Our story takes place in a fantasy world where the men are well endowed, unafraid to show it and eager to please lovely young ladies.
Lucy Stevens had gone to bed around ten that evening; after all it was a school night. However, she awoke a couple of hours later with an uncomfortable bladder. The extra bottle of water she’d used to wash down a spicy nacho dip had come back to haunt her. As she rolled out of bed, she checked the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was just past midnight. She was officially eighteen years of age.
She was a legal adult now, and she felt mostly unprepared for it. She had been a bit of an introvert growing up, shy and uncommunicative. By her mid-teens she had begun to emerge from this socially awkward phase. But then her stick thin body had blossomed with all the subtlety of a bucket of ice water over the head. Her late to bloom body had created a whole new set of problems. If you considered being blonde, beautiful and buxom a problem that is.
Lucy opened the door to her room and saw light coming from the guest bedroom down the hall. Wesley, ‘call me Wes,’ Chapman was staying the night. She’d seen him from time to time over the years. He was the son of one of her father’s friends. He was eight years older than her, and he seemed painfully shy despite the fact that he was cute, fit and obviously smart. Wes and her father had been huddled over some papers all day. In fact, they’d still been at it when she’d gone to bed.
Full of curiosity, Lucy crept down the hall in her bare feet. The door to the guestroom was sprung and closed with only great difficulty. Wes had pulled the door closed until it began to stick and then he’d let it be. Lucy eased forward until she could see into the room through the opening between the door and the doorframe.
Wes was propped up in bed against a couple of pillows. He was a nice looking guy, not quite thirty years of age, with sharp features and a mop of thick, black hair. He was wearing a pair of boxers and a black tee shirt. Beside him on the bed, was a large book. He was slowly turning a page.
The one thing that really caught Lucy’s eye however, was the enormous cock that was thrust up from the slit in his underwear. “Oh, my gosh,” she said in the faintest of whispers. The hand that wasn’t busy with the book was busy running up and down the length of his cock. Clearly, he was jacking off to something in the book. But what? When she could drag her eyes away from Wes’ massive shaft with its bulging blue veins and a cum-tube that had to be bigger than her forefinger, she recognized the book as a photo album she’d been given.
Lucy was a member of her school’s track team. The previous season, Adam Franklin, who was her history teacher, had come to a couple of meets and taken numerous pictures of the team. A week later, he had come to Lucy and said, “I printed high resolution copies of some of those pictures I took. I want you go through them and pick out a dozen or so. From those, I’ll choose which ones I want for the yearbook.” Franklin was also the faculty member in charge of the school’s yearbook.
As Lucy had slowly taken the album from his hands, she had said. “Alice is the team captain. Shouldn’t you ask her?”
Franklin had smiled and shaken his head. “If there’s such a thing as the soul of an artist, Alice doesn’t have one. Pick out the ones you like.”
Lucy had brought the album home. When she went through it, she found to her chagrin that a full quarter of the pictures were of her. And in half of the remaining pictures, she was in the background or in a group shot. She had picked out only one modest shot of herself, and then eleven of the rest of the team. After removing the pictures from the album so she could give them to Franklin, she had tossed it into a drawer in the guest room. And that was where Wes had found it.
From the guestroom, Lucy heard Wes softly murmur, “Holy shit, Lucy, your tits are amazing.”
Lucy blushed. A grown man was jacking off while ogling her breasts. She had mixed feelings about her breasts. Her mother was buxom as was her grandmother, but for a long time Lucy thought she was going to have to settle for a couple of bumps. Then around eighteen months ago they had begun to grow. For six months her tits expanded, sometimes painfully so. Now she had full D-cups on her relatively slender frame. Their sudden appearance had been both a source of pride and embarrassment. With the exception of close friends, everyone at school, it seemed, had some comment to make on her spectacular assets. Few of the comments were kind.
When she confessed to her mother that she didn’t know how to handle the sudden attention, her mother had said, “Look, men are prisoners of their own sexuality, ignore them. Women who make catty remarks are simply jealous of your looks. The more scathing the remark, the more they’re acknowledging your superiority.”
