You can show me your tits

From Create Your Own Story

"Hello?" the redhead says again. You aren't answering quickly enough. "Do you need help?" She leans closer. You shut your eyes and try to pretend for just a moment that a capital-D to-die-for body isn't standing over you, inhibiting the language-interpretation center of your brain.

"I think..." you begin, "I think I'm dying. I fell off a motorcycle."

"Oh no!" she gasps. "A hit and run!"

You are not really sure how falling off the cycle could constitute a hit, but the run notion seems fair.

"It doesn't matter now," you wheeze. Truth be told the worst pain is emanating from your raging hard-on, which is no doubt being twisted into a pretzel by your tight pants. One of those double-loop ones. You shift your hips and moan lightly in pain.

"Would you show me... your tits? For a dying request?"

"My tits? Are you sure you don't need medical attention?"

"You know, they did this study once... They found that males get.. distinct health benefits when viewing.. breasts. B-waves or something.. Mental reprieve..." You cough and groan as the spasm squishes your wanna-be-erect cock against the snap of your pants. "I don't think I can last much longer..."

"Okay! Tits! Sure, no problem!"

The redhead obligingly pulls the top of her dress down over her shoulders. Her breasts pop from the lowered neckline, ah, now gravity working the way it should. She has no bra on, her flesh trembling as delicate and dewy and fresh as an Irish morning.

"Are you Irish?" you ask, your voice straining as your pants strain to hold the newest surge of blood to your nether regions.

"Irish? No, I'm Scotch-German." Yes, you now recognize the ample mid-range curve of her breasts and the richly ovoid shape of her nipples as subtly Scotch-German. How could you have missed it? Some expert you are.

You are about to sigh contentedly, basking in her bosom's glory, when the author gives you a mental nudge. Psst. Hey Mac. Them tits? Too far away. Know what I mean, genius?

You smile as one who has achieved a minor enlightenment. "Could you... could you bring them... closer?"

"Oh, sure!" the redhead says brightly. She kneels down and leans her tits right into your face. She places her knees on the ground right above your head - so, behind you, as it were - and as she leans over you could swear you see, up her dress, a snatch of panty. No pun intended. You might have imagined it, your brain doesn't have a lot of blood in it at the moment (it being busy elsewhere), but regardless, the effect on your straining member is immediate. You are certain the fabric of your jeans is emitting a creaking sound from the pressure.

The smell of her skin fills your nostrils. You catch the hint of a deeper musk too - from her legs? And her nipples seem ever so slightly swollen, as though this were turning her on. Nah, can't be. In a story like this? That would never happen! Not in a million years!

"I think unconsciousness is overtaking me!" you proclaim, and then raise your head and give one of her nipples - the left one (it's actually her left and it's on your left since she's leaning over you from behind) - a long, succulent lick. Mmm, beer, schnitzel, touch of haggis. Silky texture. A certain tartan je ne sais quois.. Scotch-German. Definitely.

"Oooh!" says the redhead, surprised. She leans back up and fixes you with a look that is either mildly come-hither or somewhat skeptical. Maybe both. Faces don't seem to translate upside-down as well as hourglass-shaped tits and hips in snug red dresses. "Hmm. You know, Mister Flat On His Back, you don't seem to be doing as bad as I thought."

You do feel better. Maybe you weren't hurt by the fall at all! You're afraid, though, that your cock will never be straight again.

Status
Health Horny Location:

On The Road

MP 0
Level 1
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