The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kitty and Cammi in Church Country

6. FROM JOURNALS TO JIGGLES

“Look at this,” Vin said to Brandon one evening, while their women were out having a gym night, “she’s like Bimbo-fucius or some shit.”

Brandon grabbed the notebook from his roommate and flipped back and forth between the front and back of the purple pleather thing, unzipping his fly and beating off in front of him. “’mazin’,” he grunted.

“She starts off comparin’ the cinematoggerphy of ‘Sunset Boulevard’ to ‘Sabrina’, an’ about a hunnerd pages later, she tryna choose which her favorite nutsacks to suck on are: the really big kind or the really really big kind... Guess which kind she like more!”

He went to high-five Vin with his free hand. Vin faked him out, then made a move for the hallway. “Yeah, you have fun with that, dorkus.” Still, he couldn’t help but whip his own cock out when he stalled at her doorway. They’d all done a terrific job breaking the twinsies in.

And he wasn’t even sure that Cammi could be broken, once she’d actually left. “Trust me,” Brandon had said. “She’ll be back within a month.” She came back just shy of one week later. “I’m only coming back because I left a book here,” she lied, quite awfully. As if she couldn’t just buy a new one!

Half-obscured now by a pair of busted-open, mutilated tie-dyed panties, Vin noticed that Noam Chomsky book she’d brought along on their first trip. She said she needed to read 80 pages every night that weekend, for some class. “This fuckin’ thing...”

He blew some imaginary dust off the cover, as if it had more than a few months to collect any. He huffed out some jockish contempt, still lingering, all this time later. All because he was the first of the four farmers that got to fuck her, and she’d treated him like second-rate fuck beef ever since.

To him, it made no difference what a model Brimbo she’d become. Something for the brochure, indeed. He was happy when they put her on the cover, and that it was his own amateur photography, from after a church brunch one morning, with her spread eagle out on the hammock, stuffing her chubby face with a biscuit.

Things like this, though, just didn’t faze Vin and his locked-in annoyance, at the waifish college girl he first met. The one that, in every conceivable sense of the word, did not exist these days. He could (and did, many times daily) use her plush perfections now as his jizzy stomping ground, whenever he pleased. But all of this didn’t seem to wipe the memory of the pretentious, pent-up nerd she was.

No matter how you cut the sumptuous slice of cheesecake that was Cammy after a tiny two months in church country, skinny and stuck-up scarcely described it. Those words are so far off in this instance, they really shouldn’t even be in the same dictionary. One might have to invent their very own language to so much as partially sum up the jaw-slackening, living sculpture of raw feminine magnetism.

Cammi grew out, and out, and out, pink rolling hills of patriette. A cushy, near-dangerous bundle of flesh and curves had to essentially pig-pile themselves onto this chick, to change her that completely, that unbelievably fast. The transformation was so thorough, it left no elbow room.

Even if she wore the frumpiest of rags (which she definitely wouldn’t), you could still spot her angelic T & A from a country mile away. As it stood, she fit into skirts and shorts well enough, but—almost without fail—she’d get a wedgie at some point during the day. If not a wedgie, some serious bunching.

The old Cammi got smothered by softness, razed by the brand new and mighty heavy low center of gravity. She was left with no choice. Adapt to her new life or her new life would hijack her entire being. Her conversion rested somewhere hotly between these two options. And it was like her body went through four or five full metamorphoses.

And—high maintenance? Antisocial? Snobby?! If you had a big ballsack and a healthy, working penis, Cammi, just like her twinsie Kitty, would now climb aboard, or shimmy toward you, at once. “Public Porn”, a cable acces show she’d become a regular on, wasn’t something she’d be able to conceive of, and certainly no chapterin that soon-abandoned textbook of hers prepared her for such local stardom.

All on its own, just the sight of that benign thing, lying in a lonely corner of a lived-in room, was nearly enough to make him lose it, and ejaculate right then...

