Impulse Control
by Pizzahead
Seven — Finally Home
Every business venture requires some kind of expenditure at the beginning. For my new occupation I found a piece of cardboard for free, bought a magic marker for $1.99, and got a pair of crummy used shoes, a semi-disintegrated wool overcoat and a felt hat, all for seven bucks from a Goodwill store. Figure in some gas for the car and a handful of quarters for street parking, and my start-up costs were probably in the neighborhood of fifteen bucks. My job title: magical beggar.
It was really nothing more than an extension of what I’d done at the mall before Christmas, getting inside people and inflaming any spark towards charity. In Traverse City, right as the Front Street stores opened at ten on the Monday after Christmas, I picked out a street corner and sat in the cold with Blizzard at my side, with this message on my piece of cardboard: Home(less) for Christmas.
I was absurdly young and clean-shaven, my hair not straggly enough, and I had showered at the motel so I smelled too fresh for the role. That was why I had Blizzard, because nobody needed to care about me; they only needed to see a cute dog living a hard life, and feel any inkling of wallet-opening pity towards him.
People are suckers for dogs; I can say that because it’s true of me, too. Many who passed by had shopping bags that presumably contained items to return, and with my help they were a generous bunch, their impulses to help flaring into urges to fill my overturned hat with green. Blizzard didn’t play his part the way I’d envisioned; I had imagined him sitting stoically by my side, making sad puppy-dog eyes at everyone who passed by, but he was way too social for that, wagging his tail and pulling at his leash to go up to people to say hello. His strategy was a winner—people saw a dog who was sweet and well-adjusted even during the down times, and with a little magic thrown in, out came the wallets.
A few people even told me to buy my dog some special treats. Special treats cost money, and getting that money did require work on my part. Every pedestrian was different and I had to distinguish whether I was grabbing hold of an emotion to help, or clamping hold of a more physical impulse, almost like manipulating fingers to take hold of that extra bill of a larger denomination. In this way, an intended gift of a dollar turned into parting with a ten, or a twenty, or, such a cute dog, what about sixty dollars? I never spoke; it took all of my concentration to cast the spell again and again, surfing the impulse waves inside.
Maybe it was a form of theft, but any good lawyer could convincingly make the opposite case. I didn’t force anyone do anything against their will; I just exploited the glimmers of charity that might otherwise have been moved to the trash folders in their brains. And I was semi-choosy; I didn’t pick on anyone that struck me as being vulnerable. This was a well-dressed and largely well-heeled lot, some local, some tourists, and they wouldn’t end up homeless by transferring some of their funds to JINOLNF—the John In Need Of a Love-Nest Foundation.
Sometimes the hat filled quickly and I had to empty it and organize the bills, otherwise it would look like I was doing way too well at this. I also moved to a different location twice; I felt that if I stayed anywhere too long, that was like asking for trouble from the cops. And I did refine my technique through repetition—after a while I pretty much knew when to conserve my energy by not bothering to cast the spell on certain people, because they couldn’t give a shit even with the happy dog sniffing at their pants legs. With others I got inside and pushed hard, and they sometimes looked happy about their unexpected generosity, while others trailed confusion in their wake.
I did one bad thing. I cast the spell on a thirty-something guy in a suit, and saw, quite clearly, that he had an impulse to spit down on me. I didn’t block that; I was too curious, wondering if he’d actually do it. He passed by with his mouth moving but holding it in, but once on the other side, walking away, he barked, “Get a job!”
“This is my job,” I shot back, and he stopped, and turned to glare at me.
You didn’t need any special abilities to see the disdain, or even hatred in his eyes. And I should have just sat calmly, letting him decide that I wasn’t worth a real confrontation. But I didn’t do that—I detected that he really had to pee and was holding it in, and I made his bladder release.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about myself after that. There was a comical aspect to the suit-asshole’s expression when it happened, and I won’t say he didn’t deserve it, but the incident messed with my emotional equilibrium, and I cut my begging short by maybe twenty minutes, feeling like I should move on.
I did find a high-end pet store where I got Blizzard a special chew for his help, and he gnawed on that in the car while I counted the cash I’d collected. Twelve hundred and forty-three tax-free dollars, several hundred more than the rent money I’d need today, collected in just over an hour. This was one sweet gig, and I saw no reason why I couldn’t do the same anytime I needed quick cash.
I’d set my phone to mute for the whole begging venture—nothing like the ringing of a brand-new cellphone to ruin the homeless look—and when I took it out to call about the rental chalet, I had two voicemails. The first was from Nancy, and it was this: “I can’t wait to fuck you again. I’m going crazy here with all these kids around and… Oh John, I’m salivating just thinking of you being in my mouth again. I’ve been practicing with cucumbers and… Just call me, okay? I love you so much.”
