The New Girl Ch. 07

She's blushing, all red and cute. Not so badly as she was when I played with her pussy for the first time, but it's still noticeable. To play the girl, to have her body admired beyond her prodigious penis, is obviously something newer to her.

'Because you've been so good,' Mistress says. 'Because I want that behaviour to continue.'

With lusty languidness she rolls her athletic toned shoulders, beautiful arms flexing. The bra straps slide off and Freya dextrously slips out of one side, then swaps the hand upon her chest and escapes the other. All that's left is the bra itself, cups adhering loosely now, only by the presence of a forearm, to her sizeable boobies.

I flick my eyes between her two most (obvious) appealing pairs. Blue eyes, big tits, blue eyes, big tits. Perhaps time is moving especially slowly, but the more likely explanation, made certainly the case by the twisted mischief of a smirk up the left side of her lovely mouth, is that Freya is playing with me. Waiting, watching, testing the waters.

'Mistress,' I say. 'Please. I want to see.'

Her blush darkens, deepens, and she glances away. 'Go on, then.'

I'm vaguely aware that if I were to inhale any quicker, I might rupture a lung. With eyes as wide as they go, with my attention dialled to eleven, somehow such a small -- I mean, relatively, compared to the world itself -- part of reality seizes the entirety of my attention. Nothing else in this moment matters, beyond the sudden descent of that grey bra.

I don't even see where it lands. Wobble, jiggle, bounce. Holy shit.

Sometimes, some people like to suggest that bodies, male and female both, are a lot more attractive inside of clothes. And this can be true, of course. Scars and stretchmarks, wrinkles and the weathering of years. But Freya Venyabildt's bra, if anything, was hiding one (two, to be precise) of the natural wonders of the world.

She giggles. 'Your fucking face, Tom. Such a boy.'

And I love, love, love the way she says that.

Each is much larger than a handful. Paralysed as I am by the sight alone, such an excessive quantity of plump bronze flesh, that an empirical test in this fashion will have to wait. I knew Freya was strong, but her back must be insanely sturdy, or else I don't envy her the ache such a set must cause.

Two full round shapes that sag only a little, mostly pert, with slightly upwards-angled nipples. Her cute nips are neither especially large or especially small, surrounded by size-appropriate halos of light brown flesh, smooth and silky, the edges of her areolae clearly-defined where they contrast with the richer brownish-bronze of her flesh. I half-expected tan lines for some reason, but I suppose it fits for Freya to be the kind of woman to sunbathe in the nude. It's not like there were any downstairs, after all.

She gives a playful twist of her torso, causing the eager wobbly tits to jiggle about, swaying bountifully, bouncing away. I'm instantly aware that my boner is pressing up against one of her thighs, and Mistress makes sure to give the clothed tip a little tap with a finger.

'Thank you, Tom,' she says, bringing a hand to my chest. Freya tucks her fingers into the collar of my shirt, and tickles my neck. 'You don't just have to look, though. I didn't get them out for nothing.'

She lets out a startled laugh as I throw my hands upon them, fingers finding silky skin and heavy flesh. The roughness of the attack becomes calm, slow, transitioning into tentative movements the moment I'm actually holding them. One in each hand, glorious G-cup flesh spilling through my fingers and bulging beautifully where my palms and digits press into her chest. Freya moans faintly as I rub her nipples, the firm hard points prominent against the surrounding cushioning give of her breasts.

I want to suck them. Badly. To taste her tits.

Mistress does nothing to stop me. I check her face for permission, finding wet eyes, deeply reddened cheeks. Moving a hand aside I bring my lips in close, kissing the nipple of her left breast, cupping the heavy thing with my palm. Freya begins stroking my head, gently pulling me into her body.

'Go on,' she says, low and breathy. 'Suckle on Mistress.'

As if I wasn't already aching. As if it wasn't already sublime. I should thank her, should plead, should know my place, but I'm too eager and her guidance is too demanding. Mistress releases a cool moan as the smooth halo meets my lips, shuddering as I flick out my tongue to taste her nipple.

The skin is firm yet supple, hotter than the surrounding breast. A vague saltiness of sweat, of flesh, graces my tongue. Freya sucks in a harsh breath as I begin to nurse in earnest, getting a seal around her teat, making sloppy, stupid, slippery sounds with my hungry mouth.

'Mhm. Slurp'

To do this to her body, to suck on her breast, is a feast for the senses. My nose is enveloped in boob, my lips in constant contact with the smooth light brown of her areola. All that I can smell is her skin, her feminine musk, the pleasant sweat of the day. The weather is awful for this kind of contact, too sunny, too summery, but neither of us care.

