Probably part I. It feels like there's more to tell. Maybe a little different than my other three...
Her name was Melissa Hix, but everybody called her Melissa Tits.
Not to her face of course, but that was her nickname. And yes, she had huge tits. She was a junior in high school, and she had the biggest breasts I'd ever seen. (She still ranks in the top 3 even now.)
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. My name is Gary Boyd, and I was a junior too and easily the biggest geek in our class (it doesn't really matter to the story but just so you know), but back to Melissa's tits. Spectacular doesn't begin to describe them. They were like two cantaloupes proudly bursting from her chest. They stuck straight out seemingly unaffected by gravity. I swear to god they floated. And yeah I looked...ALL THE TIME.
Well I wasn't alone...the boys looked (and lied to each other about having done everything from feeling her up to coming on them)...the girls looked (mostly to make snide comments under their hands about what a slut she must be or how mortifying it would be to look like that)...the teachers looked (one of the male teachers was rumored to have tit-fucked her in exchange for an A though it was really more of ridiculous, hopeful fantasy among the student body than a legitimate reality, and the one female teacher who was thought to be a lesbian, well, let's just say that she appeared to REALLY enjoy having her in class. Again, we all wanted to think it made her so wet she slipped off her chair, but we didn't know a) if she even liked girls or ib) if she liked girls with big breasts. But why lie. It was fun thinking that Mr. David had traded a grade for a moment of forbidden pleasure and that Miss Wylie was frigging herself on her planning period thinking about Melissa.). Melissa didn't really flaunt them. Like she didn't wear stuff that showed tons of cleavage or that was super tight, but at that size, there wasn't much she could do to hide them. If she wore a button up shirt, it always gapped funny. If she wore a sweater, it looked like her nipples arrived in the room 30 seconds before her. She just had really huge boobs.
And you're probably wondering how many sets of breasts I'd seen in my tender 17 years to anoint her as the reigning Countess of Cleavage. Being a geek, I obviously wasn't getting firsthand views of the racks of the girls at school, but I had the very good fortune of working in a video store with a collection of porn for rent that gave me a connoisseur's eye for titanic tits. (And yes, I am obsessed with breasts and probably broke whatever records exist for masturbating to porn. As a side note, I once masturbated to orgasm 10 times in a 4 hour orgy of big tit-themed videos if that gives you some idea of my situation. I had to pack ice in my underwear after that.)
But back to the story. If you watched the rest of the students when she walked down the hall you could tell it must have been hell for her. Staring, leering, gesturing (hands making squeezing or cupping motions, tongues licking, mouths kissing, etc.), tit jokes whispered or yelled (“If girls with big tits work at Hooters... where do one legged women work? IHOP.” or “What do toys and boobs have in common? They were both originally made for kids, but dad ends up playing with them!” You get the idea.) I didn't know then what she did to shut it all out, but I figured it must have been awful. I mean, geez, I got shit every day because I was geeky, and it bothered me every day, but she was like a fucking side show every passing time...every lunch. But, yeah I know you're thinking it and want to ask. It didn't stop me from looking or fantasizing.
To give you some idea of how consumed I was with her breasts, I was sitting in class one day (ostensibly taking notes but in reality I was sketching pairs of boobs in various bikini tops) sneaking sidelong glances at her in the row to my right. She was wearing a short-sleeved button-up blouse. It had the usual gap right at the point of attack so to speak, and I saw her sensible, white cotton bra imprisoning those...those wonderful tits, and I was in fantasyland faster than you can say tatas.
So it was a wet t-shirt contest in Florida on spring break and I was the judge. The first contestant was a bleach blonde in a white half shirt. Her nipples were already clearly visible through the fabric. I dumped the water on her, and it plastered the fabric to her tanned skin. Her breasts were gloriously outlined against the damp shirt in my mind's eye, and my dick stretched hard against the waistband of my undies making me squirm in my desk chair. The next contestant was a brunette wearing a sleeveless t-shirt that had been slit up both sides from the bottom hem to the bottom of her armpit. When I dumped the water on her, she squeezed her ample breasts together and pulled the t-shirt together between them exposing her luscious boobs to the lusty whistles of the crowd. As they cat-called, pre-cum leaked against my skin and began to soak into my undies and shorts.
And then Melissa walked up. Her awe-inspiring rack barely contained in a homemade bikini top cut from t-shirt fabric. Two tiny triangles of white covered only the center of her nipples leaving her aureolae exposed. Impossibly thin strands of cut t-shirt stretched from the “cups” around her back and up to her neck. Every square inch of the delicious curves of her boobs glistened in the sun. As I went to dump the water on her, she grabbed the bucket in one hand, squeezed my package quickly with the other, and then dumped it over her chest. As she threw her chest out, the strain popped the fragile strings, and I was overcome as her enormous nipples grew erect capping off the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. In my pants without the slightest physical stimulation, I spilled an impressive load leaving me embarrassed, a little confused by the strength of the fantasy, and uncomfortably sticky.
So yes, she had me wrapped around her nipple even if she didn't know it.
But I was going to get a show that beat that all to hell.