Instant hard-on. Nancy, who’d simply refused to give me a blow-job before the spell got into her, thinking like that, and talking like that. And cucumbers, even.
The second message was Lila: “Are you staying at your friend’s house because of me? If so, that’s so… You’re missing out, you idiot. There are so many things I can do, so many ways…” She trailed off into at least ten seconds of silence before ending her call with: “My thighs are quivering just thinking about what we could do together.”
Yes, I was missing out, but like a guy who passes up the thrill of sky-diving for a trip to the moon. Thinking about that, about Nell and how much I wanted to get her thighs and other parts quivering, I dialed the chalet landlord’s number, and got him. His name was Ed Randelsson and he sounded older than expected. When I told him I was extremely interested in renting the chalet and had my first month’s rent in cash, he agreed to meet me at two-thirty. I texted the news to Nell, and got a reply that she and her family were en route, and should be home by two.
I needed to go home, or right next door to it. To my former, home, I amended my thinking. For Meghan this would probably be a holiday, so she’d likely be there. And with Lila being so explicit in her message, I knew I couldn’t walk through that door without stirring up a pussy-storm, or pussy storms, of trouble.
I got another text from Nell that she’d arrived home when I had only twenty miles to go. I responded that I’d pick her up at her house and that we were all set to meet the landlord right after. And that’s the way it went, with me pulling into the Brockton’s driveway at 2:07, and the front of Nell’s tits exiting her house at 2:08, and the rest of her body at 2:10.
Okay, I’ll admit that’s a slight exaggeration, suggesting that it took longer than a minute for everything else on Nell to catch up to the front of her prow. She had on glove-tight white jeans over black boots, and presumably some sort of blouse under a brand new hip-length brown leather jacket. A jacket that somehow hugged her tits but also her waist, leaving no doubt as to the top-heaviness of her hourglass shaping. Holy shit! I thought, watching her bound, not walk, to my car.
In one of Rock’s zany sci-fi stories, my cock would have made a boing! sound going from zero to vroom-vroom in under a second. In reality I was the one making the sound-effect, the sudden pressure in my pants causing a soft “Uh!” to exit my lips just as Nell said “Hi!”, her dimpled smile and dual fun-bags entering the car. She had a cloth bag that she placed in the back seat as Blizzard, intelligent dog that he is, pawed her chest before licking her face. Nell laughed and the dog jumped out, tearing around the back of my parents’ house to go in through the kitchen doggy door.
My mouth was probably hanging open when she asked: “Like the new jacket? It’s Italian leather; my mother ordered it from a company that handcrafts their styles to fit individual dimensions. There’s some kind of hi-tech lining on the inside so it’s warmer than it looks, and…” She took in the way I was staring at her. “You really like it, don’t you?”
Like it—stretched tight over her tits the way it was, I wanted to be that jacket. “Is it okay to say I love it?” I asked, only then remembering that I’d know better what to say if I had her under the impulse control spell.
“You certainly can say that,” Nell enthused, giving me the dimples.
I exhaled the spell in response, and the very first thing I saw was that she wanted to say something to me that she was holding back. I had given some thought to situations like this, and how on our late night walk I’d used the magic as a blunt instrument to pull these bits of conversation out of her. She had noticed—the phone call apologizing for talking about herself so much—but she hadn’t seemed upset by that, with no indication of any suspicion about her behavior. I didn’t want to magically pull words out every single time, though—with enough repetition, wouldn’t she know something strange was going on? I thought there was another way to do this that might work even more to my advantage, so I said: “I think there’s something you want to tell me that you aren’t saying.”
Her eyes could not have flashed more interest when she replied: “How did you know that?”
“It shows in the corners of your mouth when you’re holding something back. So?”
Her mouth moved experimentally, like she was familiarizing herself with muscles she hadn’t been aware of. “Okay, you’re right. I was going to say…” Her posture straightened in the seat, leather jacket and the tits underneath in a beautiful battle of mammary mass versus the pliability of leather. “…I don’t want you to go shy on me, that’s all. Some guys, when they’re around me… It’s like they believe they’re supposed to pretend I’m not the way I am, you know? It can get silly, so don’t… Do you remember the time we all went to the state fair?
“Of course.” When I was fifteen, our family and the Brocktons all crammed into their van for a day-trip.
“The three of us, you and me and Lila, were packed into that ride called The Tarantula. I remember how the centrifugal force… I was all over you. I couldn’t help it.”