* * *

The first night, she couldn’t have gotten through a tenth of what she had to. Four granite-hewn hotties who were always shirtless, sweaty, and crowding her with questions, playful insults, and the odd unprovoked princess treatment, proved to be quite the productivity killer.

She got so light-headed and dopey from the hookah, that she totally forgot that some huge bong was brought out. She had to be reminded about the massive rips she took from it. She meant to reiterate how crucial her work was, but instead flirted and giggled the rest of the night away.

The last thing that really stuck with her about the night, was ashamedly masturbating when it was all over, on into the oppressive light of the rising sun. At least she hadn’t been antisocial.

It was highly irregular and out of character, though. Revelations of her raunchy behavior only added to the weirdness. And ultimately, she felt weird that none of it really did bother her too much, when all was said and done.

At least she had it on good faith from her girlfriend that she didn’t fuck any of them. She was only being good and considerate to her hosts.

The second night, after an exhausting day of horseshoes, hiking, and picnicking, her friend and the guys had convinced her to bring her reading to the jacuzzi. There was a ton of homemade moonshine and homegrown pot beforehand, all of it heavy and strong, so it seemed like it was just odd enough of an idea to work...

...maybe. She must have missed something, because without being conscious of it at all, everyone, including her, had gotten totally naked. Someone’s hand was on her thigh. That wasn’t the most unsettling thing, though, so she couldn’t think to stop it from running a touch further on up.

She had to squint and rub her bleary eyes to see through her high and the steam, but—yup! There one of her oldest friends sat, squirming and huddled up with a dude she was barely acquainted with, slobbering all over his chest.

She was, quite plainly and clearly, giving the guy next to him a... footjob! This, coming from the chick who couldn’t ever shake extreme self-consciousness concerning her own feet. She’d recoil if the occasional boyfriend would so much as run a finger along one of them.

Now, she was rubbing off that (quite impressive and sizeable) dick with one of those very same problem feet. She seemed more than comfy with it. Much more. She seemed... different. In a way her friend couldn’t sufficiently place, and partly because she was too busy getting retardedly horny, looking at everything going on. Mostly, though, she was even busier trying to ignore it.

Not a bad kind of different. It wasn’t disturbing. She didn’t seem like some strange, “other” person. She simply looked to be deep in some wild, rapturous thing. Flooded with euphoria, like a heightened version of herself was coming out of the bubbly water.

Mostly, though, she strongly resembled a naked, bliss-faced slut. It was easy to forget that this arrangement was merely a powderkeg, set to go off at any moment. It wasn’t quite a male-dominated orgy in a jacuzzi, yet. But everyone was certainly pre-gaming.

The shy girl with her unread book, its pages now warped from the steam of the jacuzzi, and maybe the whole steamy scene, struggled to take stock of it all. There were so many bubbly bubbles.

“Listen, guys,” our frazzled heroine panted over a savage curiosity, “I just know I’ll regret it if I don’t let you guys do... your thing, and head inside to clear my—” She blurted out a shrill, pinched gasp.

The big strong hand, belonging to a fellow whose name she couldn’t have been bothered with remembering, had gone roaming deep within her... Did they even officially meet? It was Victor, or Vince? Or... something. It was... scarily exquisite.

His finger fidgeted on and around her clit as she decided not to reach for the book, and that doing so would paint her to be an ungrateful guest. That it could wait for tomorrow... That she’d have some pocket of time somewhere, to just power through the whole thing then...

(It was all some big bullshit. A tiny part of her, even then, knew it, too. Even then, she could feel herself being led. Of course, there’s great conflict and mystery to the reshaping of every future bimbo-mommy.

But sometimes, you spell “denial” the usual way, with the letters of the alphabet designated. And other times, you spell it with a juicy, awesome cock that’s fat, long, and doing its awesome thing into one of your holes. So goes the bimbo. Cockward, ho!)

