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Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 01

By: invictus17



My name is Jeff. My wife Millie is the joy of my life. She's sweet and giving and funny and loving and as devoted as she can be, and I can't imagine life without her. 

The only thing that ever bothered me was that Millie didn't realize how beautiful and sexy she is. That may not sound like a big problem, but it is. Or was... 

Millie is what you call a "big-titted plumper," and a more gorgeous specimen of plumperhood you're not likely to see. Imagine this: Shining brown hair in a short pixie cut, flawless skin like fresh cream, a sweet round baby face with cute dimples, huge blue eyes, full, kissable lips, and a cute little cleft in her chin. Add to that: Full, broad, curvy hips, a big, round, perfect, grabbable ass, plump and shapely arms and legs, pretty, chubby little hands and feet, a softly rounded but not fat belly, a relatively small waist giving her thar delicious "hourglass" look-- 

And the biggest, most beautiful, and most outrageously sexy tits in the world. 

I mean that last. I've been looking at plump women, fat women, big-titted women, and so on, in magazines for 20+ years--and I've never seen a pair to equal Millie's. Her tits are 58-HHHs, to start with. And no, you CAN'T imagine what that means. 

They're beautiful, creamy-white, and just enormous. Without a bra, they sag a good bit, but that just makes them even more sensual and delicious. Any big tit lover knows exactly what I mean. They're huge and heavy and full and long and pointed, like pale, blue-veined, soft, oversized footballs. Plus, Millie's incredible nipples look like big, fluffy, pink funnels; her aureolae are five inches across and cone-shaped, with fat, rubbery tips more than an inch long. 

Those big knobs of hers are tender and delicate, with dark-blue veins visible beneath the pale-pink skin--and when she gets excited, they don't crinkle up and get hard. They SWELL, and turn a darker pink, and her nipple veins throb. When Millie's hot, her knobs look like a teenager's "puffies," but as big as your fist--and her titty-tips stick out a full inch and a half, all stiff and twangy like Vienna sausages. I get a hard-on just thinking about them. 

She has to wear industrial-strength bras, of course, but even then you can sometimes tell through her clothes when her nipples are erect. When she's braless, you can see them from across the street even when they're not. 

Millie's clothes were the biggest part of the problem. She was always so convinced she was "fat and ugly"--or "fatandugly," as she used to say it, as if it were one word--she never wore anything but frumpy, shapeless old-lady dresses, muumuus and caftans and dumpy-looking housedresses. All her nightgowns were flannel and floor-length, and boring as hell. 

I was grateful she liked to make love naked with the lights on. At first, that was about the only time I got to see her that way, then and when we showered together...

Um. Sorry. I just started thinking about how Millie shivers and squeals when I soap up those big nipples, and my mind drifted for a minute. We always end up fucking on the floor of our big shower stall, with her squatting over me with her slippery, squeezy pussy tube milking my dick and her amazing tits bouncing and swinging in my face...

Um. Drifting again. Jeez, this is going to take me a long time to write. 

Anyway. I had always told Millie how I adored her body just like it was, how perfect and sexy and HOT she was, how I wouldn't trade her for any bony, skinny supermodel in the world, and so on; but she never quite believed me. She always thought I was just being kind, and she never quite figured out why I married her in the first place. 

She told me more than once she knew I thought she was "disgusting," and no matter how I argued with her or reassured her or sang her praises, she stayed convinced that she was "fatandugly." Millie's dad used to put her down and call her names (the bastard), and she just never got over it.

It took some planning and a little trickery, but now she gets it. Here's the story. It started with a card game...

Card games mean a lot to us. We're pretty much stay-at-home types--partly because Millie is so self-conscious about her size, but mostly because we just prefer each other's company and like to be alone together. And one of our favorite activities is poker. 

Many couples have problems when it comes to dividing the chores, but we never do. We play poker for them. Not this nutty new "Texas Hold 'Em" stuff, but plain old draw and stud poker. 