I knew what she meant. She sat in the middle, me to her right, and there were times when all of her weight was thrust against me, and with such force that her right boob was in front of my left arm, pushing right into it. Lila and Nell screamed and I might have, too, from the fury of the erection raging in my pants, and having that pulled to and fro from by the same gravity that had gifted me with a miracle touch from a Nell breast. The girls were giggling when we all got off that ride, and I always wondered if some of that had been aimed at me, John aching with a boner after his sister’s best friend’s super-knocker had spilled all over him.
“You were such a gentleman, stoic or shy or… I’m just saying that you don’t need to pretend like you did back then. Some guys can be a pain, but with you… If I minded, I’d be wearing some shapeless parka, not a jacket that hugs me like this.”
I was being given permission to be turned-on by her figure, and to be unapologetic about it. And once again, there was something she had the urge to say, and it wasn’t coming out. This time, I pushed.
“I was already so big back then, but now… The thing is, I think if people actually saw them, they’d have a hard time believing their eyes.”
There was emotion in her voice, and immediately afterwards a different kind of emotion lifted her eyebrows. She didn’t confess it but it was easily read that she couldn’t believe she’d just said what she’d said; natural modesty, or the fact that certain thoughts are kept in the privacy of one’s own mind, or shared only with close girlfriends. Or a lover.
“I…” she began, and there was color in her cheeks. “You must think I’m so into myself or that I like to boast or… What is it when I’m with you? I get all blabby!”
It was something she perhaps sensed, yet it remained completely invisible.
“I’m not like this with anybody else,” she added, with a slow head shake that spoke of wonderment, or some kind of realization.
“That’s cool.”
“So what about you? Turnabout is fair play, so it’s your turn. I like quiet guys, no problem there, but you’re… What aren’t you saying to me that you want to?”
That I know precisely how amazing your tits are, because I’ve seen them made of green fire. That you almost certainly wouldn’t be in my car if I hadn’t cast a spell on you. That given a chance, and I pray to all that’s holy or unholy that I can create that chance, I can orchestrate the way you cum. “Just… You literally take my breath away, Nell. You’re that…You know. Unbelievable.”
She made a sound that wasn’t quite a giggle, settling into her seat. “Not exactly Shakespeare, but you’re very sweet.”
“And your boyfriend sure is one incredibly lucky dude,” I ventured, curious as to how she might respond.
“Oh, him. It’s been months since I’ve seen Alexandre, and I don’t even… He called for Christmas, and I didn’t say it to him in so many words but I’ve realized that he feels like the past to me. I would say…” She pulled out her phone from a jacket pocket. “It’s 2:17 the day after Christmas, and I would say I don’t have a boyfriend at this very minute.”
Fuckin’—A, I thought, determined to fill that void with my cock.
Nell shrugged before reaching for her safety harness. “Shouldn’t we get out there?” she asked, pulling the harness and creating the most delicious indentation in the leather between her knockers, giving an indication of just how much territory each breast occupied individually. I looked at that, and I could tell she noticed me looking, and true to her words it didn’t bother her at all.
It seemed from that moment on that her eyes locked onto the movements of my hands, whether turning the key in the ignition, putting the shifter in reverse or gripping the wheel. And there like the most exciting of flutterings in a vast field filled with potential impulses, a faint but definite vibration in Nell’s clitoris. By its very existence and my ability to detect it, I could juice that subterranean tingle; only that action, now, felt premature and out of place. There was an appointment to keep.
That didn’t keep my thoughts from racing. Why did she like to look at my hands? She had commented before that my hands looked really strong—did she have some sort of muscle-finger fetish? My hands were large, too—did she equate that with cock size, or picture them mashing her monster tits? She had also said something about spanking on the phone last night, followed by an odd sound that might have been a little cry—was it that?
I was paying attention to these thoughts and Nell’s clitoral impulses, and so, when the movement appeared in my peripheral vision, I wasn’t entirely sure I had seen the parting of a curtain in Lila’s bedroom window. As the car pivoted to a rear-stop just before shifting into first, I glanced there and thought I caught a split-second of Lila’s face peering out. I hadn’t told her yet that I was planning on moving out, and it was anybody’s guess what she would think of that, or the fact that I was spending time with Nell.
I took a moment to mute my phone—the last thing I wanted was an ill-timed call from Nancy or Lila—and Nell and I barely spoke on the short drive to the chalet, an agreeable silence that had sexual undertones I could feel in multiple ways. I kept glancing over at my bodaciously-built passenger, astounded at how the swell of her tits reached towards the dashboard, making the Corolla’s cabin look cramped. The tingling in my cock was continuous, and I wasn’t the only one feeling excitement under the cover of clothing. There was no mistaking it—Nell’s clitoris was online. It might be only a whisper, but every now and then it whispered more loudly, and every time it did I noted that she was following some movement of my hands.