So as spring passed into the beginnings of summer and the end of school, I kept doing what I was good at. I went to school spending the day hard as a rock wishing Melissa Tits could be mine, worked most days after school, and watched porn as often as I could. My focus changed though from sheer quantity of orgasms to quality. I had read that guys who delayed coming rather than beating off like a madman would then be much better lovers because they could last longer. I picked up this tidbit from Glamour (a guilty pleasure I learned to love when I saw how many articles were about what “guys really want in bed” and the sometimes horrifying, sometimes comical, always helpful letters, questions, and comments women submitted about sex. With all the video sex I could handle, pics of naked girls just didn't do it, so Glamour had taken Playboy's usual place in my teenaged sexcapades. For some reason thinking that guys really could ask a girl to pretend to be a hooker to add spice to sex was so much more compelling than knowing that some chick liked ice cream sundaes and hated men who smoke.)
So here I was choosing porn that was tailor-made for my tastes (huge boobs of course) and deliberately trying NOT to come until the very last pearly-white drop landed on a set of mashed together breasts. I managed to get where I could somewhat aggressively stroke my cock for 2 straight hours maintaining a massive erection and come only when I wanted to. If only I could have found a human to share that with. Instead I had to be satisfied with the likes of Jenna Jameson and Stormy Daniels.
And then one day about a week before school ended, I had a longer than usual Computer Club meeting. We typically did routine maintenance on the school's labs in exchange for a credit in Computer Technology. That day we were reloading every machine from an image on the network and then checking every machine for any glitches. I was the last hold out wanting to be done rather than coming back the next day, so I offered to lock up as they all bailed. Another half hour or so, and I was on the way out the door. The exit that was closest to my locker ran right by the gym. The gym doors were usually open, and it was the rule that day as well. I happened to look in as matter of idle curiosity and saw Melissa step down the last stair from the weight room, turn, and enter the locker room. No one followed her. A moment's quiet listening told me the gym seemed empty.
And you can bet I dared. I fairly ran to the women's locker room having fully committed to the plan regardless of the consequences. I slipped in the door, slunk down the short entry hallway, and listened at the end. The sound of one locker shutting was impossibly loud, but it was the only such sound. My penis ached in my shorts, and my mind was focused on only one thing. Melissa Tits. I heard a shower turn on, and I waited but a moment before quietly creeping in and around the lockers until I could see in the showers. And she was there. And she was soaping her amazing breasts. Her hands cupped and lathered and rinsed those magnificent globes, and as the soap sluiced down her body (to this day I still can't tell you anything else about her body from that memory except what her perfect tits looked like), all the time spent increasing my “performance window”, well, it went right out the door because I simply dropped my shorts and undies, licked my right palm once for what was totally unnecessary lubrication given the fountain of pre-come that was already spewing from the head, grabbed my throbbing erection and beat off like I was trying for a land speed record.
I brought myself to orgasm in 5 or 6 seconds, spewed what felt like the single largest output I'd ever managed over the bench and locker nearest me, stuffed my still-leaking cock back in my clothes, and ran like hell. I ran home, locked myself in my room, lay on my bed, and replayed that moment. The harsh lights of the shower reflecting off her impossible curves. The soap dripping from her nipples. How could one woman have such beautiful tits? How could she be so close and so unattainable? How could I find a way to have her unclasp her bra inches from my tongue, so that I could worship her fantastic breasts like goddesses of old? I was hard again in mere minutes. I was rubbing my penis again slowly savoring the memory. I wanted to remember this forever, so I replayed it exactly fixing it in my memory. I brought myself close to orgasm again and replayed the scene from my first glimpse of her in the gym. The urge to spill receded as I ran again into the locker room. I picked up the pace on my cock as I looked into the shower and again just as I was about to come, I released my grip.
I coated my hand with the wetness of my previous ejaculation and whatever else presented itself from the head and began to furiously rub my slick palm across the most sensitive part of the head faster and faster until my breath was ragged and my penis aching for release. I brought myself close to orgasm countless times over the next 2 hours until any further stimulation would cross the line to pain rather than pleasure. I was quite literally as primed to come as I ever had been in my entire life. My cock was taut, and the veins stood out in remarkable detail. The head was purple, swollen, and covered in salvia, semen, and pre-come. My balls moved up and down as if egging me on. “Go on. Do it. We're ready. GO ON! COME!”
I closed my eyes one last time, licked my hand again to ensure I was going to be able to masturbate with reckless abandon, and fixed the most impressive image from my stolen glimpse at Melissa Tits in my mind. Both hands on those unbelievable tits crushing them against her body as she soaped them, and I started a slow rhythm up and down my shaft. Down to the bottom pushing my erection out away from my body. Back up and all the way over and off the top. Down and up. I could feel each finger slipping across the ridge of the head. I reveled in the tingle as I pushed my penis out from me as if I had a huge cock ring around the base. Remembering something I had seen in a porno the other day (for the first time ironically), I turned my hand so that the thumb was down rather than up. The feeling of my fingertips sliding across the underside of my head was mind-boggling. Locked in on the vision of Melissa, I brought myself to orgasm slowly until I was at and then beyond the point of no-return. I could feel the come like a geyser but held in place by my will. My libido and my balls were pushing the seed hard, but I held it back by my desire to go farther. I jerked again and again gritting my teeth and holding my breath. Again. Again. Again, and finally with a gasp, I allowed the geyser to blow. Come spewed from my dick. Strand after strand fell on my hand, my chest, my bed, my legs, my face. And there in my mind, each spurt flew through the air and splattered on her delicious tits.