tagRomanceTeaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 02

Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 02


One Friday night a few weeks later, we sat down to our weekly poker game. It was late June, and warm outside.

Millie was wearing nothing but nylon panties and one of my sleeveless undershirts; it clung to her huge tits like half-transparent paint, with acres of pretty white flesh exposed at the top and sides, and she looked wonderful. I estimated I was looking at eight inches of inviting cleavage.

"Uh, Jeff, my face is up here," she laughed as I dealt the first hand.

"Um. Sorry," I said. "If that shirt is your strategy for distracting me during the game, it's gonna work."

"Thanks. It's hot and I--"

"It sure is," I put in.

She laughed again. "I just meant I wanted to be comfortable."

She may have been, but I wasn't. I could see her enormous nipples through the ribbed cotton fabric. "I know, but you look hot anyway. Your bet."

"The laundry tomorrow, plus vacuum the house. You really like me in this?"

"See that, raise you cleaning the garage. You look delicious. Not a man alive wouldn't want to grab you and ball your brains out."

"Fooey. You're just weird. Call."

I dealt another card. "Some day I'll prove it to you. Your bet again."

"You can't because it's not true. Laundry Saturday, vacuum, do the garage, and clean the bathrooms."

I looked at my cards. "I fold," I said. According to our rules, I was now stuck with doing the laundry tomorrow and vacuuming the house.

"You sure have loosened up since your oil dance," I said with a hint of inquiry as she dealt the next hand. I couldn't get the image of my sweet Millie wriggling and jiggling in nothing but a coating of shiny oil out of my mind. That, and the ferocious tit-popping fuck that followed.

Millie shrugged--an awesome sight; you have NO idea. "I'm just more comfortable with you looking at me," she said. "I used to hate it. Now I like it. It makes me feel good, knowing somebody likes the way I look. Now stop staring at my damn boobs and bet."

I was reflecting that her huge nipples were bigger than many women's whole tits. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, clean the garage."

We chatted like this while we got the chores divided. I tried to make sure I didn't win all the hands I dealt....

You see, this was the night my plan would go into action. The book I'd sent for was on how to cheat at cards, and I had been practicing.

It was working like a charm. All through the game, every time it was my deal, I was faking the shuffle, running up hands, nullifying the cut, and dealing seconds and bottoms out the wazoo--and Millie didn't have a clue.

After we started playing for fucks--we had started calling it what it was, instead of "forfeits"--I was biding my time, waiting till I could run up exactly the hands I wanted.

By the time it happened, I owed her a full-body oil massage with a tit-milking fuck (tragic loss, that), a blindfolded, no-hands pussy-eating, and I would be getting the mail in my underwear all week. She owed me two blowjobs, a soapy handjob in the shower, a naked bouncy-fuck squatting on my dick, plus washing the car in a T-shirt and shorts, braless. I was looking forward to collecting all of my winnings, but especially that last. I won it honest, too--it had been her deal.

Finally, I was ready. I had her hand on the top of the deck and mine on the bottom, and off we went. I dealt her a pair of kings, one up, one down. I was holding two fives. Her bet.

"Fuck me blindfolded," she said.

That, I hated. I pretended to think. "Call," I finally said.

Next card. Another King for Millie; an ace for me. She was high, a pair of Kings showing--and I knew she had another one in the hole.

"Fuck me blindfolded every time we fuck this week," she said with a smirk.

"That's mean. You just said you were getting to like me looking at you," I complained.

"That's my bet," she replied, smirking even more.

"I get it. You just want to be a pain in the ass," I said, nodding. "Okay, then: we go to the beach tomorrow afternoon. No sundress. You wear a swimsuit the whole time, and we don't leave till it's dark."

Millie looked at my cards. She knew that I knew she hated going to the beach, and hated wearing her one-piece tanksuit even more. This was a big bet for her.

"Call," she said. "You're pretty brave with that pair of aces."

I tried to look like I was trying to look confident. "Here's your card, Big Tits. Ooo, a big four. Whoopee. And I get--another five. Still your bet."

"Blindfolded fucks all week, plus a topless air blowjob. One hour. Suffer, Big Dick."

I gaped at her. "On a pair of Kings?" I made a big show of looking at my hole card. "Call," I finally said. "I know it's dumb, but there it is."

"You're not fooling me. You've got two pair, aces and fives," she said smugly.

I tried to smile confidently. It was hard not to grin like a hyena. She was falling for it big-time.

