Gladys moaned. Whatever Martin was doing to her was feeling good. "Oh, Martin, I know what you're going. You're sucking my tits. Keep sucking!"
Martin's lips pressed down hard around her nipple, then moved with lightning speed to the other nipple. Why did Gladys have to have two tits? Or maybe Martin should have asked herself, why didn't he have two mouths?
Martin got up, just a little way because be didn't want to be too far away from those gigantic jugs. His forearms tensed as his hands bulldozed her tits towards the center of her chest. The nipples were now no farther than an inch apart, and they looked like two piggish eyes.
Martin devoured both nipples at the same time.
Gladys grunted, and her ass heaved high.
Martin was almost thrown off, but the pressure he was exerting on her tits helped to maintain his balance and he redoubled his tit-sucking efforts.
Both nipples were at least an inch long now, filling his cheeks as his arms ached from the constant pressure he had to exert to keep her knockers in place.
"Oh, Martin, you've got to fuck me. My tits are burning up!"
What Gladys meant to say was: "Oh, Martin, you've got to fuck me in the cunt, because you really have me aroused."
But Martin interpreted it as: "Oh, Martin, you've got to fuck my tits."
Martin let go of her tits, and the two ten-pound footballs fumbled from his grasp and slid back against Gladys' arms.
He scooted up her body until his prick lay flat against her cleavage. He hoisted her tits back into position – his favorite titty-fucking position.
"Oh, yes, Martin! Bring your cock up here so I can suck on it."
Gladys' red lips were only inches away from his hot prick. She closed her eyes, waiting for Martin to stick his cock into her yawning cavern of a mouth.
Martin didn't move; well, he did move – back and forth, back and forth, his prick sliding wetly through the valley of her boobs.
Several titty-fucking moments passed before Gladys realized that Martin's prick wasn't filling her mouth. His cock was just fucking back and forth between her huge jugs.
"I want to suck your cock, Martin. Give me your cock!"
Martin grinned, kept moving his prick through the delicious warmth of her caved-in cleavage. The thrills, the ecstasy that surged through his balls and cock were unbelievable, indescribable.
"Martin! Did you hear me? Give me your cock! I wanna suck it!"
Martin's ears shut off every sound except the noise that his cock made as it fucked faster and faster between Gladys' huge tits. He could feel that whizzing sensation whirling in his balls, that jizzy dizzy feeling in his loins.
But Gladys didn't have any similar feelings. She felt as if her tits were being ravaged, Martin held them so hard. There wasn't any passionate fervor racking her cunt. There wasn't any heady lust in her brain. There was just that raw feeling of Martin's cock as it fucked back and forth between her hand-held tits.
She tried to glance down past her double chin to see.
She couldn't see, because the first white-hot spatter of sperm hit her square across the eyes.
"Eeaaggghhhh!! Martin! You're coming all over me!"
Yessiree, Martin was coming all over her face, all over her chin, but most of all, all over her fat titties.
The mountains of her boobs seemed to earthquake in his hands as Gladys squirmed her huge body, trying to avoid all those rainfall shots of jism that drenched her face.
Martin screamed: "Aaheeeeh!"
Then he let go of her tits, and they bounced against the bed on both sides of Gladys' fleshy body.
He was in the midst of rolling over, grabbing for his pillow, listening to Gladys say: "Martin, that was disgusting!" when he thought about Connie Ryan's reason for no titty-fucking.
Sunbathing in the nude and her nipples were raw – said she couldn't titty-fuck because her jugs were sunburned. In the middle of October in South Dakota? Hell, it was colder than a witch's tit; which was what Gladys had become as she grabbed a broomstick from the nearby pantry and starting to whale all over his ass.
"You mother-fucker, Martin! Don't you ever fuck my titties again. That's perverted!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fucked-up burgs like Weedville always have their ups and downs. People on the outside expected fucked-up, one-tank towns to be up and down; whereas people on the inside didn't even know their up and down because their whole lives were like a roller-coaster trying to go both directions at once.
Reverend Jordan Worthington was up because he had just performed his yearly task of fucking, pardon the expression, mating with his wife. Yet, he was down, because now he had to wait another year before he got his wife's pussy again. To get him on an even keel, he needed a steady cunt: Connie Ryan.
Coach Crowley was an in-betweener. His prick was always up because he had his peephole for pleasure. It was his tails that were down because what he saw he couldn't fuck, namely Marcia Moresby. He needed a piece of ass: Connie Ryan.
Lucas Trimble had never felt so down in his life. He had fallen to the depths of despair when he tried that old toilet-tube fucking trick.
Vance Manning was upside-down. He thought he had reached the pinnacle of power when he discovered those sordid pictures of Boris Jerkovich's. But now life was a real downer ever since he had seen his girl Elvira Schellenberg getting fucked doggie-style in an alleyway. He wanted to get the old self right-side up, and he was gonna do it. His answer lay by his side: old "Law" and "Order".
Elvira Schellenberg had been down and out. But like a phoenix rising from the ashes, her libido had been sparked for the first time and she was ready to make the hot-to-trot scene. And she knew how she would do it. She'd go down on Lucas Trimble, sucking that big cock of his to kingdom come.
Connie Ryan and Tom Trimble were sliding deeper and deeper into a shit-pot full of problems. They were truly in love, and they didn't want to stay in a fucked-up town where people knew them. They didn't want to join the ups and downs of a stupid roller-coaster ride. They wanted to go in one direction: out.
Eddie Beasly and Marcia Moresby were the only ones who weren't up and down. That's because they were laid flat out in the storage room of her father's hardware/grocery story, fucking and sucking their moronic brains out.
The only one who was really down was Boris. And he lay six feet under, buried near the shit-filled waters of Lake Weed, put there by one Delbert Farley, under Vance Manning's orders. Christ, Delbert didn't even know who it was he was burying.
And though it may appear to everybody on the outside that the above-mentioned names had a lot of ups and downs, everything was going to be settled once and for all. And the one who was going to bring law and order back to the whole crazy roller-coaster world of Weedville was Vance Manning. He was the one who started the solution to everything.
After he had seen his girl getting fucked by Lucas Trimble, he vowed revenge.
He planned out his revenge very carefully. Everything had to be just right before he started taking action.
The first part of Vance's plan was simple: fuck Elvira Schellenberg. Show her who the head honcho of Weedville was going to be. Shit, after she had a taste of his prick, she'd never go searching for another cock.
It was a Friday night. Elvira was going to see Lucas Trimble at ten o'clock that evening at his place. She was going to fuck him, then suck him, then do whatever came next. She was dressed to kilclass="underline" a chemise dress that looked like a square sheet on her bony body, but which Elvira considered to be her sexiest garment. Didn't that fashion editor in Vogue instruct skinny girls to wear horizontal stripes and sacklike dresses?