Summer Erotic Games

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When I entered this world my mom said, “The Mahabharata Hindu Epic toured the world, European Commission was born, an extra second was added to the calendar year.” I interpreted this to mean I oozed originality and specialness. Somehow, by creative imagination, the calendar year’s extra second transformed into two seconds and both lodged themselves within my flat tits when I turned eight.

When the Information Freeway (Internet Superhighway) was born the following year, a strange and wonderful awakening took hold. This self-awareness dislodged those two seconds, and like the Internet, started processing 45 million bits of binary digital energy a second. I knew. Oh boy did I know. Somehow and someway at least 45 millions pleasing tit nerve endings begged and barraged themselves to blast and flash energy all throughout my lean and fit body.

I stayed a good girl you should know. When I entered high school, I oozed my specialness all over those boys. I played volleyball. Even my beach volleyball size B tits looked huge and original to those boys. I wasn’t taller than the boys. No way, at five foot six inches, I was just right. My almost round conical boobies filled that space a boy must gaze in order not to stare like he’s some a desperate nerd. He can’t maintain eye contact 24/7 with me. And I made those boys, Sergey, Luca, Leonardo, feel like men, too. Either I successfully seduced them or they found my shoulder’s back straight posture an RSVP invitation to easy street. Let’s face it, you mauled my tits and I was your new girl. I’d do a guy’s homework, if he tweaked my constant swollen buds of joy. I unashamedly climaxed from nipple stimulation. And I heard only one of ten girls can tit orgasms!

In fact, I used more lube–on my tits than on any boy’s cock while in high school. My reputation–the future hottest tits on any college campus in 2002. Heck, I was hotter than showoff Irene Lovinna, who sucked her own tits.

Summer arrived. I took our college tour orientation. I love summer games. Beach volleyball being my favorite spectator sport. Beach volleyball brought me love–Brad Storm. How to explain it? College is a blur. I did graduate. I don’t know what happened the entire first year 2002 because before I knew it Bard Storm was my guy, my tits stood up, quivering, all natural fruit under my red cotton bra top. My clit crushed against my wet pussy lips in my cut off jean shorts. Brad knew how to set the ball for his partner. And we girls like team players. Brad chased volleyballs down across hot sand. Anyone capable of chasing one large babble, would certainly be more enthused chasing two chest-high baubles. Anyone capable of avoiding carrying the ball over the net obviously knew how to carry quivering titties to orgasms. I begin going to the volleyball intramural tournaments. Sometimes I dress like a slut, but it’s all good because the boys know I’m not one. I’m just a ordinary girl whose tits got as many nerve endings as her coochie down below her topping of triangle patch.

Brad found my tits the moment the volleyball ricocheted off his strong meaty hands and pounded my chest. I blushed. I came. My olive tan skin hid that fact. But Brad stared at my tiny jewelry door knockers pressing against the soft fabric, he wanted to open those doors. I bit my lower lip. I whiffed his wood scent. I coolly handed him back the volleyball, lower than I should, down near his crotch. Dark hair Brad Storm, his heavy eye brows knit together into a soft directional arrow. His dark blue eyes understood and asked me out right away.

High school was for tits as college was for cunnilingus, for us girls anyway. Blow jobs always topped the popularity list for boys. I love licking and sucking organic candy cane. And what hot girl wouldn’t want a stud licking up her cunny pie slit?

I know this sounds scandalous, but pardon me while I pull one hand down from tit and the other out from my sopping crotch. Whew! What an orgasm? Seems even when a man’s sensitive and supportive, possessing a summery personality, he can still lack awareness. Brad used to be a great tit man–nine years ago. All those fraternity pie eating contest corrupted him though. On instinct, Brad swept me off my feet, carry me to bed. His fierce heavy eyebrow stare creating puddles between my legs. He wanted me again–to eat my cunt. That stare always tightened my tits. That stare made my pussy grope for his eight-inch cock.