...She’d definitely get some quality reading in. No question at all. Somewhere between the itinerary of blueberry picking, and the jug band festival shortly thereafter. It had a very convenient location, adjacent to the berry farm. She wondered how many

It was cute the first time their church country hosts referred to the the fruit as “boobie berries”. A dozen or so times later, and it was obnoxious. A couple more dozen, and it was exceedingly difficult to hear the word’s real, timeworn pronunciation in her head.

Hm. She might even steal away some solitude before “Toe-Touchin’ Tremble-n-Tug Tutu Time”, whatever that was. The girls had to legitimately beg to buck some strange church country tradition that went along with it, and they’d eventually won the right to wear panties to the event.

Or maybe she’d just skip church brunch after mass. That probably wasn’t a good idea, though, seeing as it was their hosts’ turn to cook. The men seemed to really get a kick out of watching the girls chow down on their country cooking, especially when they took a hand in preparing it.

(It didn’t seem too clear to them that she was only intending to stay for the weekend. It was confusing to hear the boys say things like, “you best be payin’ close attention now,” or, “pretty soon, you’ll be cookin’ all our meals from now on.” She thought it would be impolite to remind them, though.)

She laughed a flustered laugh at herself, for trying to budget her time tomorrow, while getting fingerbanged tonight. Most importantly, she hadn’t ever appreciated the company of a man like this, and sang, “Ab-so-lute-leeee,” when that man asked her if she was enjoying her stay.

She opened her eyes to find that it was only the two of them in the hot tub now. The bedroom overhead was illuminated, and it sounded like her friend was having a really awesome time with one or two of the other guys.

Her own finger-farmer had now paddled to the opposite end of the jacuzzi, eyed her intensely for a moment, and dove, pelvis-first, to her thighs. Seemingly out of the blue, his ruddy, vein-contoured bone was in her attentive grasp.

She was touching it. She never really liked doing that, ever. She stroked it softly, working it evenly. Penises are so gross!

...She certainly had never once felt, or conjured, a cock this superb, this outstanding. That’s right nice, she thought, her inner dialogue gone all redneck-y.

I love cock! Her mind felt like it was getting hijacked, forced into cooperation with this fucked-up town’s dense, thick... dense, thick... Her inner voice was still rattling around all chicken-fried, talking to her about her dick-packed future.

Even though, unbeknownst to her, and in unyielding opposition to her historic lack of interest for most things sexual, the guy she was with in the jacuzzi

She was so scared, she kissed the man on his collarbone, sloppy. She traced the chiseled outline of his rugged chest with a curious finger. She took some generous gulps of his gin and tonic.

Her brain took an abrupt but relieving breather, from whatever penis-related pressure cooker that had briefly stamped it down. She considered the lovely dick in her hand. It was a huge and long thing, and it thumped and throbbed on the bottom of her stomach.

It was even harder to believe, in the hot rush that put her body in complete control of her, that she was jacking it mostly to ward away his push for sex. It registered, in a flinching, pesky flash, that she hadn’t even spoken to him before the few melted minutes prior.

At this point, he was wangling his wang around the perimeter of her crotch. His cockhead was dangerously close: she could feel its soft-but-hard, puffy perfection. That’s what it is, she reckoned, mind gone rural.

She smacked the random guy’s strong super-shaft against a twitchy, horny leg, unsure. The dick was wild. It was a warrior. defiant. It would not be denied.

It’s definitely nice-n-stuff, but it’s probably too big to fu

She broke the messy tongue-kiss that she herself must have started. She gazed a luscious gaze at him, cradling his nutsack with one of her hands. In a stroke of what she thought was brilliance, she started to use both of them. I’m a hard-workin’ slut...

Brazenly, he pulled her up and inward. He slid the tip in. He pushed the tip in. “Just—” she started to interject, shocked and freaked out. Her hips jogged around with little motor-minds of their own, and she welcomed it in, in spite of herself.

What?! She wanted to ask the guy fucking her what on earth was happening to her, sure he’d have some idea. But all she could do upon opening her mouth was mewl contentedly. She pushed him deeper in, by grabbing firm hold of his butt.