“So remote,” she commented, when I turned onto the twisty road that might be my new street address. When we arrived at the chalet, with a parked Dodge pick-up taking up half a lane of pavement in front, Nell said, “It’s adorable!”, followed by, “Although you’ll need a snowmobile just to check the mailbox.”
I killed the engine just as a tall geezer opened up the front door and stepped out onto the deck. Mr. Randelsson was thinner and a few years younger than the voice on the phone had indicated. He stood with Norwegian stoicism, some would say stiffness, and Nell gave him a little wave from inside the car, which made him smile.
Mister Randelsson had become something of a mouth-breather by the time we were shaking his hand and introducing ourselves. I cast the impulse spell on him and was immediately inside the world of his eyes darting for every new viewpoint of Nell’s dimensions, wanting to mentally undress her while determined to keep from doing that too obviously. Her presence was making his dick stiffen, and he was silently urging it to stop doing that, a series of mental impulses trying to override those of the body. All that did was make his eyes squint unattractively, kind of like someone trying to hold in a huge dump.
Inside, the space was warm and there was even a fire going in the woodstove. Our inspection of the chalet didn’t take much time; I already knew I wanted it. Being inside Nell’s impulse field, I was aware when she tried to help my negotiating position by biting down praise for the brand spanking-new kitchen appliances and the woodland view out the sliding glass doors at the back. She grabbed my right bicep when we both took in that view, which had her leather-clad left breast occupying my personal space, and I had a coat-hidden hard-on when I turned and said to Mr. Randelsson that I’d take the place at the advertised price.
He bit down on a smile that wanted to come out, and just for the hell of it I loosened his control on that one, which had his weathered face breaking into a huge grin. An instant of shocked eyebrows showed that he couldn’t believe he’d just lost control of his expression, revealing that he probably would have been willing to take less.
“I, uh, I’ll keep you supplied in firewood if you think you’re running out,” he said, his eyes sliding across Nell’s chest before finding mine again. I wondered if the guy would come undone if she removed her jacket.
“That’s very fair,” I said, and we shook hands again.
When the lease came out of his jacket pocket he was going to ask some question, but didn’t. I think he wanted to venture towards personal questions that might explain how I was in the company of a miracle like Nell, but I’ll never know because he just glanced at her again and smiled. About ten minutes later, with proof of age shown, money exchanged and my signature scrawled in half a dozen places, the keys to the chalet were mine.
Nell and I stood at the front door waving like a married couple when he drove off. “I do believe he’s dreaming of catching a glimpse of me naked during one of his firewood refueling visits,” she said with a little laugh.
I tried to tune-in to see what she had ticking inside, and only then realized that the earlier impulse spell had worn off. I looked at my watch; something like thirty-five or forty minutes since casting the spell on her inside the car. I was going to have to start timing these things more precisely, to learn whether the spell had a fixed expiration date or if it varied from situation to situation or individual to individual.
“Do you need to be somewhere?” Nell asked, eyes on my watch.
“I like being right here, at home,” I replied, tailing off into an exhalation that included a fresh spell. With her impulse world opened to me again, I could sense what amounted to background body impulses, which still included a little buzz in her clitoris. Nothing else, though.
“Great. Then get my bag from the car and let’s celebrate your big day, okay?”
There had been no impulse to say that; it was either a planned comment or it just flowed out. I said okay and trekked through cleared snow to the Toyota, and grabbed her canvas bag from the back seat. A brown sweater bunched at the top hid the contents, but there was weight and something moved the way a bottle moves. Champaign, maybe? I hoped so, because I didn’t think there was a corkscrew or any other tool in the house.
Nell had taken off her boots and socks during my absence. She sat on the plank flooring near the wood stove with her legs stretched out, toes wiggling to catch radiant heat. Her arms were planted slightly behind, palms on the floor, leather-obscured tits surging towards her feet.
“I know the idea is that the heat rises up to the bedroom above, but I’d bet you’re going to spend most of your time right here. I picture an ornamental rug where I’m sitting, and a long couch right behind. What do you think?”
I thought I might have the most fuckable woman on the planet arranging my non-existent furniture in her head. I placed her bag on the wooden bar that separated the kitchen area from the larger living space, and asked, “Which do I get first, a sofa or a bed? Or something else?”
Nell stood, and I amazed myself by lowering my eyes to thrill at the way her white jeans hugged her thighs. She had wonderfully arched feet that were rather petite, and very strong-looking ankles. I wondered whether her legs got a work-out every day just by keeping her body from toppling forward.
