Greg's Project

"How about this," I said. "If you really want, I can blow you or, you know..." I slapped one of my butt cheeks. "But we still have more research to do on T-F-ing."

"How so?" he asked, getting more erect.

"It worked fine when I was flat on my back, because I have so much T for you to F."

"Hooray!" He chest-bumped aforementioned Ts.

"Surely you've seen other postures, as used by, ahem, entertainment professionals."

"Of course. Yes, there can be fine results those ways by women of more modest endowment."

"So you sit on the bed, feet on the floor, and lie back, and I'll kneel between your legs and learn what I need to know about your third orgasm."

"What about yours?"

"I don't know if it's possible. And I have an eight a.m. class tomorrow."

My respectful gentleman set a pillow on the floor for my knees. Now clean and dry, I smeared store-bought lube on the likely points of contact (and some unlikely ones, such as behind his balls, because I liked his reaction). I gave him a couple rotating strokes with both hands, but quickly he progressed from human-erect almost to steel-rigid, so I slid him into my gooey cleavage and began pumping.

He was propped on his elbows, eyes half-closed but staring, mouth agape.

I enfolded him completely, holding the sides of my breasts so he had full view of both nipples.

His tongue oozed onto his lower lip.

I sped up the pumping. At the bottom of each stroke, the breasts pressed onto his pubic bone and the purple head of the prick pushed into view. (His size is, I don't know, maybe average?) At the top of each stroke, his glans was squeezed onto my sternum.

His head rolled limply on his neck. He wheezed, more and more rapidly.

I started alternating, one breast up and the other down, far enough for a hard nipple to push between his balls.

His wheezes became yelps. His man-boobs jiggled.

And without even trying, I ramped myself up a steep curve. My fingers teased the outside of the aureoles, and tingles became throbs. My jaw dropped, I trembled hard.

I can only guess at how much of the student body heard me yell, "Pinch my nips!"

He gave me a puzzled look, and must have seen my bugged-out eyes. Somehow he curled his spine enough so he could take his weight off his elbows. He leaned forward and obeyed my command.

As we did in May, we came together.

And also, as in May, flecks of his semen got into my mouth.

Afterward, I thought maybe I could just mop off before heading home. Only when I stood up did I realize how heavily I'd sweated. Also, my thighs were slick with lady juice. So was the pillow on the floor.

This shower was less frisky than the first one. I did say, however, "This time I was the T-F-er, and you were the T-F-ee. You should write that gender equality is available here. We can dispense with any dom and sub silliness."

He said, "Whatever," then grabbed my tits and motorboated them.

After that we were pretty woozy. Drying was a major effort. As I pulled my t-shirt over my still-tingly boobs, he gave me a plastic bag for my rinsed-out bra.

He walked me back to my dorm. I let my tits sway freely. Okay, I did more than let them, and I made sure he noticed. It was silly fun. I also wondered, though, what was going on in my body. My chest now seemed to be loaded with fireworks on demand. Was this something else that most women can do, once they access this sensation?

At the door I said, "Count me in as a full participant in Greg's Project. I am now interested, of course in a scholarly way, in getting you to four orgasms, but detailed study may have to wait until winter break."

The smug bastard, pants tenting from my swaying, just smiled.

***

After that festival of hedonism, our encounter in his room two nights later might seem like dullsville. As he finished entering his text (and responded reasonably to my kibitzing), I gave him a neck rub as he sat at his desk. He later reciprocated. We stayed dressed. Classwork was already starting to get to us.

He uploaded to the site, then leaned back.

"There's a lot more to be written about what we've done," I observed, leaning over him, but not making breast contact.

He exhaled. "I don't have the time right now."

"I've started writing it."

He looked over his shoulder, and face-planted on a breast. Hilarity ensued briefly, but neither of us went farther.

"I guess I'm okay with you writing too," he said, though I think at first he wasn't. "If you'll get an account at the site, and upload, and help with response to comments."

"Like I said, I support sex that's both safe and satisfying." Though what was keeping me satisfied, two days later, was the added dose of heavier sex.

"I'll forward you the user comments."

"Cool."

Which was pretty much it for that night. I considered this a bonus of Greg as my fuck buddy: Having pitched that incredible wang dang doodle, I didn't yearn for more jollies right away. The undercurrent of damnit-I'm-not-having-sex, which had been getting mindshare for several months, was stilled. College was wearing me down in other ways, but my erogenous zones weren't whining. I mentioned this to Greg, and he said that his response was similar: He didn't feel an overwhelming need to get his rocks off. Experience suggested, however, that he could bone me right then, or any time.

***

A week later, Greg's text went live in the area for sex stories. By then I had an account on the site.

Two days later, there were 58 comments in the chatroom.

He called me. "Could you take 30 through 58?"

"I said I'd help," I aggressed passively.

Fortunately, most of the comments were hey-that's-hot, or can't-wait-to-try-it, and didn't need elaboration from Greg or Ruth. Two of the posts, to my astonishment, were video clips of couples going for their own T-F two-fers.

The first clip, with a couple maybe in their thirties, showed him clearly spewing, his pig entirely within her blankets. Meanwhile, she howled from the stroking of their four hands on nipples and elsewhere. A win-win.

The much younger partners in the second clip were less fortunate. She said she didn't feel much, and her cleavage obviously didn't work for the guy, who settled for jerking off on her boobs. To this couple, I gave a your-mileage-may-vary response, suggesting that the gal explore her breast sensitivity by herself for a while. I attached links to what I knew to be reputable breast sex studies.

Writing that, and other responses, I worried that I just didn't know enough. Sure, gaining more first-hand information (and first-mouth, and first-prick-poking-a-nipple, and so on) would be fun, but maybe Greg and I were exceptionally lucky with each other, and different first-hand (etc.) information would make us more helpful to this community we seemed to have created.

So, I thought, maybe Greg ought to F some other women's Ts. And maybe I ought to make my Ts available to the F of unknown men. Which might inflict issues on our friendship with benefits.

(To be continued.)