It's fun; "I'll see your vacuuming the house, and I'll raise you washing the windows," and like that. (That was a big bet, and Millie won, too. Ace high flush. Pissed me off. I had a straight to the queen.) 

We started doing it early in our marriage after a big fight over whose turn it was to change the cat's litter box. We both liked to play, like I said, and it was dull to play for matches or chips anyway; so playing for chores quickly became a routine. 

We don't just play for chores. We also play for "forfeits," having to do stupid or embarrassing or sexy stunts for each other's amusement. Doing my chores wearing one of her dresses, Millie peeling grapes and feeding them to me, getting the mail (out at the street) in our underwear, and like that. 

The forfeits were often, even usually, sexual in nature, and the more we played, the more that was true. Before long, sex was pretty much all we played for. I'd have to walk around the house all day with my bare dick hanging out--no small matter, if I do say so; when I'm hard, I have about nine inches of meat that's almost five inches around--or jack off in front of her till I came. Or Millie would have to watch TV without moving with her vibrator up her pussy, or go to the Mall wearing a wool sweater over a bra with the nipples cut out of it. (The prickly, itchy fabric rubbing her huge. bare, sensitive knobs drove Millie crazy, and when we got home we fucked like bunnies on amphetamines.) 

Millie hated it when I made her show herself off, but it was part of the game and she insisted on paying off her bets. Once I made her push two peanuts across the living-room floor with her enormous nipples, crawling on her hands and knees in nothing but her panties. She bitched and moaned and fumed and complained, but by the time she was done we were both laughing--and fiercely turned on. (Bunnies on speed again.) 

Dragging her fat faucets on the carpet had done it. Those big knobs of hers are not only incredible to look at and play with and suck on, they're also like starter buttons for her pussy. 

Sex was never a problem in our marriage; we both loved it. It was just the way Millie dressed and felt about herself. 

Anyway, the rules of our poker games are simple: after who is doing what chores is settled in the first dozen or so hands--sometimes just two or three, if the hands are good and the betting is hot--we start playing for forfeits. 

With each round of betting, the bets get more outrageous. If you stay in and lose, you have to do the last one you bet against, and if you fold you do the last one before that. 

The ante, or opening bet, for both of us, is always the same; oral sex. If Millie drops out after the deal, she owes me a blowjob, to be performed on command. If I fold first thing, I have to eat her pussy. That happens often enough in every game, and we usually start the week owing each other six or seven cocksucking and muffdiving sessions each. 

Here's an example from a few weeks before the fun really began, and an important one, as you'll see. It was a stud game, five-card; one down, four up, no draw, with a round of betting on each card after the first two are dealt. At one time, before "Texas Hold 'Em" became fashionable, it was THE big-money game for professionals. No draw, no wild cards, just straight-up poker. 

On the night I'm thinking of, in the first hand after the chores were assigned. I dealt myself a Queen down and a Jack up; Millie had an ace showing, which meant it was her bet. She opened with her usual first bet after the ante: "You have to eat me 'no-hands.'" (That meant with my hands behind my back. A challenge, but hardly a painful loss.)

I countered with my own usual first bet: "Blow me naked and blindfolded." 

"I call," Millie said. That meant the round was over, and those were the stakes so far. I dealt two more cards. Millie got a ten, and I drew a Queen to match my hole card. She was still high. "Jack off till you shoot while I watch," was her bet. She loved to watch me do that. 

"Dance naked while I do it," I said. If I lost at this point, Millie would remain fully dressed and just watch me masturbate, probably with a bowl of popcorn like it was a movie. If she lost, I'd have some suitable entertainment while I did it. She'd be embarrassed and resentful, but she'd do it anyway. 

These were pretty common bets for us. "Do it on the back patio," she said. She was raising me. I wondered if she had another ten, or worse, an ace, as her down card. I doubted it was an ace, or she'd have bet more heavily in the first round. A pair of tens, then. 

I was holding a pair of Queens. Lookin' good."Ditto," I said.

Millie's big blue eyes got even bigger; dancing naked outside would be hard for her. "Call," she finally said. 