I ply the other tit with my hand, try to glance up at my Mistress, but the angle is too awkward. Not that there's anything wrong about shutting my eyes and nuzzling, releasing her left boob to tend to it entirely with my lips, and slide that arm around her back to stroke her hip and fondle more of her perfect body.

'This is starting to annoy me,' Freya says, giving my cock a squeeze. 'I'm going to deal with it.'

God, I love the way her beautiful breast wobbles when I release it, the whole area around the nipple glistening with my spit. The mismatch, it sagging a little lower than its sister on account of my hand placement, does something for me.

I meet Freya's gaze. 'Can you get me out to do it? I don't want to walk around with cum in my boxers again. Pretty please, Mistress.'

Something about her stare makes me shiver. 'I'd need to get it out anyway, if I'm going to put it between my tits.'

Oh. Oh my. Okay.

'Huh?'

Brain, keep up. Come on. Process! Titwank. Tit-wank. Do you comprehend? No. Stupid lusty idiot engine, slow when I need you quick. Great, and now she's smirking. Now I might lose the chance! Earth to brain! Brain, give words. Give my tongue orders!

But Mistress is in charge. She pushes me, with playful firmness, back against the brickwork. 'Just shut your mouth and be happy that I'm so good to you, Tom. Hand me your blazer.'

This can't be real. Can't be happening. I frantically pull off my school jacket and pass it to my Mistress. Freya adjusts herself, pushes my legs apart, and lays down the blazer upon the smooth concrete between my knees, then rests herself down on her front. Her boobs, at this angle, push together in the most uncomfortably divine fashion. Two weapons of mass distraction, plump and round and God they make such a ridiculous show of themselves when the ground and her arms sandwich them together like this.

All I can do is stare as Freya unbuckles my belt. She rips down my zipper with flair, retrieving my needily throbbing cock from inside my boxer shorts. Soft skin, gentle grip. I shiver, smile like an idiot. Like I must always do in her presence. How can I not? This is amazing.

'Don't get the wrong idea,' Mistress says, flicking the tip of my dick. I wince, pleasure and pain dancing together as they so often do. 'I do want to make you cum, Tom. But I want to watch you squirm, as well.'

There's that devilish side to her again, front and centre. I love it. Sweet and sour affection. Her eyes don't bother to hide her love of me, much as her mouth so readily produces petty remarks and eagerly teases, pokes, prods.

'Watch away,' I say, momentarily emboldened. Freya gives me another, softer flick. 'Okay, sorry. Damn.'

'You better be.'

But the way she says it, and the fact she initiates the process of hefting up her big boobs to engulf my dick, makes clear the truth behind the remark. All I can do is stare, eyes glued to the wobbling wiggle of those immense titties. Freya holds them -- barely, given that her hands are no larger than mine -- at their sides, bringing them apart to make my cock the meaty filling of the world's most wonderful sandwich.

'Oh. Woah. Wow.'

God, they're even better around my member. Freya sniggers, a little meanly, as my dick disappears inside the divine deliciousness of her immense breasts. All of it vanishes into the sea of bountiful boob-flesh, but for the heroic efforts of my throbbing helmet, which pokes out as a little reddish glistening protrusion between them.

'I think we're pretty well-matched,' Mistress says, smiling at me. 'If you were any smaller, this would be pretty awkward. But if you were any bigger, I wouldn't find the little tip so cute.'

She amazes me, pushing her fat tits downwards and in the process increasing the tight warm vaguely damp pressure around my cock to the point that I shiver and tremble, all for the purpose of...tilting her head downwards and...and...

'Mlup.'

Her tongue, perfect pinkness, slips out through those full lips and laps at my bell-end. Just for a moment, just a single lick, but holy fucking shit, Freya Venyabildt just put her tongue against my cock.

'Freya...'

'That's Mistress, to you,' she says, licking her lips. 'You've got a nice cock, Tom. Shame I'm going to crush it with my big bad boobies.'

I can only stare, transfixed, as she chuckles to herself. Stare, transfixed, as she pushes her boobs together so forcibly that the squeeze is like a vice, the most wonderful way to kill a cock. Don't cum. Don't cum. Don't cum!

It's incredible, that a pair of the softest things I've ever felt can produce such a comforting crush around my shaft. The way Freya presses them together makes them seem all the bulkier, bulging as they do out of gaps between her fingers and straining against the shape of my dick.

