Budding Boobs

Chapter 1

Babette's budding boobs were enough to bring tears to a young man's eyes.

Evidently.

If that young man were a romantic like her boy- friend Channing Bentley.

Or so Babette thought.

At first.

Babette read the lines of poetry young Channing had sent to her.

Composed on his heavy ribbed personal stationery. Ribbed paper like raw silk.

With fancy family crest embossed.

She read the poem again.

And again.

And once more-over the telephone-to each of her closest girlfriends.

Poetry about the spring.

The breeze.

Buds and flowers.

Shady trees.

Birds and bees.

Spreading knees.

Girls who tease.

Adamant pleas.

Fecund thoughts of young love.

Images tart and naive.

To make Babette's bosom heave.

And there.

Smeared along the bottom of the page.

Remains of-tears?-shed by the love-possessed writer of the lines above.

Lyrics of love that brought a rise to the insides of Babette's thighs.

Sighs to her breast.

And an itch to her clit.

Enough to turn her bitch.

"Oh, Darleene. You wouldn't believe it. The way it makes me feel to read it."

"Naw, Babette. I can believe it okay. It's just, like, no one ever wrote a poem for me. I think Rudolph Blastitoff-you know, that dude who calls himself the Rude Warrior?-wrote some heavy metal rock lyrics he said were about me. But they sounded more like they were about slugging it out in a mud-wrestling bout than about, like, love."

"Well this one-I think it is. You know, nature and all. Doesn't mention fucking or making out. Not in those words."

"Bitchin', babes. Sounds like he really means it. Or maybe he's just more devious than most guys who are trying to pry themselves into your panties. At least it shows some imagination."

"You mean, like, in art?"

"Yeah."

"I think he's real smart."

"That's a start."

"You said there was a candy heart inside?"

"Yeah. And he cried!"

"Did he write that?"

"I can see the tears, dear."

"Look again, Babette."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you know they're tears?"

"Well-"

"Are they clear?"

"Uh-"

"How crinkly is the paper?"

"Hmmm."

"What do you say?"

"Maybe he spilled something."

"Sure. Go on-kid me."

"Darleene-"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"What you're afraid to."

"And what is that?"

"He spilled something, all right."

"So?"

"He spilled his seed."

"Seed?"

"It's come."

"Huh?"

"Babette, doll. Hate to tell you this. Well, like, I don't actually hate telling you this. I mean, I think it's kind of an honor."

"Shit. I know what you're saying."

"Then you tell me."

"Yeah. He jacked oft"

"Yup. Bodacious."

"This is his sperm right here."

"Did you lick it?"

"Oh, gross, Darleene."

"I'd taste it if I were you, Babette. Lap it right on up."

"Gag me with a scumsicle."

"I'm not kidding."

"You actually would lick some guy's dried jizz right off the paper like that?"

"If it were meant for me I would."

"I'll sniff it."

"Yeah?"

"Can't tell"

"Put your tonguetip to it."

Crinkle.

Slurp.

"I can't really taste anything, Darleene. I'll try some more."

"It's the thought that counts."

"Amazing."

"Yes?"

"The longer you lick-like, the more the flavor comes out. Gets thick in your mouth. You can move it around with your tongue."

"Oooooh."

"Maybe I'm imagining it."

"Ever see his pecker?"

"Never."

"Ever taste it for real?"

"How could I? I mean, if I've never even seen his dick. You know, naked."

"You can suck cock without seeing it."

"Oh, come on."

"In the dark."

"Why not blindfolded?"

"Tee hee hee. Maybe. Not a bad idea from a little cherry."

"Make me blush."

"Already did. Didn't I?"

"Now it's my turn."

"For what?"

"To make you blush."

"Oh."

"Guess what I'm doing."

"Sucking the scum from that paper."

"Mmm. More."

"Omigawd!"

"What, Darleene?"

"Don't, Babette. I can hear it. I'm really jealous of you, doll."

"Feels good when I rub it right there."

"Oh, no."

"It's scraping against my pubic hairs. Getting caked with my cream."

"What a dream!"

"It's between my pussylips."