I got up to stretch, leaving the white rumpled sheet stained. The obvious wet spot seeping canlı bahis and spreading on his side of our double bed. I like the smell of his side. What can I say? I grabbed his white baseball cap and put it on. I wore white socks. I sauntered to our full length mirror. I know what you’re thinking! Is getting your taffy licked a bad thing? Like, double yes, when your overdrive knobs are neglected? That’s when! What girl wants her titties erogenous zones ignored? “Look at these twenty-six-year-barely-legal 34B tits, Brad. I’m here practicing nearly naked before our full length mirror, in our house. I’m wearing my messy sunshine ponytail you adore.” I cupped my bauble treasures.” Play with my high swinging love fruits this week or our relationship is over–finished!”

Noooo. I did not tell Brad yet. See he’s recovering. He’s realized he’s an alcoholic. I am here supporting him. Rian, the 35DD gorgeous redhead AA counselor said, “When one of you is sick the entire family is sick.” I laugh. When I told Mom this, she said, “That’s probably more truthful about sex.” I go out of politeness. It’s Saturday afternoon. The meeting room is clean, a white tile floor reflect as good as a mirror. Positive quote pictures in ritzy frames focus the AA members thoughts. Each person sitting in the circle stands up. They confess like my Beau Brad did, “My name is Brad Storm and I am an alcoholic.” Nice polite praise and acceptance followed. A verbal group hug. I gave Brad a love stare, before turning to my left, signaling for the next AA member to begin. Tonight, though, I sprang from my chair and confessed, “I’m Silky Montgomery, and I am a breast orgasms alcoholic!” Silence didn’t fill the room fast enough before more silence followed. Everyone stared. Everyone turned to someone else seeking the right response. Brad stared. Rian blinked, a first for her. Rian, the gorgeous redhead, who has heard everything twice. I stammered. I turned to Brad. “I–want my tits–mangled, pressed down and rubbed hard like in our college days or this love relationship is done.”

I didn’t wait for any comments. I reached down and grabbed Brad’s hand and led him from the AA meeting. We got into my car and drove home.

In our living room, Brad said, “Silky, what was that about?” Brad pulled off his green white stripe polo shirt. His charcoal pants showing the bulge in his pants as he stretched.

I lowered my black A line skirt, showing my tiny triangle of pussy patch over my clit. But Brad didn’t lower his eyes. He walked into the bedroom. I followed, unbuttoning my crisp white blouse. “Brad, I need you!” I cried.

He sat on the clean fixed bed removing his pants. I sat down beside him unbuttoning my blouse. “Look at my tits,” I said, slowly revealing my 34Bs in a white stretch bra. “My nipples are like pebbles.” My flat belly hardly moving, nervous with sexual anticipation. “You used to always love my breast what happened?”

His boyish face reappeared. I hadn’t seen that face in nine years, the playful Brad was back. He put his charcoal pants aside on top his green-striped polo shirt. “First, I became a darn good salesperson. I followed that by becoming an cunnilingus connoisseur for you. You said you always wanted that–“


His Tanzanite blue eyes didn’t sparkle like normal when his boyish face appeared. “I then realized I was an alcoholic.”

I started to speak.

“Aught. Aught. Let me finish.” He picked up my hand and fondled my ring finger. “Next, I thought about marriage. But I needed to cure myself first.”

My neutral listening face turned to chagrin. Brad has no clue what the problem wa in our relationship. “Brad you’ll be pleased to know.” I placed my slender hand on top of his massive fingers. “Marriage is not the problem. We can do that any time. Your alcoholism isn’t the problem. You neglecting my horny sensitive tits–that’s our problem.”

I got up. I paced around in my white, practically transparent, stretch cotton bra. My breasts and nipples pointing pushing the soft fabric into a miniature cone bra from the 50s. “I went through a phase, in college, wanted a cunnilingus connoisseur. Every girl does, Brad. But I always wanted someone to hug, massage and suck on my tits. I want cuddle love, all girls like cuddle love Girls never forget cuddle love.”

“On last year’s Club Med vacation. You’re all hot over the masseuse, the hulking workout jerk.”

Silky said embarrassed. “Jabin gave me my first tit orgasms in eight years. It was an accident!” I stopped. bahis siteleri “Know how hard I struggled not to throw off that towel and let Jabin have my silky salty pussy?” Silky tossed her blonde hair out of her eyes. “I struggled. I’m a heroine, Brad! That’s how hard I struggled.”