“A big cozy couch,” she said, coming over and reaching into her bag. Out came a bottle labeled Prosecco, and two clear plastic cups. “Italian champaign,” she dimpled. “A way to mark that this really is a big day. You’re doing something you’ve never done before. I am, too, actually.”
“What—“
She shushed me with a finger to her lips, before a strong tug popped the bottle’s stopper. It didn’t threaten to foam over the way I’d seen champaign do, and a few seconds later she had our cups filled, and she offered one to me.
“I love this stuff,” she said, and raised her cup. “What do we toast?”
“Magic,” I answered truthfully.
Both her eyes and her smile told me she liked that. “Yes, then here’s to magic. And to doing things differently than ever before.”
“To different… things?” I agreed, and we clinked cups, the sound more like a dulled tap.
As Nell took her first sip she watched me drink mine, and my exclamation of “Hey, this is good!” brought a wide smile. There was a distinct flaring of the impulse-buzz in her clitoris, and damn if her eyes hadn’t settled onto my hands again. She was studying them, no doubt about it.
“It’s warm enough now to take off our coats, don’t you think?” she asked, and after taking a long gulp of sparkles she stepped back towards the wood stove, accompanied by the sound of a zipper being pulled. Turned sideways to me she shrugged out of the leather coat, and my dick jumped to red-alert when I saw that she had on a red cotton stretchtop, with no bra.
That last point was just so deliciously obvious when great googly-moogly, she lowered her coat to the floor, carefully spreading it out, and every movement of her arms or changed angle of her torso revealed some new way for all that curvaceousness to mega-stretch straining redness, with the punctuations of her nipples just screaming their presence. If I hadn’t already been prepared by seeing her form in that fireplace, I might have audibly gasped at the way her areoles and nipples shaped the taut fabric. She was epic, just insanely stacked and constructed. They were epic.
Nell sank to her knees on the softened surface her coat provided, and an uplift of her chin had her watching me gawk. “Well?” she asked. “Don’t stand there like a statue. Take your coat off and put it here beside mine.”
I was on complete autopilot as I did what she said. Along with removing my coat, I was doing two other things simultaneously: ogling, nonstop, the wonderment of her fire-engine red boob display, and tuning in to her impulse world. Other than the buzz in her clitoris, which was a little stronger now, there was nothing else. Which meant that everything she was doing, and pretty much everything she was saying, was not impulsive at all.
The quality changed somewhat when I had my coat in my hands, and was spreading it out next to hers. She was seated and I was standing, and my dick strained mightily in my pants, and Nell saw that. The buzz in her clitoris flared without me doing anything to stoke it, and for the first time that afternoon it was in response to something other than my hands.
She did have an impulse now, to take hold of the bottom of her red blouse. “It really warms up fast in here, doesn’t it?”
She was about to pull the blouse up and over her head, and I glimpsed a bit of white—a white t-shirt or tanktop underneath? Her impulse was to grab and lift, and I fueled that big-time. With a swiftness of motion that had to come as a surprise to her, off came the red blouse, and also the lighter white undergarment that she had intended to keep on.
Out Nell’s tits surged in all their glory, twin titanic torpedoes that were perfectly smooth and perfectly real flesh and blood, not green fire. They were perfectly overwhelming, too, and released it was like two in front of a cozy fire had instantly become four, with an inferno building in my cock. I knew she hadn’t intended to strip them entirely bare so fast because she gasped and there was an impulse to cover as she could with arms and elbows. But then, without me having to kill that impulse towards modesty, a new impulse arose, to just arch her back a bit and turn her head up to me, and be proud and confidant.
I really had thought I’d be ready for Nell’s knockers after seeing them accurately depicted in green fire, but that version of the woman had been reduced to the scale of tendrils of flame in a fireplace. Now she was life-sized, and in Nell’s case that meant her tits were larger than life. Much larger.
Her expression, which I could only somewhat register because my eyes were locked-on elsewhere, said this: “Yes, I have some of the most incredible breasts on the entire planet Earth, and I know it and now you do, too.” What her mouth said, though, was entirely different: “I know they’re huge, but they’re just breasts, right?”
Yes, they were just breasts, the way the Grand Canyon is just a ditch; the way the moon is just a pile of rocks; the way Superman is just a guy wearing tights. Even Nell’s eyes, peering down and out at them, and then up to see my gaze transfixed, spoke volumes about knowing full well that these were remarkable, perhaps even unparalleled tits. Her areoles alone, perfectly circular and shaded a sumptuous dark pink, were larger than many women’s entire breasts, her nipples sized for an adult to suck on, not a baby. Not one blemish and the opposite of sag, like they looked at underwire bras and couldn’t stop laughing.