"Starting to drip?"

"Mmm hm. And now. Gotta roll my teeshirt up a little more. There."

"Right between your tits, huh?"

"And on the nips."

Babette smiled with her eyes closed. Thought of Darleene's mouth speaking, Sometimes the smutty things Darleene often said got Babette all worked up by themselves.

Babette thought of Darleene's mouth moving away. Thought of those lips on her lips.

Those times they had kissed, girl to girl while skinny-dipping together in Babette's backyard pool. Lips on hips. But not both sets mouthlips.

Facelips on cuntlips.

Mouthcheeks between asscheeks.

Babette would be scared, but fantasy land was a safe place to be.

So for a moment Babette allowed herself to chew another woman's snatch from behind in her mind. Nosh on the gash.

Asscheeks held between teeth.

Tongue up inside asshole.

Darleene spoke on.

"Send the poem back to him. See if he can eat your come from it."

"Ha ha. Good idea, but I can't. He's traveling around. It came from Arabia, I think."

"Peachy."

"Shit, Darleene. I'd like to squeeze him. But he won't get back until-fuck! I can't fucking believe it, hon."

"Yeah?"

"We'll be at the state fair next week. Like, I think all that week. That is, if we make it to the finals of the band contest."

"Oh. That's when he's supposed to get back? Maybe he can come down."

"Thought of that. But I don't want to take a chance. I mean-I don't want to talk to his parents. Know what I mean?"

"They're like that, huh?"

"Worse than that. They think that, like, because they have all this money-"

"Snobs."

"They think I'm trash, in fact."

"Sure it's not your head?"

"That's where they're coming from. Want their son to mix it up with a debutante."

"Aren't many of those around this town."

"Except maybe Suzanne Radcliffe."

"She puts out."

"Huh?"

"Yeah."

"Come on."

"Believe so."

"How do you know."

"My brother told me."

"Dudes always say that to you. It's supposed to make you think it's okay to go down with them the first time they see you."

"Well, Babette. Don't want to break this to you, doll, but I don't think my brother's trying to ball me-not at all."

"Ha ha ha ha ha. Guess you're right. What did Patrick say about Suzanne?"

"He's fucked her."

"Patrick? Sure."

"Fucked her mouth. Fucked her ass. Fucked her cunt. Ate her twat. Ate her rump."

"No tittyfuck?"

"Says hers are too small."

"Doesn't really look like it."

"Well, she wears falsies, you know."

"Never saw her-like, in the locker room or any-thing. Does her pussy have fuzz yet?"

"More than yours."

"I'm a late-bloomer, Darleene. Always have been. Always will be, I guess."

"Well, you're the oldest virgin I know, Babette. That's for shit-sure."

"You don't think a lot of the other ones were lying. I mean, they can't all fuck like they say they do-and still walk."

"Who knows?"

"And you, Darleene. You never really said straight out that you'd lost it."

"Uh-"

"You talk about it all the time like you really have done it. But never anything real specific. Oh, not that you should get that personal, necessarily. But, you know."

"Can't talk about it now, Babette. Like, the door's ringing and I think it's Rudolph. He always show up like this. If he gets past my parents, I might have a quick date."

"Good lick."

"Thanks. Oh, and-uh, Babette. Give it a few yanks for me. Won't you?"

"What?"

"Your furbag. Your clit. Give your goodies a good hit for me."

"Jeez."

"Nighty-night."

"Outasight."

Babette tightened her mouth.

Who else should she call?

Or was it past that point already.

There was a spinning in her head. Grinning in the smile below her belt.

Babette reached down and felt.

Damp beaver pelt.

Itching like a bitch.

Her hips did twitch.

Stabbed her clit.

Flinched.

Dabbed her fingers in her cleft.

Pusslips sighed apart.

Pressed in with her fingers.

Sank in an inch.

"Unh."

She saw Channing's face before her. Staring into her eyes.

Trying her bod on for size. Rise in his thighs.

Somehow, Babette was more comfortable with him in her imagination. In her fantasy world, where she could do anything she pleased.

Babette flipped her fanny up.

