Martin gazed at his wife's tits. Christ that was the reason he had married her. Her tits were huge-much bigger than Connie s.

Each titty looked like a football. And now that she was on her back, the footballs looked like they were two one-eyed heads that she had her arm cuddled around. But when Gladys Seaman stood erect, they looked like footballs, big footballs.

Why hadn't he tried to fuck her between the tits? Her boobs had turned him on when he was a spry youth of nineteen newly married to Gladys. And now, they still turned him on.

Quietly he unbuttoned her moth-eaten pajama top. There wasn't much cleavage now, because her massive tits were nestling on her elbows as they sagged away from her chest.

He lifted, yes lifted, her right boob. God, at least ten pounds of fleshy tit was in his hand. He looked at the nipple; it was bigger around than a short-stack pancake and it was very pinkish. Her nipples looked peaceful, just like her fat, serene face.

He rubbed his thumb over the nipple. The fat nodule seemed to awaken. He rubbed faster. The nipple was budding out of the dark circle of her areola. It was filling with blood and becoming hard. Very hard. Like his, cock was now.

His palms were sweaty as he tried to maneuver her monstrous tit towards his face. His moist mouth settled over the nipple, licked it, teased it. Oh, shit, he sure loved Gladys' tits!

He tried to wrestle her other jug into position as he got on top of her stomach, his weight resting on his knees.

Gladys grunted.

Martin stopped fucking around with her tits.

She snored.

Martin went back to fucking around with her tits. He was fondling both footballs now, both palms starting at the base of her tits and moving towards the nipples. Christ, he would have to have Paul Bunyuan's hands to cover all that titty-flesh.

His prick bounced against her navel as Martin leaned forward, thrusting his face between her pressed-together tits.

He licked her left boob, bringing the nipple to erection. Then his tongue dipped into the narrow valley of her cleavage, moved up the mountain of her right tit.

The nipple was still wet, still erect, and this time Martin tried to shove his tongue hard against Gladys' right nipple, tried to force it back into all that mass of tit-meat. The nipple fought him hard, refused to retract, refused to budge against his pressing tongue.

Cum oil leaked from his cock-head, filled her navel.

Martin grunted.

Gladys wake up, confused. Then she saw Martin's crewcut between her enormous tits, watched in bewilderment as his tongue raced back and forth between her two tits, licking and teasing one nipple, then the other.

Gladys' head moved back and forth, watching Martin's butch head moving like a windshield wiper over her titties. "Martin, what are you doing?" Martin grunted. "Martin! What are you doing!?"

Martin didn't want to talk now. His lips were too busy on her tits. His tongue was too tired from the constant whiplashes he gave each nipple.

Gladys moaned. Whatever Martin was doing to her was feeling good. "Oh, Martin, I know what you're doing. You're sucking my tits. Keep sucking!"

Martin's lips pressed down hard around her nipple, then moved with lightning speed to the other nipple. Why did Gladys have to have two tits? Or maybe Martin should have asked herself, why didn't he have two mouths?

Martin got up, just a little way because he didn't want to be too far away from those gigantic jugs. His forearms tensed as his hands bulldozed her tits towards the center of her chest. The nipples were now no farther than an inch apart, and they looked like two piggish eyes.

Martin devoured both nipples at the same time.

Gladys grunted, and her ass heaved high.

Martin was almost thrown, off, but the pressure he was exerting on her tits helped to maintain his balance and he redoubled his tit-sucking efforts.

Both nipples were at least an inch long now, filling his cheeks as his arms ached from the constant pressure he had to exert to keep her knockers in place.

"Oh, Martin, you've got to fuck me. My tits are burning up!"

What Gladys meant to say was "Oh, Martin, you've got to fuck me in the cunt because you really have me aroused."

But Martin interpreted it as "Oh, Martin, you've got to fuck my tits."

Martin let go of her fits, and the two ten-pound footballs fumbled from his grasp and slid back against Gladys' arms.

He scooted up her body until his prick lay flat against her cleavage. He hoisted her tits back into position his favorite titty-fucking position.

"Oh, yes, Martin! Bring your cock up here so I can suck on it."

Gladys' red lips were only inches away from his hot prick. She closed her eyes, waiting for Martin to stick his cock into her yawning cavern of a mouth.

Martin didn't move; well, he did move back and forth, back and forth, his prick sliding wetly through the valley of her boobs.

Several titty-fucking moments passed before Gladys realized that Martin's prick wasn't filling her mouth. His cock was just fucking back and forth between her huge jugs.