Another card. A lousy four for me, no help for my Queens. Millie grinned at her card--another ten. This could be trouble. 

"Air blowjob," she said. "One hour."

That would be sweet torture. She'd kneel in front of me and just tease my dick, acting like she was about to suck me--blowing on it, kissing the air and flicking her tongue a millimeter away without actually touching it, opening her mouth and actually putting it over my dickhead, warming it with her hot breath, then pulling away before she actually made contact. I was forbidden to touch myself, and Millie could keep it up for ages. 

What made it hellish--besides looking at her beautiful round face, her heavenly lips and sparkling, teasing eyes--was that every now and then, with no warning, she'd actually lick me or suck on my dickhead for a split second, or plant a big, sloppy wet kiss on it--and them go back to teasing. 

And worse, sometimes she'd keep her mouth on me and slurp and suck and work on my bare dickhead till I came--and then she'd either keep sucking and slurping on it while I spurted in her delicious mouth, or she'd cruelly pull back at the very second I started to cum and leave me helplessly shooting my wad in the air as she giggled and watched. 

The uncertainty and the anticipation we're what made it torture. The sexual tension was unbelievable, and I'd get so hard it hurt--an hour of that treatment would have me begging for release--but sometimes it was so good I'd almost pass out. I never knew what Millie was going to do. I loved it and hated it, both. 

She smiled wickedly. "Why does that bet always make you sweat?" she whispered, then licked her lips seductively and blew me a kiss. 

I grinned back at her. "You know why, you big-titted bitch." She laughed and shook them for me. I had recently at least convinced her that her huge milkers weren't "disgusting," and she had grown to enjoy teasing me with them. 

"So, Jeff; call, raise, or fold?" she asked with a confident smirk. I still liked my pair of Queens. In five-card stud, it was a very good hand. 

"Call,"I said. 

Another card. A six for Millie, and the jackpot for me: another Queen. Now I was high, with a pair of Queens showing and a third one in the hole. I made a big show of thinking hard. I finally said, "Dance naked on the patio in nothing but oil--and with your pussy shaved bare." 

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me. This was a very big bet. I had bet her a pussy shave before, but I had never won one. It usually made her fold. 

Millie looked at my cards suspiciously. "You're bluffing," she finally said. "Those Queens are all you got, cowboy, and they ain't good enough. Air blowjob for two hours--and I do it topless." She sat back with a smug expression on her cute baby face.

She had the three tens, then. Good. I was glad I was going to win; what she had just bet would have been agony for me. "Call," I said. 

It's a good strategy in poker to be known as a bluffer. Then, when you really have the goods, your sucker (so to speak, heh heh) will stay in. 

Last card. Nothing of consequence; a nine for Millie, a seven for me. My bet again. "Everything you've already bet," I said, "plus you keep your pussy shaved bare for a whole year." 

I was wearing my best poker face; I looked like I was trying not to show that I was bluffing. 

She fell for it like a ton of tits. "Hah! You keep trying, but I'm not buying," she laughed. "Call." She flipped over the third ten. "Tough shit, Jeff." 

I flipped over my third Queen. Her big eyes bugged out, and then she glared at me. "DAMN it!" she fumed. "I was SURE you had another Jack under there!" That would have given me two pair--a good hand, but not good enough. 

I grinned. "Another hand?" I asked insinuatingly. 

"I think I'm far enough in the hole already," she said, still glaring. 

"In the hole? But that's where I'M going to be," I said. 

We looked at each other for a moment--and then she burst out laughing, and I did too. One of the things I love about my Millie is her sense of humor. She can always laugh--even when she's embarrassed, resentful, and pissed off, like then. 

I stood up. "C'mon, Big Tits. Time to pay off that bet." I beckoned with one finger, and Millie rose and walked ahead of me into the bedroom. I noticed her pretty hands were quivering as she undressed. 