She arched her back.

Pressed her pussy to the bedpost.

Rocked her haunch.

Felt the raunch run out of her quim.

Thinking of him.

In the state they were in.

"Do you really love me?" she said to him in her mind. "Like you said?"

"I meant every word."

"It's not just so-uh-you know. So you can get my pants down."

"Of course not, Babette."

"I hope you don't think I'm rude. But, you know. A girl has got to watch out."

"I know. A lot of guys are like that. But I'm not like that. I'm different."

"Mmmmm. Your kisses are different."

"Babette?"

"Yum."

"You didn't tell me."

"Oh?"

"That you love me."

"Oh, yes, Channing. I thought you knew. Of course I do."

"Now spread your legs."

"Beg."

"I beg you to fuck."

"That is love. Will you be rough?"

"Enough."

"Do any other stuff?"

"You know I'm tough."

"Mmm. Better say please."

"Please spread your legs."

"Do you think I'm a tease?"

"Want me on my knees?"

"Good idea."

In Babette's fantasization, Channing Bentley IV found humility before her.

He sank to one knee. Like a gallant knight or a Prince Charming.

His honor was disarming.

He wouldn't take advantage of a maid.

Not that he wouldn't take her.

Make her.

Stroke her.

Poke her.

But he would not want to warp her.

He would fuck her honestly.

Fuck her straightforwardly.

Fuck her with honor.

"I'm honored," she imagined he said.

Kissed her hand.

Licked it.

Fondled her wrist.

Brought it down.

Between his legs.

Babette felt the hard thing between his legs. Like a wild thing.

Moving, with a life of its own. Scurrying somewhere within itself.

The thickness, the heft. The balls hobbling beneath the prick.

Babette could feel it through the material in his pants. And it sure felt real. So real her cunt peeled off another layer of skin as she humped with her rump against her bedpost.

Where was it?

His poetry.

Babette seized up the crinkled paper. Dripping with her cuntcream and Channing's jissom. She tried to read the verse once more.

But the ink had run.

Smeared.

Poetry destroyed.

Well, she'd make more.

"You want me to touch you more there?" Babette asked him in her mind.

"Yes. Naked."

Babette unsnapped his-what? She'd make it a swimsuit he was wearing.

So in that case, she would just have to untie the string, maybe.

Naw. Still too complicated.

He wore a-hell, he wore a fucking towel and they were in the sauna!

Didn't have to do anything.

His cock stood straight out in his crotch. The prick leapt at her first touch.

The towel slid down.

The cock popped up.

Babette dropped her palm. Wrapped it about the haft of Channing's honker.

Drifted her fingers up and down along the length of the erection.

Rubbed her fingers around the rim right behind the head. Twisted the cock.

Strangled its neck.

"Uh," he said.

"Good?"

"Unh huh."

"How about this?"

"Yes."

Babette ran her fingers up and down the curled up paper upon which Channing's poem had been written. Her eyes went blank.

She was smitten.

Could actually feel the cock.

As though it were there.

Caught in her hair.

As Babette craned her neck.

Brought her rubyfruit lips into contact with cock. Hard as a rock.

Slickered it first.

Ran her pointed tongue down the prick from the head to the root. Took the shoots of pudhair between her teeth.

Twirled them gently.

Yanked out.

"Oooooh."

She smelled the oil of his ballocks. Saw the nuts beef up in size.

She gave the nougats a squeeze.

Saw his belly stiffen. Muscles all around his haunch tightened as if in fright.

"Awk!"

"It didn't hurt, now. Did it, Channing? I didn't mean to, you know."

"It's okay."

Babette tightened her fingers about the twanger again. Shafted her fist up.

Stretched the prick out.

Jackhammered down.

"Unh."

Jerked it up again.

Then hawked the hog in her yip. Piping it down her throat.

"Oh. Ah."

Babette sucked the dick in deeper with each suctioning breath. Simultaneously she stroked the poker with her fingers.

Then in midst of suck, she roughed it up. Snagged the scrotum with her fingernails. Nabbed the nuts with her thumb.

"Ngh."

"Just for fan."

