Bernie jacked his prick a couple of times. A couple of drops of cum oozed out of his piss-slit and he hipped forward, holding his drooling cockhead over the valley of that hairless cunt-like cleavage.
Imogene felt as if hot grease were being splattered on her tits. Oh Mother! Her husband, her greedy ghoulish husband who had not been fulfilled on their wedding night with the three holes in her body, was going to make a fourth hole in the middle of her chest.
Oh Mother!
Bernie's hairy asscheeks settled down on Imogene's belly. His cock spat out some more cock-cream into the warm valley of her cleavage.
Imogene looked away. Didn't want to see that cock make a cunt of her cleavage. Didn't want to see her husband's greedy prick as it slipped and slid between her pushed-together tits. Didn't want to see the cum shooting out the end of his cock on each breaststroke, the yeasty drops splattering over her chin and mouth.
Oh Mother!
Then Bernie started tittie-fucking his wife.
Oh God!
Oh Mother!
Those warm tits wrapped around his cock as he made the first stroke. They were wrapped around his prick because Bernie had put his greedy hairy hands on top of Imogene's and was making a virgin-like tight hole out of the cleavage of her tits.
"Oh God! Aaaarrrrggghhhmmmfff! Whatta Sensation! Jesus Christ! What a tittie-fuck!"
Then Bernie's cock was sliding back and forth, back and forth so many times that Imogene's tits became chafed and hotter as Bernie applied more pressure on the outsides of her tits so that he could feel more tit-pressure on his bloated prick.
Imogene began to cry. Her tits were being abused. Her tits were being ravaged. Her tits were being raped.
Her tits no longer felt like breasts. They felt like two punching bags squeezed tightly together, a prick as big as a fist doing a fast one-two, one-two, left-right combination on her punching bags.
"Aaaaiiieeeee! Please, Bernie! Hurry! My tits – Oh God! My tits hurt like hell!"
Bernie smiled. He smiled because he hadn't heard what his wife had screamed. He smiled because there was a delightful explosion taking place in his balls. It was the kind of feeling that felt supernatural. As if a fairy named Ecstasy were pumping jizzy joy into his asshole, and that jizzy joy had flooded his balls, and was ready to spread like Jergens Lotion all over the hot meat of his wife's tits as it sprang elf-like from his cock.
So, Bernie, who at the beginning of the tittie-fuck felt like a sane werewolf, now felt as if little leprechauns had crawled into his asshole, swarmed in his balls and were getting ready to make the leap from his cock-slit to find a home in the mountains of his wife's tits, or to settle down in the warm valley of her cleavage.
"Godddddd! I'm coming! Ohhhhhhhhh shhhhiiiittt!"
Imogene shouldn't have opened her eyes. Not when his cock had expanded because of the impetus of so many little elves, who were now parachuting from the tube of his cock and making an assault on her tits.
Especially when the balls of cum were arcing up and over her chin, her mouth, her nose and splattering like hot Crisco on her eyelids.
"Aaaaaiiiieeeee! My eyes! My tits! Hurry! Please get it over with!"
Bernie thrust hard and fast.
Another huge spurt of cum was on its way.
Another wave of little people ejecting from his prick. But this time there wasn't as much urgency.
The second huge wad of yeasty, hot Crisco-like cum landed on Imogene's nose. And her nostrils were filled with the odor of crushed walnuts.
Imogene was stunned. Her face was a mess. Her tits were a mess. Her marriage was a mess. She was a mess, and her mother had warned her that she was going to be a mess. Her mother had told her countless times when little Genie was a child: "You made a mess! Look at that mess! You're just a mess! Whatta mess! You're just going to have to live with the mess you made!"
Imogene shook her head. But this mess on her face wasn't something of her own doing. This mess on her face was coming from a pair of balls that weren't a part of her. This mess wasn't hers!
Oh Mother!
"Hurry! Oh God! Hurry and shoot your grimy mess!"
Bernie's cook was losing its fire power. Now the shots of cum diminished in force and the trajectory of his shots had lowered to the point that Imogene no longer had to taste his walnutty cum because his grimy mess was landing on her chin and her throat.
Then the tittie-fuck ended.
Imogene gasped, couldn't get rid of the crushed walnut taste in her mouth. Couldn't get rid of that stuff that stuck like egg-white on her face. Couldn't do anything but lie there and watch Bernie as he wiped his messy cock on her nipples.
Christ, what had she married?
Oh Mother!
Now, as Bernie looked at his foreign-made TV set and watched a pair of titties fill the screen, he was reminded about the last time he had fucked Imogene between the tits.
Was it really four years ago?
Jesus, how time flies when you're having fun thinking about fucking tits like that pair on the screen.
Christ! Bernie relaxed, sagged in his chair, unzipped his pants and let his prick have some air before he started choking it with his fist.
He heard Imogene working in the kitchen, chopping up the walnuts to put in her five dozen chocolate-chip cookies.
Fuck her cookies!
He didn't want any fucking chocolate-chip cookies. He wanted to fuck something. Something like those tits on the twenty-four-inch screen.
Bernie's canine teeth felt numb. The hair bristled on his body – on his spine, his hands, his asshole and in his ears.
He stared wolfishly at Ramona Rathers' tits.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lance Peters looked like a normal eighteen year old boy. He had about thirty obvious zits on his face and there were about sixty more pimples ready to break through his pock-marked skin.
His body was in between a lot of ages and years. He had a man's pair of feet in that they weren't going to grow any more – so his feet were now size eleven and they were anxiously awaiting the rest of his body to grow up so they wouldn't feel so awkward when Lance called upon them to do difficult things like walking and running.
Lance had a normal eighteen-year-old's face. He had hair, a nose, and a pair of lips. Other than the thirty obvious pimples and the sixty ready-to-be obvious zits on his face, his facial features were remarkably bland – as if Lance kept them that way intentionally.
Now, for the description that most women are interested in – his cock.
Lance had a prick that was unusually large at the top, or at the bottom, depending on whether his prick was erect or soft. His glans was the size of a baseball when it was erect, naturally, and whenever the glans wasn't in use, it usually shrank down to the size of an under inflated tennis ball.
Right now it was a baseball because Lance had a batter's grip on his prick-shaft – there was more than enough room to put two hands on his cock – and he was ready to choose up sides.
Should he jack off lying on his back or on his belly?
Lance tried to remember which position he had used last.
Then he remembered.
The last time that his glans had been a baseball was not when he was jacking off his prick but when Ramona Rathers had seduced him into coming into her mansion, into her perfume living room, and had eaten his cock like a prick-hungry nymph.
Now, as Lance moved his hands up and down, up and down on his cock, he tried to remember what Ramona's lips looked like when they clung to his baseball-sized cockhead.
Oooooooooh, those lips had driven him wild. Nobody had ever sucked his cock before. Oh, there had been those times when he was much younger and his spine was very limber and he could bend over and suck his own cock.