“Silky, I noticed you pulling away from me.” Brad came to me gently. His dark eyebrows smoldering with lust. “I thought you didn’t like me drinking too much. So I joined AA.”

I hugged Brad tight. I slowly rubbed my tits against his chest hair. He smelled good in his wood scented fragrance. I wanted to take his mouth right there and then into mine and forget everything. After all he’s a guy. He can’t help his heart was locked behind his rib cage. His head his only way to reach out and communicate. “Brad, I want you to make love to my tits, drunk or not.”

Brad pulled away. “I can’t–I can’t make this the summer of love again–not while I’m a drunk.”

“My plastic politically correct smile came out flat.

My erotic feelings rolled in like waves, stronger and stronger. I was not without resources though. I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. I lowered it seductively on both arms, like the fashion models at work, and let it slide to my fingertips. I held my bra out with one hand. I dropped the bra on the blue plush bedroom carpet. “Tit orgasms now! Or forever hold your peace, Brad.” I narrowed my eye lids, used my corporate management stare; so effective on my bosses on the business side of Dunley and Patterson Fashion House.

Brad stood clueless or hopelessly fixated on solving his problem–That wasn’t a problem. Brad didn’t yell when he got drunk. He didn’t hit me. He just didn’t feel like sucking my tits. He wanted to roll my longer inner labias between his soft strong lip flesh. He didn’t desire the underside of my nipples. The side that sends those 45 billion bits of nerve endings all over my body and directly into my steaming slot. Talk about skewed priorities! The shock made me sit down on the bed again.

Brad came close. He kneeled between my slight parted legs. I’m attracted to strong arms. His strong arms always made my knees spread. I knew he could smell my heated sex. I looked like a wet rose down below. He moved ever so slightly instinctively to put his mouth on my sex. His eyebrows aiming closer, closer.

Quickly, I placed my hand between his mouth and my lower mouth. My sexual juices coated my hand. Yesterday, I might have given in, started folding my folds like bakery dough as Brad licked up my excess of liquid oils. Not Today. No!”

The world’s not turning backwards. Time doesn’t wait, even for a handsome hunk like me, Silky.” Brad paused. “Let’s get married?”

I got angry. “I am holding back no longer, Playboy Brad!”

“Playboy!” he defended. “I’ve–one-hundred percent faithful to you?”

I shot up, went to our closet and reached into his old college book bag tucked in the back, in the dark. And I came out and poured out over thirty new big breasts magazines, Juggs, Heavy Top, Boom Booms, Tit Heaven, Milky Mamas. “That’s why you don’t play with my tits. They’re too small for you!” I shouted. “I’m not good enough for the old fraternity Brad Storm.”

“Silky, I bought those magazines for you–I mean not for you but to love you–better!”

He hurriedly picked up all the massive mama tits magazines. He threw them into the trash. “See!” Brad pointed. “All gone!” He almost smiled. “I’m sorry, Silky, you found those. I did notice you had a special glow at Club Med last year. I thought after a while, I’d better get back to loving your cute little breasts.”

Brad tried to approach me. I hesitated. I wanted him so bad. I was special. I was so original Brad wanted the white picket fence and two point five children. My mom was right. A bit of the Mahabharata is in me. I’m always struggling to do dharma, “that which is right.” Clearly this ethical crises, Boy wants Girl Forever, Girl wants Boy to Suck Her Tits, must be solved. Brad looked lost and boyish and those dark heavy lusty eyebrows called my tit and cunt memories into high focus. I wasn’t ready for marriage yet. I know you’re thinking, what is Silky doing? My biological clocks resided in my tits, not my womb. Do porn actresses have these troubles?

After thinking a few minutes I said, “I’ve talked this over my friends,” I cupped my beach volleyball girl tits. “If you can please them, then you’ll please me. And the foursome of us will get married.

Brad said, “I know how bahis şirketleri to smooth this over.”


“Let’s play Club Med.” He went inside the bathroom and got two white towels and some suntan oil. “The weather’s fine. The Saturday sun is still out warming the pool deck.”