“No,” she then said, back-tracking more firmly and yanking him out, not quite positive if she was addressing him or simply trying to stand her ground, to keep from getting knocked up in some mind-bending podunk town. “Not right now, anyway,” she dopily placated. “I mean—I’m not the kind of—”

He backed away, looking extremely disappointed. “You prudes are all the fuckin’ same,” he muttered, after pulling his grand schlong all the way out of the visitor, shooting a mega load all over her neck and chest. “Call me whenever your titties come in.”

She bolted out of the tub, self-conscious, and grabbed her book, sobbing all the way to her guest room. At first, she couldn’t get through much reading because of the tears flooding her eyes. Then it became clear that, with each dollop of semen she plucked off her chest and ate, absent, she got that much dumber and hornier.

Oh well, she marvelled, still semi-aghast, as if there really was no other option. I’m a stupid slut now. Forever and ever.

It took three good cums to fall asleep.

Then, her slumber was interrupted by some creaky boxsprings, the sounds of two guys and one girl going at it (most likely Kate). Someone in the house was playing harmonica. Someone else was burping. Some other girl, maybe?

The next morning, she was awoken by the nicest breakfast smells. She decided to hole up in her room, embarrassed by what had gone down the night before, but again, not really remembering the brunt of it.

She cracked open her book at least, so she could justify playing with herself first. Or at least look like she was justified. Heavy, horny eyelids betrayed the slim likelihood of any academic vibe.

Too bad she didn’t have the opportunity to try and rectify the naturally seductive look her face was determined to project. Hot tub hottie barged in out of nowhere, carrying a tray. “About last night... I just wanted to apolo—”

“Gee golly!” he yelped, pretending he wasn’t unsurprised. He put the mountain of grub down on a dresser. The only thing her bedsheet covered were feet, curling under busy toes. “I’ll just leave you alone. Holler if you need any—” “Wait!” she hollered, needy.

She rolled over and reached down to the travel bag beside the bed. He noticed that not only was her butt already looking firmer and rounder, but she’d left a considerable wet spot on the mattress.

Actually, it was really more of... well, an obscene mega-pool. It was a miniature ocean. It contained months and years of futile repression in its waters. It shimmered in the new morning light. Farm fresh, he thought, licking his lips.

Wriggling right back into the puddle, she sucked one of the bows on her retrieved glasses delicately, moving the tip of it in and out of her lips. She slid them on and shot him a wink.

It was the first time in her life that she’d ever worn them solely to look smart. But it wasn’t at all successful, and she knew it. She just didn’t know yet that being sort of stupid was preferable in these parts. How could she?

At this, the earliest, most tenuous of stages, she was still laboring under the hopeless desire for a career. And he wanted to help her realize her greater potential. To be a big girl, with a rich career.

A very cherub kind of career that was stuffed to the point of explosion with men, all the stuff men wanted... and repeatedly being in labor. Naturally. Godly.

They weren’t about to understand one another. Not now. Still, her body yearned, eager for the likely fulfillment in what her addled, scattered mind couldn’t even superficially process. It was too early to think.

She yawned but cut it short, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. The glasses did help a bit, though. Without them, she couldn’t have seen the raging bone that had barrelled through his boxer-briefs. She did, now. With tantalizing, crystal clarity.

It wasn’t going to be nearly as hard as she thought, to convince this guy to fuck the shit out of her. At all. His dick would be the only hard thing about it, really. And she wasn’t feeling that stupid that she couldn’t figure out his angle.

Of fucking course. He liked dumb, submissive bimbos. Duh! Big deal. It was typical, but it was easy! Fun, even. She’d never done anything like this before. She sighed, long and heavy.

Why not?

“I’m having some trouble with my homework.” Swinging her legs open and shut in a steady rhythm, she had one hand on her book, and the other squeezed between her clamping, dampening thighs.

“I’m feelin’ kinda... stupey.” She didn’t mean to say it like that, but supposed that if it came out naturally, he’d fall for the ditzy act. Fall right into her flooded, ravenous cunt. I’m a genius!