I knew her well enough to know exactly what she was feeling; embarrassment and doubt about how she looked naked, and a fierce excitement that maybe, somehow, for some reason she didn't understand, I'd still get hot and horny looking at her. It thrilled her, but she still didn't get it. We had only been married a few months--she was 20 and I was 24--and life together was still new for both of us. 

When she was naked, I had her lie down on a towel I'd spread on the bed and pull her knees back and wide open. We both knew I'd have to be the one to shave her pussy. Her tits were so huge she had trouble even seeing it without a mirror. 

I looked at her and grinned as she looked up at me over those huge tits, her face pink. Such a beautiful sight, my sweet, fat Millie, buck naked and spread wide open. In a few minutes she would look even better. My cock was already hard, but I got harder thinking about it. 

"Well? Let's get this over with," she said. I went into our bathroom and got my own electric shaver. I flipped open the trimmer and sat down between her legs, grinning. This was going to be fun. 

As Millie waited patiently, I clipped her pussy hair--already thin and sparse--to a short stubble. Then I used the regular shaving head to remove that. I shaved her plump, pale mound baby-smooth, then pulled and stretched her skin to clean up all the stray hairs around it and especially between her soft, chubby outer lips. 

When I was done, her sweet, plump, pale crotch was as bare and white as a peeled egg. I sat back and admired my work. My Millie was barer and more beautiful now than I had ever seen her.

She looked up at me, her face pink, her eyes half-closed and smoky-hot. Her big nipples were swollen to softball size and glowed a hot pink, with tips that stood out stiffly, bigger than her thumbs. 

I grasped them in my fingers and tugged lightly, twisting. She was already breathing hard, and at my touch she gasped and bit her lip, eyes closed. "Oh, Jeff--"

I clenched my fists on her huge, swollen aureolae, crushing them in my fingers like I was squeezing oranges. She gasped and hissed and rolled her pussy up at me. I twisted them back and forth, and she groaned, "Oh, God, Jeff--Oh, God, milk me off--" 

That was what we called it when I abused her tender knobs till she came from that alone. I released her swollen nipples, even bigger and darker now, and watched her hunch and writhe on the bed. She grabbed her tits and shook them up and down, whimpering "Please--please milk me some more--Milk my tits and fuck me--" 

I wanted to fuck her senseless, but I wanted her to pay off her bet, too. Each time I made Millie perform naked in front of me, I sensed that her confidence grew a little more. It was good for her. 

I also wanted to see her wiggle and jiggle outdoors, naked and shaved and shiny with oil all over. I wanted to see that real bad.

I was stroking her fat, baby-smooth mound and letting my finger slip between her soft pussy lips to caress her hot liquid center now and then. Her plump hips were still pumping, rolling her chubby bare cunt up at me urgently. "I want you, Jeff," she gasped again. "Fuck me... Fuck me naked..." "

A little later," I said. "Let's go outside. I'll get the oil." Millie whimpered, but she slid off the bed and stood up, trembling a little. It was so endearing, the way she crossed her little hands protectively over her enormous tits. it was like trying to hide a pillow with a couple of feathers, but it was sweet and made me want to kiss her. 

So I did. I took her in my arms and kissed her soft lips tenderly. "I love you so much," I said, "and you are so SEXY..." 

She looked up at me, still quivering, and snuggling close to hide herself as well as to be near me. She said, "Fooey. You're just weird. But I love you too." 

I kissed her again. "If you only knew how many guys would kill to have a woman like you..." I left the sentence unfinished, and let her go. 

"Outside, Big Tits," I said. She giggled nervously and started for the door. 

I walked behind her down the hall, admiring her from behind. Her big, bare ass rolled and wobbled deliciously. The long hourglass sweep of my Millie's pale, perfect bare skin--from her shapely shoulders, down the curve of her bare, smooth back, broadening to encompass that plump, tempting bottom, then tapering down her chubby but perfect bare legs to her pretty little bare feet--was breathtaking. I was glad she kept her hair so short--it would be a shame for her to hide even her lovely white shoulders with long hair.