“Amazing, fucking amazing,” Wes said. His eyes eagerly scanned from one pic to the next.
Without thinking about it, Lucy reached between her legs and began to manipulate her clitoral hood with a middle finger. She was masturbating to the guy who was masturbating to her. She could feel her clit becoming suffused with blood. Her finger moved in circles, stimulating first one side of her clit and then the other. Could she match his excitement? Could she come when he came?
“That ass, those tits, could you be any sexier?” Wes whispered as hand flashed up and down the top half of his dick.
Lucy had to admit, she did look good in those photos Mr. Franklin had taken of her in her runner’s gear. Her legs were long and sleek. Her shorts were molded to her ass and rode low on her hips. She had a tiny waist with just a hint of abs. And then there was the center of Wes’ admiration, her breasts. At first, when she ran, the shifting weight on her chest had bothered her. She had tried a dozen combinations of multiple bras and tops, none of them satisfactory. Then she had discovered a runner’s compression top that fit wonderfully and kept everything in place. And while the top may have compressed her breasts, the thickness and placement of padding in the cups both lifted and enhanced what Mother Nature had given her. So much so that her team mates kidded her about her unfair advantage because her jutting tits crossed finish lines seemingly long before the rest of her body.
Wes stroked his cock with frantic, uneven movements. He desperately flipped back through the album. Finding a certain picture, he said in a strangled whisper, “Yes, that’s the one. Those legs. Those tits all thrusting out like that. Oh yes. Oh fucking yessss.”
Lucy whipped her finger over her bare clit as she watched a veritable column of man-cream erupted from Wes’ cum-slit. It climbed over two, maybe three feet straight up, seemed to hang there and then collapsed with a long splash onto his tee shirt. It was followed by another white stream that may have climbed even higher.
“He’s coming, he’s coming so much,” Lucy said in amazement. Her finger pressed harder on her clit and a bolt of sheer pleasure shot through her pussy. She couldn’t take her eyes off his spewing dick just like his eyes were locked on one of her pictures. Fat streams of cum fell through the air as her pussy shuddered again and again.
When the waves of orgasmic sensuality ebbed, Lucy made her way back to her room. She fell to sleep with visions of hot cum curving, looping and falling through the air. It was a couple of hours later that her bladder insisted she stop fooling around and get her business done.
Lucy was in the shower the next morning, running a soapy loofa between her breasts, when she had an epiphany. Wes had been beating off to her pictures in the album, but Mr. Franklin had made the album. He was the one who had put all those pictures of her in there. Did Mr. Franklin think of her like Wes did? Was he at home masturbating to her image everyday while ignoring his wife? That seemed unlikely, if only because she was pretty sure he was single. Still, she felt a sexy shiver run through her pussy. On another day, Lucy might have lingered in the shower and fingered herself to orgasm, but she was in a hurry today. By coincidence, she wanted to be at school early so she could have time to talk to Mr. Franklin.
A few minutes later, she stood in front of her closet, looking for something to wear. She had lots of clothing, but most of the stuff her school permitted was in the laundry pile. The dress code was: shorts or skirts, no shorter than the top of the knee, capris or slacks, not too tight, tops had to have sleeves and show no cleavage. Permissible colors were white, black tan, or navy. No graphics or designs. No headgear inside the school.
Lucy wanted to impress Mr. Franklin, so she picked a black skirt that pushed the boundaries of tightness across her butt. For a top she chose a fitted white cotton shirt. It didn’t show any cleavage, but it was clear that if a certain straining button were to let go there’d be a sight to behold. A few minutes with her hair and makeup and she was good to go.
“There’s the birthday girl,” Lucy’s mother said as she walked into the kitchen. She and Wes were sipping coffee and watching the news. Her mother was in her robe, and the empty plate in front of Wes showed that he’d eaten breakfast.
Lucy greeted them and then poured a cup of coffee. As she put liberal amounts of cream and sugar in the cup she asked, “Where’s Dad?”
“He went in early,” her mother said.
.... There is more of this story ...