I exhaled a sound that was essentially a drawn-out “ah”, and it meant things like, “Oh fuuuuck those tits are gravity-defying!”, and “Those nipples could poke someone’s eyes out!”, and “Yes! It has to be the attraction spell all by itself that has you proudly half-naked in front of me!”, and “I think I might cum just staring at those wonders!”
“You really like my body,” Nell said with a sideways tilt to her head.
It might have been nice to utter a suave comment, or even a coherent sentence or two, but my brain was stressed because the sight of Nell brandishing her knockers really did have me close to red-lining inside my pants. My cock found a hitherto unknown degree of rigidity, like a flag pole becoming more prideful on the Fourth of July, and I could feel a wetness that was pre-cum making who knows how big a spot on my briefs. What started at dick-level was spreading through my body, and if asked by a doctor to describe my symptoms, I would swear that my balls had a fever, my soul a hard-on.
Nell had locked on to the obscene lump in my pants, and inside her it was an entirely different landscape than when there had been few impulses to read. The stirrings in her clitoris were of a different order, and it hit me that she was in a similar state as I was, her eyes riveted to my crotch-bulge, and impulses related to awe and desire flooding though her system.
“You know how I said I didn’t have a boyfriend? Well…” She reached out, and with the index and middle fingers of her right hand, touched the erection in my pants, saying: “Tag, John. You’re it.” And as if the contact had loosened something inside: “Take…” she began, stopping to swallow. “Take your fucking pants off!”
I hesitated, not because of shyness or defiance, but because the trajectory of events was speeding so far away from any fantasy I’d ever had about Nell and I hooking up. I’d thought I would need to steer her towards nakedness and sex with an assortment of well-timed impulse manipulations, much as I’d done with Dawn the night before. Instead, it had only taken one manipulation to get Nell to unleash her bare super-rack into the room, and her clitoris was buzzing with increasing ferocity all on its own. The attraction magic must…
“Take your fucking pants off!” she demanded, lunging at my crotch to take matters into her own hands.
Every movement of her body meant corresponding surges of her tits; they reached when she reached, and world-wobbled as her weight shifted. Without even making a conscious decision to do it, I found my palms cupping what I could of their bottom mass as she unzipped my jeans, and that first touch of my palms to that mighty under-boobage made my cock twitch, which happened to be timed with Nell pulling my pants and underwear down my legs. Up popped my cock with extra verve, thwacking her in the arm like a living thing.
The next twenty or so seconds are difficult to describe as a sequence; it felt like everything was happening all at once. Nell’s expression turned wondrous and almost feral as her eyes trained on my erection, and inside, without any interference from me, her clitoris lit up like it had been plugged into a socket. She made a musical “Ohhhhh…” sound, her hands closing around my shaft, and my hands crawled up to her nipples, unreal in both their size and stiffness. Either in response to that touch or the sight of my throbbing dick, a host of impulses flooded through Nell, to kiss me, to bury my head between her boobs, to lower her head and wrap her lips around my cock, to pull at her hair and shove her pussy into impaling position, to yell something, to say something. Even to have an orgasm, because she was verrry close, already.
“You’re like me!” she shouted, squeezing me hard and pulling at my crown.
I didn’t even know what that meant. What I did know was that, for better or worse, I was going to cum, and really soon. Her body was that exciting to me, but even more than that it was from feeling her systems being on the edge too, all just from the sight of my dick. I didn’t have to know why just then; there wasn’t really much time for thought. I had no hope of containing the surge welling up from my balls—my ass was tightening and though I hadn’t started spurting yet, it was an inevitable event just seconds away. Nell’s clit was screaming so loudly on the impulse field that I thought she might possibly climax when she saw me cumming, and I decided to cook with the ingredients being set in front of me—on any normal scale, what was happening inside our bodies was ridiculously premature, but fuck that, we would cum together, now.
My own release was completely organic, and Nell’s was too, up to a point. What that means is that I didn’t shape her orgasm or heighten or prolong it; I merely gave it a good hard shove forward just as I started spurting. We came like two fountains sharing the same plumbing system, Nell with her hands wrapped around my cock and me grunting and shooting all over her neck and clavicles and the top of her tits. Nell threw her head back as her own climax made her face and neck and tits flush bright pink, and I kept my eyes open to watch her mouth draw wide, the dimples that had enthralled me for years appearing and vanishing in rapid succession like her whole face was vibrating.