I could see her huge breasts gently swinging from side to side even from directly behind her. God, what a babe, I thought. And she's mine. 

As we passed the bathroom, Millie looked back at me. "Aren't you going to get the oil?" she asked. 

"Not that oil," I said, referring to the scented baby oil we sometimes used to massage each other. "We'll need more than that. I want you so covered with it you're dripping." 

"Oh..." For just a heartbeat, Millie unconsciously stroked her big, swollen nipples with a faraway expression on her innocent baby face. Then she shivered and kept on walking down the hall, stark naked. 

I knew it made it extra-scary for her to leave all her clothes all the way back in the bedroom, especially when she was about to go outside; but I liked that. I liked her not only bare naked, but very conscious of being that way. I wanted her to feel naked on the inside as well as on the outside. 

We went on to the kitchen, where I took a new half-gallon bottle of cooking oil from the pantry; then we went on to the door into the back yard. I picked up our boombox from the living room on the way. 

I opened the door, and Millie leaned over and peered out cautiously, hands over her breasts. We had a privacy fence, eight feet high and solid wood--but it still made Millie tremble with self-consciousness to go outdoors in the nude. 

Finally, she stepped out onto the patio, her bare little feet cautious on the flagstones. She was totally naked, without so much as a trace of lipstick on--and now without even a trace of pussy hair to hide her plump, intimate slit. 

It was a Saturday, late in the afternoon, and warm. Millie stood trembling, feet together and hands clasped over her pussy, as I plugged in the boombox and took the cap off the oil. I walked over to her, holding the bottle. "Hands on your head," I said, and she obeyed, looking around nervously. 


Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 01



I caressed her big, swollen knobs for a moment, making her close her eyes and hiss, then I tipped the bottle and poured oil all over her huge, pale, bare tits. 

"Ooo!" squealed Millie, as the oil ran from her nipples and dripped to the flagstones. I lifted first one heavy tit, then the other, and poured more oil beneath them and over her plump belly, making sure her newly-shaved pussy was thickly coated. The oil ran down her chubby, curvy legs to her pretty little bare feet, and I spread it around to make sure she was gleaming all over. 

"Turn," I said, and Millie turned around, hands still on her head, and I started again at her shoulders. I poured oil over her bare ass, the bottle glugging as I moved it from side to side. When her legs were glistening, I said, "Hands down," and poured the oil down her chubby white arms till it ran from her fingers. 

I inspected her as she turned and posed for me, and anywhere she wasn't thickly coated and gleaming, I splashed more oil on her. 

Finally I was satisfied, and took my seat on the "bleachers," as we called the wooden sofa-bench by the back door. I hauled out my stiff dick, already gleaming at the head itself as if oiled, and began to stroke it as I punched the "play" button on the boombox. The Steve Miller Band's classic, "Jet Airliner," began to pound from the speakers, and I finally sat back and looked at my plump, naked wife. 

Millie was still crouching shyly, her eyes darting around as she made sure no one else could see her. She was standing in a pool of oil about eight or ten feet away. I liked for her to perform at a little distance from me so I could feast my eyes on all of her at once. 

"Dance for me, Big Tits," I said. "Show me what you've got and shake it."

Millie slowly straightened up, watching my eyes and not my dick. She slowly--very slowly--began to rock to the rhythm, her huge, gleaming milkers swinging gently. She separated her bare feet and crouched, and started to bump her fat hips lewdly. I stroked my cock a little faster. 

God, she looked good, so pale and shiny and bare. It was charming and erotic, the way Millie kept looking around around fearfully. She glistened and shone all over, and she stroked her oily body sensuously as she got into the dance. 

She smiled at me shyly--then shook her shoulders hard. I grunted and shivered at the sight as I pulled at my big dick, making sure she could see it. Her shiny, enormous floppers bounced and waggled and flipped outrageously, making her giggle and shake them harder. 

In a moment, naked Millie was rocking out, wriggling and hunching obscenely and tossing her huge tits with abandon. Her bare, shiny little feet moved farther apart, and she rolled and popped her bald, gleaming pussy at me, stroking it and giggling girlishly. 