She lifts them a little and lowers them, lifts and lowers, lifts and lowers. Slow and rhythmic, predictable, and yet something I can't begin to prepare for. How could I? That handjob she gave me the other day was great, but this is something else. This is like my dick has died and gone to heaven. This is cock-pleasing paradise.

'Ugh. Mistress...'

'Good, are they?' I nod, and she giggles. 'They run in the family. Just like my fat dick.'

A passing, fleeting image, of a household of women as attractive and well-endowed -- in all senses -- as Freya is the last thing I need if I'm not going to just blow my load. But my head torments me. Are they all bronze-skinned Amazonian goddesses?

'Good--ughn--genes.'

She cocks her head, merciless in her mammary movements. 'You would know, cumslut.'

I smirk, submissive pride welling up. 'You--ugh--treat me so well, Mistress.'

Up-down. Up-down. Up-down. No variation, because it's not needed. Just the crush, the squish, the vice-like pressure of her pair of heavy G-cups. And her mischievous brilliant blue gaze, perfect face smirking up at me. Freya takes such pleasure in tormenting me at times, teasing me at others, but...taking care of me, as well.

'It's one of my duties, isn't it? Making sure my subby little slut knows I can be kind as well as cruel,' Mistress Freya says, angelic sultriness a dreamy warmth in my ears. 'Have I proven my point, slut?'

I nod, with such enthusiasm that I manage to bash the back of my head against the wall. Freya immediately ceases, face losing its glee, replacing it instantly with concern. She doesn't overreact, but the change of expression is obvious.

'Are you okay?' Mistress says. 'Did that hurt?'

I smile at her, heart fluttering, mind fuzzy. Her worried look softens, and a deep blush creeps onto her bronze cheeks. Not a response to lust or carnal heat, but something far cuter.

'I'll be fine,' I say. Courage seizing me, pulse racing with joy, I reach for Freya's face. 'I love you, Mistress.'

She glances to the side and away but then, for just a moment, leans into my touch. Freya rubs her cheek against my fingers, then smiles viciously, blush gone in an instant. 'I am going to fucking drain those balls, even if it hurts.'

And my laughter quickly crumples into a grunting groan as she milks my cock with her mammaries, reckless and bordering on unkind in how Mistress so forcefully squishes my dick between her big breasts. I almost bash my head against the brickwork again, subject as I am to the warmth and heft of her perfect tits.

The pressure of her boobs provokes a sudden volcanic upsurge in my crotch, and my penis throbs almost uncomfortably within its cushioning pleasure prison. And unlike every past orgasm, this one feels somewhat special. I don't think I've ever been so intensely thrown to the edge of ejaculation before in my life.

'Ughn, M-istress...'

'Serves you right for getting all--'

But her eyes go wide as saucers when, inevitably, the tip of my dick swells and spits.

Now, I'm not one for those porn-star level cumshots. Mine mostly always comes out as a dribble or a spit, a few spurts at most. But if anyone is to somehow extract the sperm from my balls so forcibly that it comes out as a C4 explosion instead of a black powder cap, it'll be Freya Venyabildt.

Freya Venyabildt, who can only stare up at me in raw shock as a sticky white rope of my cum launches up from between her impressive breasts and arcs in such a way as to momentarily pass her staring-and-following blue eyes until the stuff splatters down across her face. And as she processes it, slow for the first time in what, I imagine, must be her entire life, my eager loins do a fine job of messing up her beauty.

I somehow manage to splatter her forehead and cheeks, layer her mouth in a thick helping of spooge and then, as my orgasm steadies itself and softens, I cover the tops of her breasts in plenty of gooey white muck.

'You,' is all she manages to say. 'You.'

Freya pushes away from me, rising onto her knees, taller and vastly stronger than I am. She wipes her mouth on the back of a hand, caught between despairing and desiring -- a frown on her lips, a lusty twinkle to her eyes -- the fresh coat of semen upon her immaculate bronze skin.

Her perfect body, stained as it is with my dick-milk, provokes intense pride and concern. But, blessedly, thankfully, she gives me bedroom eyes when she affixes me with a sapphire stare. 'I am going to fuck the shit out of you, you realise that, right?'

'Y-es, Mistress.'

And when she throws herself upon me, kissing me with ferocious feistiness, the stink of my own familiar jizz upon her skin is a curious thing.

I'm struck by a vulgar, foreign, curious daydream.

What if...what if we switched roles, once in a while?

What if...Freya played the slut, for a change?