Last card. Another four for Millie, giving her a full house, Kings over fours. She was trying really hard to suppress her smile, but I knew it was there. She had a beautiful baby face, but it wasn't much of a poker face.

I got another five. Now I had four of a kind.

I was high, with three of them showing. "Gotcha!"

"You wish." She grinned at me. "What's your bet, Blindfold Boy?"

I looked at her for a long moment. Then I got up from the table and went into the living room, backing away. "Don't peek at my cards. I'm watching you."

"I won't. What are you doing?"

"Getting my bet." I came back with a small box. "I got this in the mail today. Sent off for it last week."

"What is it?" She looked at the box suspiciously. It was about the size of a box of Kleenex.

"A swimsuit." I opened the box and held up the two pieces. They looked like a couple of white handkerchiefs with some strings attached. "A stretch G-string bikini."

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "Uh-uh. No way."

"You wear this to the beach," I went on relentlessly. "No coverup. You wear it all afternoon and evening, and nothing else."

"No way," she said again, and for a moment I was sure my plan was failing. Then Millie said, "There's no way you're bluffing me out of this one. I'll see that, and raise you a two-hour air blowjob, naked, with a week of blindfolded fucks." She smiled at me smugly, confident that I would either fold or lose.

And that, I thought, was the sound of a trap snapping shut. "Don't you even want to try it on? You ought to know what you're betting," I said.

"Siddown, Jeff. Call, raise, or fold." Millie sat back with her arms folded under her tits--another awesome sight--and looked at me expectantly. "Whatcha gonna do?"

She had worked it out just as I'd hoped. She figured me for a pair of aces, which with the three fives would give me a full house, fives over aces; but her kings over fours was a better hand. She never thought of a fourth five.

I shrugged and sat down. "Okay," I said. "I'll raise you. You put that bikini on before we leave the house, and you don't even bring anything else with you. You wear that, and nothing else, till we get back. And we leave first thing in the morning, and we stay till dark." Might as well dig her in a little deeper.

"Blindfolded fucks all week, a two-hour naked air blowjob, and you serve me breakfast in bed all weekend wearing a frilly apron and nothing else."

We looked at each other levelly. "Call," I said.

She flipped over the king with a sly grin. "Read 'em and weep, cowboy."

I smiled and flipped over my five. Her jaw dropped, and her big blue eyes went wide; and then she was furious.

"God damn it, Jeff!" She slapped the table hard. "I was sure you had another ace! Shit!"

"That's why they call it 'gambling,' Sweet Cheeks."

She looked at me with a wry expression. Her furies never lasted more than a few seconds. "And a lot of people are going to see my big, fat sweet cheeks tomorrow, I guess."

She sighed. "Let's see that damned bikini." She took the scraps of white cotton and strings and went into the bedroom.

I half expected her to renege on the bet after she tried it on. It took her a long time in the bedroom, and when she came out wearing it, her face was red. So were her eyes. I'm pretty sure she had been crying.

"Jeff, look at me!" she cried plaintively. "I look ridiculous!"

I was looking at her, had been since she came out. I shook my head slowly as I looked her up and down. "Nooo," I said, just as slowly. "No, baby. You don't."

Millie stamped her bare foot, which made everything jiggle delectably. "I do too! Look at my tits! This thing barely hides my nipples!"

It was true. The bikini was sized extra-large, but for a normally busted woman; average, even big, breasts would have been decently covered. On Millie, it looked like a pair of extra-large, triangular pasties. Her huge breasts were basically left bare, with the straining, stretched-to-the-max triangles of her bra covering her double-fist sized knobs and little more.

And "covered" was a relative term; you could clearly see the outline of her slightly swollen aureolae, and her thumb-sized titty-tips were clingily sheathed like the fabric was wet. They weren't bent or folded up or to the side, like in a regular bra or even in my undershirt. They stuck all the way straight out, like fingertips gloved in white cotton. Her fat pink faucets were perfectly wrapped in the little pocket of slack at the end of the seam that gave the cups a slight cone shape.

She had had to tie it low down on her back; if she had pulled it up underneath her big floppers, you couldn't have seen a thread of the bra, only the strings. The stretchy cups gave her tits no support at all. They swung and dangled just as low, almost to her waist, as they did when they were bare.

The G-string bottom covered only her shaved pussy mound, and the crease of her pussy was clearly visible. The white fabric clung to her plump cunt like it was painted on, and the whiteness emphasized the fold of her deep pussy slit.