Even without manipulating her orgasm in any way, I could feel its power as it rolled through her. It was a kind of cascade with three main detonations, one right after another. When they had passed she slowly sank backwards from the waist, down onto her coat. Her mouth remained open and her eyelids fluttered, with what I could see of her eyeballs gazing up at the ceiling, or perhaps at nothing at all.
Though I’d wanted to be in this position for years, and had laid plans for more than a week, it was a shock to the system now that the moment had arrived. Nell Brockton was lying on the floor in front of me, shirtless and braless with her Grand Tetons gravity-flattening somewhat while spreading out every which way as real tit-flesh with that much mass must do, yet because of their size and character they still rose upwards, soft mountains begging to be climbed.
My cum was on their undersides, and her abdomen. On the impulse field she had the wish to massage my semen into her flesh, and both hands began to fulfill that wish, her palms rubbing me in while the rest of her floated on whatever cloud she’d found.
I decided to help, which, more than anything, was the desire to be all over Nell’s miraculous boobs. My hands could move them, and re-shape them, and their balance between pliability and firmness, the same flesh-equation that allowed them to stand out so proudly despite their size, was as much a wonder to feel as to see. I needed my lips to be on them, and my tongue, and then it was a Nell-nipple in my mouth, its scale so unlike any nipple I’d ever sucked before.
“Lower your pants!” she insisted, the words clearly originating from her sexual core. I could feel how her clitoris was back in business, vibrating, aching. I still hadn’t touched it, physically, and just barely with my mind.
But that would change.
My cock was on fire and I didn’t just lower my pants; I removed them, and while I did that I could feel an impulse arise in Nell to to get something from a pocket of the jacket she lay upon. She did that, and it was a little bottle of lotion. I knew where it was going, and she saw that I knew, and she grinned when pouring a glistening pool just at the center-point between her collarbones, where it slowly began to drain southward.
“Just as soon as you… Oh!”
Oh indeed, because I was already fully erect again. I wanted… No, I needed to fuck those massive juggs. It felt to me that I’d needed to fuck them my entire life.
It felt to me like I had electrified steel humming between my legs, and seeing my cock so forcefully resurrected had ignited impulses in Nell to spread lubricant all over the canyon formed by the inside mass of her tits. Watching her relatively tiny hands manipulating her breast-flesh had me feeling like I should say a prayer of Thanksgiving, because she was preparing herself, them, for me.
Maybe, with that first contact of John-dick and Nell-boobs, I got a taste of what it must have been like for returning space shuttle pilots to feel and hear their vehicle’s tires touching Mother Earth once more. The chasm between Nell Brockton’s giant mammaries was where I belonged; it was the home-port my dick had recognized the very first day I’d met her.
The wideness of her eyes, while she stared at my dick, seemed to convey similar feelings. I could sense the wetness of her pussy, the voltage stiffening her nipples and clitoris, and Nell’s hands knew exactly what to do to shape her super-abundance into a cleavage-crack that went on and on and on.
I’m big but she was so much bigger, and my dick completely disappeared in there with cleavage to spare. I’d devised a plan about this moment—Nell needed to cum, in a very major way, while I was fucking her tits. Call it Pavlovian titjob training—when a woman had mega-juggs like this, and the one with his throbbing dick between those juggs had the power to take any flicker towards climaxing and turn it into an inferno, the woman with the mega-juggs had to experience, over and over to reinforce the point, that the best orgasms she could ever have were the ones where her tits were being fucked by me and me alone.
Her eyes gained focus with my dick buried in her cum-slickened cleavage, and she had the impulse to squeeze her tits tighter together, intensifying the friction. She breathed, “Oh God yes, fuck my tits!” without any nudging from me, then surprised me next by quickly using her hands to part her boobs, exposing my cock. Considering the sudden flaring of her clitoris in that moment, what she had wanted, and accomplished, was to see my dick afresh and be turned-on by the sight of it.
I didn’t have to understand everything going on inside Nell’s body and brain to know there was a direct connection between her looking at my cock and the buzzing in her clitoris, just as there had been when she’d focused on my hands. Once turned-on by the sight of my plowing pole, I grabbed hold of those clitoral impulses and made her pant and cry out and grunt as I reamed the walls of Nell Canyon.
Even when pressed together her tit-flesh was vibrating all over the place, which became mighty wobble-waves as I sped up the pace. Her grunts of encouragement started to take on the semblance of speech, which became definite words urging me to, “Fuck my tits, God yes fucking fuck my tits, fuck my tits, fuck my fucking tits!”