"No, Babette. It's great. I can't wait. Jeez. I'm going to come."

Babette hopped her head on the hog. Crammed it down her throat.

Bloated her cheeks and blew out.

The prick popped backward. Till her teeth took hold of it by the head.

"Ahhhh."

She crackled her teeth on it. Crunched the crispy cockmeat in her chompers.

"Great, Babette."

Babette fanned the waving ballsac with her open hand. Hustling his hump.

Fistfucking his penis.

Mouthfucking her face.

She plopped her hand into place. Stirred his balls like crazy.

The jissom fizzed.

"Eaugh."

Mist cloaked her eyes.

Tears of passion and joy jumped down her face. Eroticizing with the smutch of her saliva. Collected on her jawline.

Dripped from her chin.

Hit.

Splat!

Between the tits.

Mixed with the sweat sliming out from her underarms. The pungent mulch creamed over her belly. Angled down and in.

Joined the ooze from her loins.

Babette closed the balls together like two shells of a clam.

She sensed the sperm shaking loose.

Felt the eruption up the cords and into the root of the dickmeat. Stroking and suckering, she knew the come was coursing toward the head.

Babette herky-jerked her head.

Worked her tongue and lips.

Pressed in upon his asscheek.

Pulled his nutsac.

Yanked her head back.

Cra-a-ack!

Took a splat.

Come snapped against her teeth.

She parted her mouth wider.

The come inside hung momentarily in strands from her lips and teeth. Babette breathed deeply and applied her mouth organ.

The sperm flew right down her throat.

She began to gloat.

And the next shot of jizz was the biggest one yet. Pressuring her facecheeks from inside. Filling the spaces between her teeth. Clogging her nose and choking her throat.

"Unh-unh-nh."

Babette shook her head.

Hogged more of the cream from his honker. Slid her hands in jacking action.

Bent her head back. Popped the pecker from her mouth. Dropped her chin.

One of the last blasts of choadmucus traced a line over her face.

Squiggling on her cheek.

Dappling her jabbering jaw.

Babette reached and took hold of the prick once more. Milked it like-not a cow, silly, she observed to herself.

She couldn't milk a dick.

One couldn't milk a bull.

But the thought gave her a chance to brace herself. To savor the imagined taste.

So that the last gasp would not be a waste. She held the spurting member close.

Pumped the final roundelay of come.

The anticipation of warmth.

Dankness.

Yeasty ferment.

And then it came.

Once more.

Prick spattering gore.

Splat!

That was it.

Between the tits.

He bent.

Kissed her.

Twanged her titties.

Gnarled them in his fists.

Massaged his shot rotgut into her flesh. Jamming the knots of come into the pinkness that surrounded each nipple.

"The best, Babette."

"Oh. Channing. That was great."

As Babette spoke, she pulsed residue of come and sputum from the sides of her mouth.

She felt the spermjuice seep to the point of her chin and hang.

The trains of jissom and spittle sparkled in the light like silvery threads.

The lengths of jissomy twine broke. Swung against her chest.

Adding more chains of come to the juices that her lover Channing would press into her. Mauling that titflesh.

Glazing her budding boobs.

Lubricating them with their mixed juices of love and lust and smutch.

"More," Babette said to her imagined suitor. "We can do it some more."

With her mind blazing full of savory dreams, Babette streamed cream on the bedpost where she leaned. She slimed cuntcome from her crotch to her knees. Squeezed her hiney.

Oozed out some more.

Slid down the bedpost.

Off the mattress.

To the floor.

Babette opened her eyes. Tossed off the tears with a shake of the head.

Jumped her eyes to the bedstead.

She smiled as she realized just how much joyjuice had been within her.

There on the bedpost was the evidence at hand. Cuntcome from her fantasy fun.

Running downward from the tapered bulblike finial of the post. That decoration Babette always thought looked like a fish.

Or the head of a prick.

Babette smiled. Brought a finger to her chin. She was growing wise.

Drew her finger down the length of the bedpost. Where she had rutted her hump.

Fucked the stump.

Hauled her tail.

Left a trail like a snail.