Ridiculous, no; practically naked, yes.

She turned around, and I gasped in spite of myself. From behind, she was naked, with only a couple of strings across her bare back and broad hips. Her spectacular, huge, firm, pale and perfect beachball ass was entirely bare.

She turned back and looked at me. "Glared" would be too mild a word by light-years. Her eyes were absolutely white-hot. Through gritted teeth, she said, "I've never reneged on a bet, Jeff, and I'm not going to start now. But I want you to know: tomorrow will be the worst and longest day of my life, and I'm never going to get over it. Never."

I moved forward to take her in my arms, but she stepped back. "No," she said. So I just stood there.

"Millie," I said, low and quiet. "Do you trust me?"

"I always did," she said. Her voice had a little quaver to it. She was near tears again.

"Millie." I said again. She looked at my face, and I looked directly into her big, blue, red-rimmed eyes. "Do you trust me?" I asked again.

Our gazes locked for a very long moment. "Yes," she finally said. "I don't know wh--" She stopped and her eyes widened. "There's something I don't know, isn't there?"

I nodded. "But I'm not going to tell you what it is. You'll have to trust me and see it for yourself." I looked at her. "You know how I love you. Trust me, Millie. Please."

Doubtfully, she finally came into my arms and snuggled close as I stroked the beautiful, bare, smooth expanses of her exposed skin. "Is it a private beach?" she asked hopefully in a tiny voice. "Nobody else will be there?"

"No, it's a public beach. There'll be lots of people there. But it'll be all right. You'll see."

"I can't imagine what could possibly make it all right." She shivered in my arms. "But I love you, Jeff. I do. And I know you love me." She nuzzled my chest with her soft cheek, and I felt the sweet pressure of her huge, precious tits moving softly against my chest. "I trust you. I'm in your hands."

As we made love later, she cried out, just before she came on my plunging cock, "Oh, Jeff, I'm so scared!"

She cried and came at the same time as I shuddered and spurted deep in her sweet shaved pussy. I held her close and reassured her and kissed her till she finally fell asleep, still trembling.

The next morning, Saturday, I woke her at seven o'clock. We hardly spoke as we ate breakfast--Millie made scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, wearing a floor-length terry robe, and we ate in virtual silence.

"More coffee?" I asked as I got up to get mine. She just shook her head.

We were finally done. "Time to go, baby," I said. She nodded again and padded off to the bedroom, shoulders slumped. I began packing the car with the few things we'd need. A blanket, too big and thick for her to wrap up in, but perfect for lying on the beach; a big beach umbrella; and sandwiches, chips, soft drinks, and other snacks in an ice chest.

Then I realized there was one more thing we needed. Just as I thought of that and closed the trunk, Millie came out of the house wearing the obscenely miniscule swimsuit, looking around cautiously.

Her pretty hands were trembling, and her loose, swinging tits were quivering. She stood on the doorstep, almost paralyzed with fear. I opened the passenger-side door of the car, which was nearest her, and she scampered into it quickly, huge tits flipping and swinging and bare ass jiggling.

As she slid onto the seat, I saw that one of her breasts had slipped entirely free of its pathetic covering and was quivering bare, the triangle of white cotton lying on its upper curve like an envelope on a creamy-white pillow. I have truly seen watermelons smaller than my Millie's tits.

I pointed it out, and she quickly tucked her enormous nipple back into its lewdly clinging sheath with a seething look at me.

Then--I was so proud of her--she said bravely, "Let's go, Jeff! I can't wait to hit the water!"

As I started the car, she asked timidly, "Are the sandals okay?" I looked down at her feet. She was wearing her tiniest and most revealing sandals, just white-leather soles held to her pretty bare feet by a few strips of matching leather an eighth of an inch wide. She was getting into the spirit of the thing.

"Those are fine, Millie. Perfect." Somehow I didn't think she wanted to be called "Big Tits" just then.

Millie kind of scrunched down in the seat as I drove, trying to make herself small--not possible, but she was trying anyway. She drew her shapely bare legs up on the seat and huddled against the door, arms crossed over her chest.

It was hopeless. The curve of bare tit exposed under her arm was twice as big as my forearm. She looked naked, with only the two white strings across her body--one at her hips, one a little above her waist. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.

I pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store. "Jeff, what are you doing?" she squeaked. "Don't stop here!"

"We need sunblock," I said. "Lots of it. Sit tight, I'll be back in just a second."