Her glasses sloped down an overworked, sweat-dotted nose. “Does ya think y’all can, like, help a lady read this part?” she asked his dick, flicking through whole chunks of upside-down pages, cute and careless...

* * *

Vin smiled at the forgotten book, wondering if Cammi—the bouncy cum-bunny that girl willed herself to turn into—had ever spent a microsecond thinking about it. The paper was all warped and curled from spilled beer. Probably not. The cover was blotted with semen. Probably mine...

* * *

The only further action the thing had seen was when he’d taken her off the bed and went right on ramming her, minutes later that same morning. Missionary style, on the shag rug. That commie-pinko volume had lodged itself underneath her writhing back. She had been the one to yank it out, though, screaming, “You smelly, dorky, sinful bookie-book!”

“You don’t really mean that,” he consoled her, quite blatant in his sarcasm. She didn’t pick up on it, too busy jacking his cock since she was made askew. She pulled her eyes open a little wider, through the fuck haze. They were moist, just this side of weepy.

She thinks I “understand” her. What a stupid bitch! She spit on his bold bone, half-lubing it up, rather pitifully. That was the trouble about newbies. It was a given that their bodies sucked, but their mouths were like sunbaked sandpaper, to boot. It was easy to forget that.

He could just barely make out her squelching slobber. Sure, there was drool, and it was continual and everything. But it was nothing like Honey Hoover, the county-famous... well, spit artist, there was no use mincing words. “I really like you,” this new bitch let him know, suddenly earnest.

He didn’t. Get back to your slavin’. Bitch needed her training. Most girls just fucked. He wasn’t interested in her life story.

Women! I’d really like your bony ass more if it... well, didn’t look anything like the way it does now, at all! You oughtta be thrown in jiggle jail for those itty-bitty bugbites up there, too. “Mnnngh,” he grunted, if only so that she’d stay shut up, dutiful and attentive to her woman’s work.

Namely blowing and, subsequently, boring him. He’d offer up his customary gigantic reserve of splooge, which always seemed to delight the newer broads. Right after they get over being taken aback by how much of it there is, and how thick.

A couple girls even called the stuff “chewy”. He was debating between shooting off on her face or just going straight for the throat-coat. It would take some time yet before anything like that happened, though. So this is what we’re doing now...

He pulled her head up by one of her makeshift ponytails, that she’d hastily done up, in mimicry of the local fashion. He almost actually let himself find it adorable. Then he brought her glazed gaze to his wristwatch, tapping on it.

All that time spent in such intimate proximity to bullboy cock, though, had tucked 95% of her brain safely away, somewhere. (_Probably in that swollen-up little ass she woke up with. Maybe that beat-up brain could convince it to plump up a bit snappier.) So, she missed the intended humiliation

Through her utter, mindless confusion, she managed to find his cock and powered up the barely-found faculties to make her head move back down onto it. When she did, and her mouth again felt super-soaked but not super-soaked enough, he let out a powerful yawn that he made sure she could hear.

She just went “mmmmm” through his wood and tarted to use her hand again, for whatever reason. Whatever. He was way too huge for her snatch, anyway. _Poor girl just couldn’t take it...

* * *

“Check out how bubbly an’ huge her handwritin’ done got,” Brandon goaded to her diary, in awe. “Only like six lines a page when she stopped.” He picked an entry at random about twenty pages from the end. It was from the brief period of time when she was back in the city, thinking she was home free.

Vin sidled up, gripped the abandoned journal. “Bubbly and huge,” he said. They spied the secret written account of her bimboization together now, jerking off side by side. “Sounds like our Cammi!”

He sounded the words out slowly, like a third-grader prompted to read by his teacher. His finger underlined each word, jittery. The deepest look of concentration clung to his chiseled face.

