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\n\t\t\t\t\t| " | \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tHooters to the left of me Fat buns to the right Here I am Stuck in the middle with you Stealers Wheel, 1972 \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
Car journeys. In the right circumstances, they can be quite enjoyable. Maybe you take a book, maybe you take an MP3 player, or maybe you just look out of the window and see what you can see.
This was not the case, however, for one Toby Hamilton.
The Hamilton family was a classic Range Rover, all size and squareness, big and boxy. Toby's father, Rusty, had insisted that this be the vehicle that he transport his family around in for that precise reason.
But as roomy as the interior of it was, it simply wasn't roomy enough for him and his big sisters.
To his right was Amanda. A big, brown bruiser of a vixen, her body was as toned as a sixteen-year-old's body could possibly be, thanks to a training regime and many gym visits.
This, however, did nothing to trim down the enormous chocolatey globes of her fat backside, filling her tights and spilling over the rim of them.
But to Toby's arousing unease, Amanda was leaning over to stare through the window at the passing scenery, not only smothering both his lap and his chest with one giant cheek, but also sat right on his hand with the other, inadvertently pinning him down with her monster arse!
Amanda was infamous throughout the school that all three Hamilton children went to as being... less than receiving towards those who would make passes at her large rear, actually being responsible for sending many boys to the school hospital.
So how could he possibly even shift his arm without her noticing?
Amanda wasn't aware of how she was affecting her little brother for the time being, but that couldn't be said of Toby's other big sister, Roxanne.
Tall, leggy and beautiful, Roxanne was a true, sly vixen of a girl. Whereas Amanda tried to draw attention away from her bouncing buttocks, Roxanne was fully aware of how stunning she was to look at.
Her bust was epic, a pair of hooters far bigger than any sixteen-year-old should have that muffin-topped over her green top. She made sure that at least a quarter of her cleavage was always on display, as she loved the attention it got her.
Boys openly gawked at her in the school corridors, their arousal sometimes evident through their trousers. Hell, it even affected some of the teaching staff too! Roxanne would often think back, never without satisfaction, to how she had charmed her Maths teacher - which had involved giving him a private show - into improving Amanda's test scores.
The rightmost of those thick, pendulous boobs was now pressed insistently against her little brother's face and left shoulder. She was leaning back in her seat, with her hands behind her head and that same look on her face that she had when she had a schoolboy wrapped around her finger.
Roxanne smiled, looking down at her little brother. The ice-white foxboy only came up to shoulder-height on the two girls, which meant that, when the mood took her, she could casually fill his entire view with her stupendous tits.
Toby shifted a little in his seat. His crotch area was incredibly uncomfortable owing to his predicament, the tightness of his jeans and indeed what was barely contained beneath them.
It was said that Toby was very much like his father, and, aside from the fact that they were both vulpine, Toby couldn't see it.
Rusty Hamilton was the world-famous guitarist of Whyte Knuckle, a heavy metal band that had shot to fame some 20-or-so years ago. He was six-and-a-half feet tall, had brick-red fur and built like a battle tank. He had legs like tree-trunks, biceps like basketballs and certainly didn't look like any 39-year-old Toby knew.
He also had a big, fat, knee-slapping cock, so long, in fact, that it had gone past 'horse-shaming' and started encroaching on 'elephant-size', not to mention his wrecking-ball testicles that bumped and jostled against his thighs when he walked.
This gene, this monster-cock-and-balls DNA had definitely been passed down to the little sixteen-year-old Toby, as his jeans were fighting a losing battle against the amazing quantity of meat between his legs. His big demon of a dong had folded over inside its denim prison, and it was rising, like a curious python peeking out of its tank, above the band of his trousers.
This, coupled with his grapefruit-sized testicles, gave the impression that his jeans were stuffed with several pairs of thick socks, every inch straining and begging to be released in the presence of such incredible, pillowy beauty.
Toby let out a shaky sigh. Uncle Ricky's house was an entire hour away. One hour. Sixty minutes. Three-thousand, six hundred seconds.
"This cannot possibly end soon enough."
By \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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