I left her shivering on the seat and went inside. I watched the car as I stood in line, and no one came near--until just before I went back out.

Some guy walked past the driver's door, glanced inside, and took a full two steps before he stopped dead in his tracks. He did the funniest slow-motion doubletake I've ever seen. His head slowly swiveled around on his neck, and he looked back at the car; but Millie's seat blocked his view. Just as he started to turn around and go back, I was approaching my door and warned him off with a small smile and a shake of my head.

He grinned, shrugged, and walked on. A few steps away, though, he looked back and gave me a wink and a "thumbs up" sign. I just grinned and got in the car.

Millie was fuming. "No more stops, okay?" she grumbled.

"No more stops," I agreed. "We really did need sunblock, baby. Especially you."

"I guess."

We drove on in silence. I don't think I've mentioned how hard my dick was during this trip, or how much my balls ached before we got there. My beautiful, big-titted wife sitting next to me on the car seat, wearing what amounted to a cut-up handkerchief and a few feet of string, was making me painfully horny. And I couldn't see doing anything about it before that night.

After almost an hour, Millie had calmed down a bit. Traffic was light in town, and on the highway, what with the way she was sitting, anyone in the occasional bus or truck couldn't see much. "Are we getting close?" she asked.

"Just a few more miles. Look, you can see the ocean." We had just crested a rise, and there it was, glittering blue in the middle distance.

Millie looked at it with a strange expression on her cute baby face. Her cheeks were bright pink. "Jeff, I'm so scared," she whispered.

"I know, baby," I said comfortingly. "It'll be okay. You'll see." I took her hand, and she gripped it tightly. I felt the humming tension in her muscles as she clung to it.

Finally, we were there. Following the directions given in the magazine, I turned off the two-lane blacktop onto an unpaved road, marked only by a small wooden sign with the silhouette of a very fat woman and an arrow.

Millie looked at me with a questioning, puzzled expression. "What was on that sign?" she asked. Evidently women weren't as quick to recognize that outline as men were.

I followed the road toward the beach, and suddenly it widened into a large parking area. The beach was still fifty yards or more distant.

There were cars and trucks and SUVs and RVs parked here and there, maybe thirty or forty of them. "Lots of people here today," I observed.

"M-maybe we sh-should have come on a w-w-weekday," stammered Millie.

I looked at her. She was pale, and her eyes were so wide I could see the whites all around her sea-blue irises. She was terrified."

Don't be afraid, baby," I said. You're in for a surprise." I got out of the car. When I walked around to her side, she was still huddled up against the door. I opened it and she whimpered. "Come on, baby. Time to pay off your bet."

Reluctantly, she got out and crouched by the open door, her hands pathetically trying to find a way to hide herself. It wasn't happening.

She finally, slowly stood up. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and looked at me with a surprising calm. "Okay, Jeff," she said. "I'm ready. What's the thing I don't know?"

"Wait a minute," I said. "Sunblock first. Put your hands on the car roof and spread your legs."

"Here?" she asked, shocked. We were out in the open, though no one seemed to be in sight.

"Better down on the beach?" I asked matter-of-factly. She chewed on that for a second, then did as I said.

I started with her pretty, almost-bare feet. I had once gotten sunburned feet, and it was misery. As I worked my way up her deliciously curvy legs, rubbing in the soothing, oil-based sunblock, it occurred to me that though this wasn't in my plan, it could become an important part of it.

I oiled her pale, fleshy thighs, taking care to rub it in well--especially the inner surfaces of her legs. The higher up I massaged her with the oil, the pinker her face got: by the time I was oiling the tender skin near her pussy, her mouth was open and she was breathing a bit faster.

I poured the oil over her bare, creamy-white ass, and I whispered, "Remind you of anything?" She nodded, then lifted it up to me, bending over slightly, as I rubbed it all over her fabulous big bottom.

I did her back, then poured a quarter-cup or so into my hand and reached around her to smear it all over her bare belly. I slid my oily hands all over her torso; so much skin was left bare, I was oiling practically all of her.

I slid my slippery hands up underneath her wonderful tits and oiled her there, where the sun could never reach, then turned her around and poured more oil all over her almost-bare, enormous, magnificent tits. Millie was so into it, she forgot to look around. She just stood there, leaning back against the car with her eyes dreamily closed, as I oiled and massaged and hefted and kneaded and pressed and caressed her heavy, sensitive tits. She had forgotten all about the beach.

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