“I—think—something—is going—on with—me—None of my—bras fit at all—and I—can’t stop listen—ing to the—country—station Yesterday in—my lecture—class I—touched my—self and every—one could see and—hear me I was so—ashamed but—I couldn’t stop be—cause whenever I think—too much about—Cherub Cove I—just have to cum—I tried to—tell everybody this but —”

“Would you shut the fuck up?!” Brandon snapped, massaging his temples, furrowing his brow. “I can read good too, y’know.” He pulled at his throbbing erection more briskly, vision blurred and shaky from a sudden upswell of testosterone. “I read better’n you, and you know it!”

Right now, he couldn’t make out a single word. “Oh yeah?” Vin raged, shoving Brandon to the ground. A true man never backed down from a challenge. “Welp, Cammi loves big fuckin’ balls, and I got the biggest! My balls are her favoritest!”

Brandon maintained his masturbation even before getting back on his feet. “Nah, bro. She done sang that song in the shower ‘bout balls right after I teabagged ‘er!”

He didn’t really give a shit. All this insecurity usually came from the twinsies, where it was expected and encouraged. He was a man, though. He tried to change the subject.

“Hey, buddy,” he heaved, working his tool furiously, “you ever get a woody jus’ by peepin’ at they old drivin’ liscences?” The men of the house had stolen them, along with outgrown clothes and other assorted knicknacks from their recent pasts. They hid them in a chest in the basement, assuring the girls the police had to confiscate them for being the products of “outside elements”..

The girls believed them when they claimed that most of the items were recycled into baby bottles. “Totally, brah,” Vin eased up, jerking slower. Their playthings would be home any minute now, and he wanted to save every last drop to use on them. “They looked so sad way back then,” he bluffed. “Cain’t even reco’nize ‘em. Speakin’ of, when we gonna have ‘em git town ID’s wit’ they new—”

Brandon socked him in the shoulder. He meant it to hit as a playful little jab, but it landed with all of his strength. He simply had a horrifying amount of pent-up frustration, and his body forced him to unleash it. He hadn’t had sex in almost an hour!

And he just didn’t feel like calling Breezy-Lou twice in one night. She was the third redhead he’d fucked that day. He was sick of redheads! He missed his pet blondes. Vin growled at the lumbering punch he took and got into a fighting stance.

“Dude, look!” Brandon batted his brotherly opponent’s clenched fists away, feeling superior. He motioned to the dirt road underneath Cammi’s window, softly lit by a yellow moon. “They already back!” Vin and Brandon ducked down, doubling up on their jerking, out of blind, animal hunger.

The spandex-encased bimbo twins were slathered in sweat, as they languorously let their hips waltz the rest of their bodies down the street. They sashayed slowly, with sluggish but even footwork, swooping and swishing along.

Kitty and Cammi each slung a limp arm down around one another’s waists, hands cradling their respective asses, like they were teenage sweethearts. Their other hands carried the lime green trainers they’d changed out of, after their workout.

A couple of deliriously voluptuous broads in thong leotards, with their matching booty tats and wild, booty-length heads of fluffy platinum hair, they slow-mo strutted down a gravel road in silver heels. They looked idyllic, but they looked beat.

“I dun tole ‘em that workin’ out was a waste of time,” Vin whispered, seething. It was the third time they’d tried for a little excercise, and their sessions had only gotten shorter and shorter. “They that tuckered out, just from th’ indoor mini-golf?!”

The closer their pets got to the house, the more audible their heavy, over-stressed breaths became. The wads of bubblegum, smacking sticky in their spit-loaded mouths, threatened to drown that out, though. Kitty blew a bubble and popped it.

It took a few more steps for her to get around to cleaning most of the sticky stuff off her face with her tongue, scraping the rest with lazily with a long, bedazzled nail. Chewing gum and walking at the same time was such a chore sometimes.

Cammi helped her out without being asked to, as was any good bimbo’s duty in a bubblegum emergency. High heels and gum made for a volatile mix. She smooched her, to make sure there wasn’t any stuck on. She lingered long and squeezed Kitty’s tubby tush, bringing her in closer.

