Thursday, January 19, 2017

Pass Around Joy - 7 Joy Ride

I could hardly contain myself when our lips met shortly after the Reno retort. Each button on her simple white blouse gave a momentary explosion in my brain as each hole gave up it’s delicate disk. When all of the magnificent cups exuding their abundance of Joy were revealed I was nearly blinded but the whiteness and expanse of material that restrained her joyous tits. With her blouse open the soft fleshy mounds swelled over their cups. I laid kisses over the bare flesh above and even slipped my tongue to taste the salty cleavage were those two mounds of Joy met. My first taste of divine big tits was a foreshadowing of delights to come.


My hands were roiled by her curves. The expanse of sweet soft breast flesh had my eyes and hands fixated. I ran my hands over and around those luscious orbs as they flowed with soft sweetness under my caresses.


I had found the perfect parking space between two large station wagons on a short street that dead ended near one of the railroad embankments that carved up the city with engineering precision. It was hasty but effective parallel parking maneuver while Joy performed her magic on my button fly 501 jeans. Once parked I echoed that motion with a quick dispatch of the fly on her skin tight blue jeans given me purchase with in her flimsy, though equally shocking white cotton panties. When my finger found the dampness below I plunged further and hung a right turn up and around Joys inner bends and she gave a gasp of approval while losing focus on her task at hand at the gate of my button fly jeans.


By the time her jeans had disappeared along with white cotton panties, her brassiere had also joined the dustbin of my sexual history even though her blouse still lay draped around her boobs in a most theatrical proscenium fashion. Her soft round derriere flanks were pressed into the black leather of the Bonneville from my weight resting on her fleshy firm thighs, while her feet found leverage on the automobile ceiling's upholstery.


The feel of her naked globes pressed against my naked chest while my mouth drank deep from her lip ringed goblet as my pestle stirred within her moist mortar below made all the conversation that followed her Reno denunciation irrelevant. I was savoring my very first encounter with a big titted woman and nothing else mattered.


Not Nanny. Not Bwanna. Not Beverly. Just Joys bouncing breasts as we fucked to the music of sweet Detroit suspension metal on metal, flesh on flesh, screeching slapping autoerotic strata storybook tit bouncing bravado.

Tits.