Maybe it’s a design flaw in nature that women don’t have a second clitoris right there on the breastbone, but in my case I could rewire her with my brain, establishing a direct connection. Nell’s clit was vibrating but all systems wouldn’t have aligned into an earth-shattering climax without me grabbing hold and turning the clit/tit highway into an impulse laboratory on fire. With my body on auto-pilot, hips thrusting as fast as I could thrust, my mind pulled at the impulses in her clit, shaping them, growing them, multiplying them.
Nell’s head thrashed, her legs kicking, the intensity building and building in her. The sounds coming out of her throat were those of a woman with a wild west rodeo taking place inside the very contained physical space that is the clitoris, and just as I started to spurt between her tits I grew her orgasm-in-waiting into a giant beast and set it loose.
Her face and tits and throat all flushed bright red, mouth contorted, and some of my jizz found her teeth. She was bucking and semi-hiccuping from the unprecedented shockwaves, and I thought fuck-you to holding anything back—her tits and my dick, she needed to experience and understand that my cock fucking her tits was the catalyst that chemically changed the nature of her orgasms, turning her body and entire being into a portal through which unimaginable bliss could find its way into this world.
For a time she was like an orgasm doll with no off-switch. Then, with one sudden and final body-jolt that kept the soft surface of her tits undulating for at least fifteen seconds, Nell passed out. Even unconscious there were body-impulses I could read, aftershocks that primarily found expression in her legs and fingers. And then, total body relaxation, and silence.
I was still breathing hard from the exertions I’d made when fucking her tits, and I could feel myself beginning to soften, finally. There on all fours over top of her, I looked upon the expanse of her boobs with a pool of cum at her throat, and a line of white going diagonal from her chin, passing over her lips and up to the opposite cheek. My cock, being jobbed between the pillowy mountains of Nell Brockton, had created creamy-white action-art, and it looked great on her.
True confession—the temptation arose to fuck Nell’s tits all over again, with her lying there unconscious. And I think I would have done that, doing everything I’d ever dreamed of doing with her tits while she lay there unresponsive, if I thought I’d never get another shot at her. The woman I wanted the most in the world was right there in front of me, and being lights-out did nothing to diminish the cum-stained majesty of her chest.
But I didn’t have to be that guy because she was, quite possibly, falling in love with me. Because that was what had played out here—I had impulse-screwed with Nell’s orgasms, but it hadn’t taken much impulse manipulating to get her parading her tits in front of me with a total green light about sex. She’d come here with me dressed to fuck, with the intention of fucking, and even with a kind of plan for fucking. All of that from the potion in the eggnog, and nothing more.
I felt elation and a beautiful soreness in my cock, mixed with uncertainty about what to do next. She, or we, had never even gotten around to taking off her jeans, and I could see that the denim at her crotch was a darker shade of white. I wanted to do what any normal guy would want to do—bury my hotdog in her juicy roll—but that required waiting, and letting her recover enough to go again.
I rose onto my knees and just took in the view for awhile, of a very trim and athletic waist and ribcage leading up to tits that looked like they belonged on a fairytale giantess. The way her areoles lifted that little bit at the edges, prefect round islands raised above a vast sea of boob—it was like her tits had tits, just an unreal amount of beauty all packed together. My cock twitched and I breathed the scent of cum mixed in with Nell pussy, an aroma that had to be filling the whole downstairs. What a perfect air freshener for my new love nest—didn’t some people smudge a new space with sage or incense, like a ritual for expelling any bad spirits?
This chalet was filled with magic, not spirits. I smiled, and might have made pillows of Nell’s boobs and nestled my head in there for a nap, only there was so much cum all over and between and around those beauties that it would be like shampooing my head in jizz. I had the thought to get a washcloth to clean her up, and then I remembered there weren’t any. No washcloths, no towels, no soap, no nothing. Our first time fucking had been in a space where we existed with nothing not much more than hot coals in a fire and the clothes and coats on our backs.
I made two decisions. The first was to get my phone, and take photo after photo of Nell as she lay there in post-orgasmic slumber. That sweet mouth in profile, slightly open with a line of cum angling across. More shine, a puddly really, at the indentation where her throat began. Cum glistening upon insanely beautiful breasts, with my left hand cupping the side of one, to indicate scale. A low shot up the length of her waist, with her boobs looking like landscape formations on the kind of planet I could spend my life upon. I would treasure all of these, memories of the day when my deepest desire was realized, a real dream come true.
I also decided to drive out to the Target on Route 22 to get some basics, and then hurry back. Nell was breathing peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a manner that few people on earth could ever hope to emulate. I believed she’d still be sleeping when I returned, though I couldn’t be sure.
I was more certain that when I returned, we’d end up fucking for hours. And maybe, though it could take awhile when a woman was built the way Nell was, I’d even get into her pants before the day was over.