A pitifully thin, curveless young woman, looking to be in her late twenties, jogged by the twinsies right at the peak of their extended kiss. She turned to the side and jogged in place for a few seconds, staring them down. Kitty broke the kiss, patting Cammi on the cleavage to apologize.

“Thanks,” she mouthed, before turning around. “Can we help y’all?” Kitty sneered in her best bitchy voice, working her huge hips back and forth, annoyed, resting a fist on one. The woman just stared at the ripe cherubs with a mixture of disbelief and pity.

Kitty was momentarily taken aback by her, looked at her as if she was a space alien, then just went “psssh”, giving her the hand and turning back to Cammi’s embrace. “Aren’t you glad we’re what a real Amurrican woman should be?” she asked her, loud enough for the woman to hear.

She wore baggy shorts and a baggy tee, clothes that didn’t come close to the local Skintight Statute, that applied to all post-adolescent females. She’d get cuffed if she wore those things in daylight.

“Sluts,” she muttered, disgusted but hesitant, and spit on the gravel, jogging off into the night. Cammi pushed Kitty’s big hair to the side, so she could yell, “Damn straight, yew ugly bitch! ...and proud of it, too!”

Kitty suckled on Cammi’s neck, trying to soothe her, but still extended a middle finger behind her. A dog barked at the end of the street. A few lights in the neighborhood flickered on.

Cammi had one last thing to yell into the trail of darkness that followed the jogger. “Hope yew rot in hell, fuckin’ little- boy-ass-lookin’ little bitch!” Someone was either whistling really loudly at that or setting off fireworks, somewhere.

Vin felt proud of his girls as he looked on, and made a mental note to find out who this new stray belonged to. He wouldn’t mind helping her on her journey into the light. In fact, he did have the number of some people who might be very interested...

Brandon turned his attention back to Cammi’s abandoned journal. He’d seen the twinsies get into much worse altercations with a skinny-sinny. The worst one was over some comment some visitor made, criticizing the cow-print, bust-baring top Cammi was wearing. Many punches were thrown.

So, no, that whole thing out on the street just then was nothing. In a town where no perversion went unexposed, the discovery of this journal was a rare, secret thrill. It was open to one of the earlier entries, where she discussed the harmful effects of the male gaze on society. He had to chuckle.

She craved the male gaze nowadays. It was her only validation. The irony was not lost on his hardon, which throbbed and plumped up even more. Sluts now in front of the house, Cammi sniffed sharp little sniffs, a cock-hungry bunny rabbit, proving his point.

“You smell that?” she asked Kitty. “Smells like work to me,” Kitty answered, smirking.“Whatever it is,” Cammi decided, unbridling a floppy mam from the snug, third leotard the men had to buy her, “it sho’ smell fine!”

She pulled the other cow out. “All I knows is, my titties is hot all of a sudden-like!” she sassed, in a ridiculous volume, taking a stick of gum out from the compartment of her oversized bangle bracelet, to add to her already wad-stuffed mouth.

Cammi’s bosoms looked nearly twice as huge once out of the concealing eggplant color of the ill-fitting gym clothes. Leaving her shoulder straps on, for the two potent cocks with guys upstairs, only heightened the effect.

They were hot. They were monstrously, ridiculously hot.

Vin came at the magnificent and surreal sight of the teasing nymphets, grunted feverishly, screaming with all his manly might. His right hand just couldn’t seem to stay off his prick. He couldn’t help it. He only had five blowjobs all day! It was downright inhumane.

Their well-trained ditzes heard him cum, giggled hard, and looked up at their kings, waving. Four big tits and their matted masses of blonde ringlets waved along with them. “Hiii, big boyyyyys!” they harmonized.

Brandon was cracking up at Vin and his receding dick. “You couldn’t wait two dern minutes?!” He had splooged all over her old progressive prose.

They then fought over which one would get to plow into Cammi first. Whoever it turned out to be would have yet another jolt of testosterone in store for her, from the deliberation. Kitty would get her share, too. The slutsters knew they had no choice but to get another “workout”.