Super Bowl Sunday Ch. 01

Jenny woke up to the sensation of her boyfriend sucking on her nipples. Normally, this was a pleasant way for her to wake up, and this morning was no different. She lay on her back, and he'd lifted her satin red nightgown up above her large, rounded, pillowy breasts. Now in young womanhood, Jenny's breasts weren't as big as volleyballs. They were bigger.

Her red aereolae had increased in size commensurately, through the some dozen years of her mammarial development, and her boyfriend was now feasting ravishingly upon the multi-inch circle punctuating the distinctly proportional dimensions of her left breast, his both hands palm open on each side of it, to hold the pride of her womanhood in place while he tongued and suckled to his heart's content.

As her alertness from sleeping increased, the millions of pores inside her vaginal watershed began to release their special oozing sticky juices, in preparation for penetration and entry by her lover's jutting dagger.

He was really getting himself worked up now, breathing and panting heavily, slurping and licking and squeezing and rubbing, her massive mammarial protuberations, when he lifted his torso above hers, to slide his phalanx into her love portal. Once inside her he began to gyrate, to move the phalanx in and out, but after only two completions of this all too brief cycle, he came, and was aburptly done. He quickly rolled off, and said to Jenny, "Honey, what time are we supposed to be at the Morris's?"

It was Superbowl Sunday. They'd been invited to Jenny's sister and brother-in-law's house. Jenny was quiet on the drive over. She'd showered, made her boyfriend breakfast, ate little, and washed clothes. She paid some bills until it was time to go, while her boyfriend had gone jogging. She was still aroused from this morning's love making, though hardly satisfied. She considered taking a long hot bath, but there wasn't enough time. She wore a long black skirt, and over that a roomy extra large size maroon woollen sweater. She had black shoes on with 2 inch heels.

She'd considered wearing a bra, but didn't, out of consideration for her sister, and her husband, Jack Morris. Her sister, though lovely enough in looks, had managed a 36C bust at best, and though she'd seen Jenny topless but a few times, by the way she stared, it seemed evident to Jenny that her older sister was clearly rankled and envious of Jenny's rather startling development.

Emma's husband, Jack, was a different matter. Whenever it seemed he and Jenny were alone, out of eyesight, such as in the kitchen, he felt no compunction at all in rudely staring directly at Jenny's bust while conversing with her. The one time the four of them had visited the beach together - Emma and Jack, Jenny and her boyfriend Mark - it was apparent from Jack's swimming trousers that his prurient interest in Jenny's body, specifically topside, including her royal blue bikini top, and what it contained therein, could not be shuttered out of his thoughts. Emma'd become visibly upset for most of the day. This made it even more of an imperative for Jenny this day not to wear a bra; better to hide the voluminous, succulent nature of her ample, mammarial gifts, within the roomy confines of her maroon sweater, than excite whoever males would be there, particularly Jack, than to needlessly arouse the angst and envy of the women, especially her sister.

On the way over, feeling a chill from the car door, she'd realized, that in her hurry to get ready, she'd forgotten to slip on a pair of panties. Just the feeling of her naked bush aroused her, and her breasts felt heavy and langorous on her belly. She had a long black woolen coat on, and when she leaned forward slightly, she was conscious of the tips of her still swelled nipples rubbing against her thighs.

She decided she liked the feeling of the rawness she now sensed, particularly of her naked exposed moist bush, feeling not ashamed, and powerful, even, in a way she couldn't put words to, albeit in a feminine sense, and she thought briefly, how perhaps, later, when she and Mark returned home, she could bring him to satisfy her, in a way different from the way in which he had failed at earlier.

"Honey do you smell something sweet?" her boyfriend asked, as they turned into the street where her sister lived.

"No, dear."

When they walked into the two story Tudor, Emma greeted them and kissed them both, and Jack arrived, shaking hands, kissing Jenny, giving her the once over after Emma took her coat. Jack looked slightly miffed, Jenny thought, probably because she hadn't worn a bra, for now he couldn't get quite the eyeful he'd looked forward to of her breastial tonnage.

In the living room Jenny and Mark were introduced to Jack's older brother Stephen, his wife Marci, and their two sons, Kevin, 23, and Anthony, 26. Kevin had brought his girlfriend Traci. Both sons were tall and dark. Kevin appeared to be the extrovert of the two, while Anthony was timid and quiet. Both had dark eyes set in deep round sockets, brown almost blackish hair, worn long, each in jeans a long sleeve shirt.

Jenny excused herself and went to help Emma in the kitchen, while the rest sat down and began munching and drinking, enjoying on the large screen television the extensive pre-game proceedings.

End of Pt 1