Chapter 447: The Soft Channel (R-18)

Stan looked at the embarrassed curve of her and shook his head, fond and wrecked. Why wouldn’t he be attracted to her. That figure. That insane ass that had been grinding on him since she climbed into the bed. Those big, heavy tits filling his hands and his mouth like they’d been made to ruin him. How could he not want her when she possessed all of that and then asked, in that small voice, whether he loved her as a woman.

Her next words came out meekly against his shoulder.

"Should I do it..."

He knew what she meant. She’s asking him if she could position her breast and sandwich his dick...

He knew she’s doing that not only that she wanted to please him. That she was curious, how it would feel to put his hard, throbbing cock between those two soft weights and let him use them.

"Of course," he said.

Mia went back down blushing, on her knees between his thighs again. She gathered her breasts in both hands, shy and determined, and leaned in until the flushed head of him disappeared into the deep, warm valley of her cleavage. Then she pressed in.

The feeling punched a groan out of him.

Heavenly wasn’t a joke. Soft. Hot. Heavy. The kind of squeeze that wasn’t tight like a fist or a throat but enveloping, plush, giving and then holding, her skin already a little slick from spit and from how much he’d had his mouth on her. His cock sat trapped in that softness, the head peeking from the top of her cleavage when she pressed hard enough, the shaft hugged on both sides by the full swell of her.

"Fuck, Mia."

She looked up, checking his face again, the same studious innocence that had undone him in her mouth.

Stan’s hands covered hers for a second, showing her the pressure.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," he got out, hips twitching up into that softness. "Sorry for wasting your time agreeing to the blowjob and boobjob when I could’ve just fucked you and shown you peak pleasure instead.. I can’t wait to fuck you hard after this."

Mia blushed to her ears. The words still appeased something hungry in her. She was still dripping. Still empty. His fingers earlier hadn’t been enough; they had only made the need sharper. So she felt a bit glad when he said it...

’After this. He said after this.’

"Hold them together," he guided, voice low. "Tighter. Use your hands on the sides. Slide. Don’t just sit there, move. Up and down. Let me fuck the middle."

She followed, wanting to give him the best of it, breasts wrapped around him in a messy, perfect slide. The head punched up through her cleavage on every stroke. Soft flesh dragged along the wet shaft. She was inexperienced and it showed in the uneven rhythm, and that only made it filthier.

"That’s it. Look at that. Your tits were made to hold a cock. Made to hold mine." He thrust up to meet her, the fat head popping into view and disappearing again. "You can lick it when it comes up. Suck the tip. You don’t have to stop the slide."

Mia leaned down as he told her to. The next time his cock surged up between her breasts she dragged her tongue over the head, then caught it between her lips and sucked like a lollipop for two wet seconds before it slipped back down into the squeeze of her cleavage.

Stan swore.

The feeling stacked, plush heat around his shaft, then the sudden velvet of her mouth on the tip, tongue swirling, then softness again. She did it every few strokes, learning. Lick. Suck. Slide. Eyes flicking up to his face to see which one made his jaw go tight.

’He looks wrecked. He’s looking at my chest like he wants to live there. I like that. I like that he said he loves me as a woman.’

"Spit," he said. "On the head. On your tits. Make it sloppy or it’ll drag."

She did, embarrassed and obedient, a thread of spit dropping onto the flushed tip and smearing between her breasts until the slide turned filthy-wet. His cock glistened every time it appeared. She sucked it when it did, shallow and eager, then pressed her breasts in harder and stroked him with them the way he’d shown her.

"Fuck. Good. Faster now. Keep that mouth ready. I’m going to use these and you’re going to let me."

Mia moaned against the head when she took it again, the sound vibrating over sensitive skin. She was dripping down her own thighs, need ignored on purpose so she could do this well. Stan’s hands came to the outside of her breasts and helped her squeeze, helping her find a rhythm that was less shy and more fucking, his cock pistoning through that soft channel, her tongue greeting it at the top like a reward.

"You feel that?" he asked, breathless. "That’s how obsessed I am. Not a friend thing. A I-want-to-come-all-over-these-tits thing. A I-want-to-put-you-on-your-back-after-this thing."

She hid her face against him for a second, still stroking, still licking when the head nudged her lips.

"Then after this," she whispered, meek and wet-mouthed, "don’t make me wait."

Stan’s laugh broke into a groan as she sucked the tip again and squeezed him tight between those heavy, perfect breasts.

"I won’t."

She kept the slide going the way he’d taught her, breasts wrapped tight, spit-slick, the thick head punching up through her cleavage on every stroke. Then she leaned farther down.

The next time he thrust up between them, she didn’t just lick.

She opened and took him.

Mouth and tits at once. The head slid from that soft channel straight onto her tongue and she sank, trying to swallow around him while her hands kept her breasts squeezed along the shaft she couldn’t fit. The angle was messy. Her eyes watered. The first time her throat closed she gagged and pulled off with a wet gasp, spit stringing from her lip down onto the flushed tip still nestled in her cleavage.

Stan groaned like he’d been hit.

"Mia, fuck."