threetwooneoops:“Hey, buy a girl a drink first!” He blinked rapidly, cringing internal
threetwooneoops: “Hey, buy a girl a drink first!” He blinked rapidly, cringing internally with embarrassment. He had come to the hotel bar to try and forget women for a little while. But alcohol, distraction, and a magnificent pair of breasts on display were a deadly combination. He tried to smile charmingly, but only managed the grimace of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uh, sorry.” He added. “Can’t be helped.” She shrugged, and her whole chest heaved with the movement. His eyes were drawn straight back down to them, and he was briefly occupied trying not to imagine how it would feel to be titfucked by a women endowed like that, and failing. His cock sprang to attention. She clicked her fingers, bringing his attention back to her face, “Okay, now you definitely owe me a drink.” “I guess that’s fair.” He signaled the bartender, and nodded at her when she arrived, “Whatever she wants.” Without taking her eyes off him, or turning her enormous breasts away, the woman said: “Climax.” He staggered, almost fulfilling her request on the spot, but the bartender nodded and starting pulling bottles off the shelf. As the serving girl busied herself making the drink, the woman looked pointedly at the empty seat behind him, “So, alone tonight?” “Yeah,” His mood soured immediately. After several weeks of did-she/didn’t-she, he had finally confirmed that Jennifer, his latest girlfriend, and latest ex-girlfriend, had been seeing another guy behind his back. When he confronted her, she had blamed him: “You just can’t hold your cum, Johnnie.” She had said, all traces of conciliation absent from her tone, “I wanted to be with you, but you just aren’t built to be with me…” He downed the last dregs of his whisky, and started on the half-pint of beer. The bartender delivered the lady’s drink, and he begrudgingly paid for it, less enamored with her now that he had remembered his pogrom against the fairer sex. “Sore subject?” She nudged him slightly, and he felt her supple breast brush against his arm. Despite his best effort, his cock began to throb, and his hind-brain turned him back towards the woman. The heart, and parts beyond, want what they want… “If you’re drinking like that, then you’re drinking to forget a woman.” She added. “More or less.” Her breasts seemed to exert their own gravity, his eyes kept drooping back to them, and his cock was getting harder and harder. “Tell me about it.” She said softly, leaning in to make herself heard over the general din of the bar, and giving him a spectacular view. He swallowed, and found himself telling her everything before he realised he was doing it, his tired, drunk mind too overcome by the sight of her boobs to think up a convincingly lie on the spot. She listened sympathetically, nodding, and then rubbing his arm as he mentioned his last conversation with Jennifer. By this point he was lost in her cleavage, no longer thinking about his words, just spilling everything to her (and trying not to spill something else in his pants…) “I’m sure she was exaggerating.” The woman sympathised, “I’ve had my experience with premature men… In fact, it seems like every man I meet is one. But I have a good feeling about you, I bet you’re a real stud in bed…” She brushed her hand up his thigh, her eyes full of comfort and promise, “I’ll prove it to you.” “Prove… What to me?” He frowned. “That you’re not as bad as she thinks. Here.” She glanced around the bar, which had emptied out considerably while he had related his tale of woe to her, and seeing that there was no one in proximity to them, she pulled her top down slightly, exposing more of the soft flesh of her breasts. His cock jumped at the sight, and for a moment he was afraid that he had already finished, but the straining erection told him that the wetness in his pants was just precum. “Take a long look. Keep looking. Most guys can’t last ten seconds staring at me like this, I bet you can last.” He nodded. “Don’t look away now, keep staring.” Don’t look away? He couldn’t if he tried. She starting counting down. “10… 9… 8…” He was lost in the depths of her cleavage, in the sight of her incredible breasts, and he barely heard the countdown. He felt pleasure radiating out from his cock, mixing with the pleasure from her hand as it rubbed up and down his thigh. “7… 6… 5…” She breathed, “After this, maybe we can go back to my place, assuming you last…” He felt like he was having an orgasm in slow motion. The heightened pleasure, the waves of feeling washing over his crotch, down into his thighs and up into his stomach, but he wasn’t quite going over the edge. Even as the cum leaked out of his rock hard cock, filling his boxers and staining his tan pants a dark coffe-cream, he felt like he had so much more in reserve, even as the pleasure kept building. He held on for all he was worth, riding the waves, trying not to give in to the ultimate pleasure. He drank in every detail of her breasts, wanting more than anything else in the world to see them bare… To feel them pressed up against him… He groaned. Out of his peripheral vision he saw her glance around the bar again. “4… 3… 2…” She ran her other hand up his arm, and then around onto the back of his head and into his hair, as she reached two she suddenly pulled him forward, pressing his face into her huge tits, smothering him with her cleavage. He let out a muffled shout of surprise, which gave way to groans of agonising pleasure as his cock finally gave up and filled his pants with his premature cream. He squirmed on his bar-stool, shaking, as his cock shot at least an ounce of cum into his already slick, sticky pants. As he grunted and thrusted in place, his face still pressed into her boobs, he heard a gentle, tinkling laugh from the woman. “Oops.” She laughed again, and released him. He sat back, dazed, confused, drained. She tucked her breasts back into her top, her outfit looking a lot more modest. She smiled at him, “Oh Jenni was right, you are a quick shot.” She stood up, planting a quick kiss on his forehead, “But I just had to see for myself. Too bad, little Johnnie.” As she left, she motioned the bartender over and said something to her, and a moment later the serving girl came over to him and handed him a bill with a smile, “Your… friend… said you would be covering her drinks for the evening.” He flipped open the bill and gawped at the triple-digit sum the woman had run up this evening. But what could he do? He could hardly get up and leave in this condition. Not with the bartender looking, almost smirking, at him. He sighed and fished out his credit card. -- source link