“What about the neighbors?”

“Damn the neighbors. You’re going to be my wife. I can do sweet naughty pleasures to you how and when I want.”

“What if they see–I mean–hear?”

“Animals moan and whimper happen all the time around the city. Whose to say what’s going on behind high fences and thick tree foliage in the hot summer?

And Brad and I went out back into our pool deck. I lay down on the towel and he begin to smooth oil all over my tummy, slowly moving his hand up higher and higher in a wider and wider circles. His meaty palms felt perfect. No callous. Manicured nails. He didn’t have a tan. He kissed every part of my body before spreading the oil on. When he reached my breasts, my nipples ached something awful, but pleasingly tingles mingled in between. I opened one eye.

“Aught. Aught!” Brad cautioned. “None of that, I’ll talk to you occasionally so you’ll know it’s your future husband mauling your lovely puppies.

I flexed my abs and rose up off the towel. I grabbed Brad. I planted a sweating wet kiss on his mouth. He returned the kiss with a vigor known only in my memory banks. He slowly placed his hands on my shoulders pushing me back down.

“Whoa girl. We are just getting started!”

His hands surprised me by attacking my breasts from the top slope. His hot palms slid down and palmed both breasts and held them for good minute. “I bet that Club Med masseuse didn’t do this?”

“Forget about that Jabin, Brad. You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ll always be your volleyball tit girl.”

Brad leaned in and kissed me. I kept my eyes closed to soak up his feelings. His cock stiff nudged on my thighs. My pussy groping began in earnest wanting his eight-inches to swallow whole–to reach the bottom of my now sloppy cunt. Brad ran his fingers slowly closer and closer, closing his fingertips in a tighter circle grip. Until at last all his massive strong fingers squeezed my eraser points. I felt my nipples stretch an extra fraction of an inch taller. Those 45 billions bits of energy shout out like the universe creating itself all over again. And I Silky Montgomery at the center of that outward energy.

I remembered when Brad first fucked me behind the volleyball bleachers. I was a virgin. But my tits were seasoned whores. Whores Brad liked because my tits knew what they wanted. Each time the crowd yelled. Brad slammed into my sex. I kept pace by letting go, going limp so my weight forced my cunt to max out on Brad’s cock. Brad then had to pull out a bit as I stood there my legs spread a good nine inches waiting for the next crowd eruption. I forgot how many times I came. The risk factor kept him hard. My multi-orgasmic tits kept motivating me, when my pussy went slack.

Presently, Brad lowered his face to my right breasts and nearly sucked up the entire flesh. He rubbed his tongue all over my captured nipple. My suffering nipples could not escape the wetness, heat, pressure of his jaws and his lightening fast tongue flicks. I came again and again.

Now Brad was lowering his mouth to my neglected tit. I don’t know how much I can stand. I’m not warmed up from practicing. I’ll send my sexual energy ricocheting all over our bodies soon. I like how he’s fair about it. “If you give my right breasts, three titgasms. You have to give my left breasts the same, I moaned a little louder and with more pauses than I expected. When Brad knows my tits can’t stand any more orgasms, he will cruelly bit the tips, until I scream for him to stop.

I’m almost there. Brad fingers rubbing the underside of my button flesh. I cannot control my passion. Stifling the sexual passion is impossible now. “Brad. I’m going to cum!” He bit down.

I stretched out long and tight. But Brad knew I was a liar. If I said I’m going to cum it meant I have cum several times already. He pulled his mouth off my left breast. Slowly his wicked hard wet tongue stopped stroking the underside of my nipples.

“Brad you’ve improved!”

“I know. All those massive tit magazine gave me pointers. I wasn’t sure they’d work on smaller tits.”

“I laughed. Tits are tits, Brads. And they say smaller tits have more nerve endings than larger tits.”

“You are one special original girl, Silky.”

“I’m a breast erotic whore. That’s what I am, Brad and don’t you forget it.” I drew my legs up to my swollen sore breasts flesh. “Plug me to the hilt, Bad Brad.”

“My pleasure, Silky.”


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