"I'm slick bare, Jeff!" she teased. "I'm as bare as a baby!" 

"You're my slippery, jiggly baby," I gasped. I was jacking off hard, enjoying her outrageous greasy show. She turned around and displayed her magnificent, glistening ass, bumping and hunching and shaking it bare. 

She bounced heavily on her heels, knowing it made her quiver like Jell-O all over--and she looked all around the yard again, excited but still scared. Hands behind her head, she wiggled as provocatively as she could, and I could see her bare tits swinging and waggling wildly even from behind her.

She turned slowly round and round as she danced, making sure I could see everything she had as she shook and shimmied and bounced her gleaming naked flesh for my pleasure. 

And I loved it. My eyes were all over her pale, quivering plumpness, and I jacked off to her hungrily as the love of my life wiggled naked for me. Millie had learned to love teasing me with her tits, especially when she could see my hard cock and know how much she was exciting me. As I jacked off and stared, she lifted them high, then winked and me and let them drop heavily, knowing how much I liked that. She did that several more times, then bent over, smirking at me, and swung them heavily from side to side. She laughed at my moaning as I pulled at my cock to the sight, and then, maybe most outrageous of all, she lifted her long, pointed tits by her nipples and pranced around pulling them straight out and squealing at the sensation as they bounced and dangled and their weight pulled at her stretched-out knobs. If this gives you a measure of how big they are, her arms were almost straight in front of her as she did this. 

She bent over with her big shiny ass toward me and swung and waggled them--she had to hold them apart to look back at me between her shiny legs. The view was incredible; huge dangling tits, fat gleaming ass, curvy bare legs, and bare-shaved pussy, all at once. She giggled and squatted, and her hairless cunt gaped open redly as I stared and stroked my cock. She was still bent over, and her big pink faucets were actually touching the oily flagstones of the patio. She brushed them back and forth as she rocked her open hole at me, and I saw she was squeezing her shiny pink asshole at me too. I didn't know if was deliberate, but it was incredibly intimate to see. 

My cock was signaling that my balls were preparing a huge load. Millie was standing and facing me again, watching me, shaking her gleaming white curves outrageously, shimmying her shoulders and making her massive milkers waggle and swing, pumping her gleaming, oily bare cunt in my face, her glistening plump belly flexing above it. 

Her teasing smirk was a wonder to me. I had never seen that expression on her innocent baby face before, not like this.

The whole thing was incredible. I had never seen Millie dance like this; in the past, she had always been shy and tentative, and though she would get into it the longer she danced, seeing how it excited me, she was always a little self-conscious and visibly ashamed. This wild, wanton Millie was new. 

And I wanted to fuck her as she was, naked and oily and uninhibited and proud. I slid down on the wooden bench and pointed at my cock, sticking straight up. Millie squealed with delight and came closer, crouched and walking awkwardly, legs straddled and pussy still rocking up at me rhythmically. She was still fuck-dancing as she came toward me, ready to fuck for real, right there on the patio. This was new, too. 

She straddled my hips, still bumping; then slowly lowered herself onto my bare, stiff cock. Sliding into her slick, snug pussy tube, feeling her swollen, fever-hot membranes opening up around my bare, sensitive dickhead and my steel-hard shaft--it was heavenly, indescribable, a slippery taste of Heaven, as it always was. 

Fucking my sweet Millie was always amazing. It was always as good as the very first time. Every time. Every time I slid my cock into her grasping liquid hole, it felt like I had never done it before. 

And thus time was special. Her incredibly huge and heavy tits, slick and dripping with oil, were in my face, and she was swinging and shaking them as she continued to dance, impaled on my fence post of a cock; only now she was looking at me with her big eyes slitted, her lips pursed and blowing, and her plump hips rocking and rolling with a purpose and not just to show off. She was sliding my cock in and out, and she was feeling it. 

I grabbed her big greasy knobs and crushed them in my fists again, and she cried out and began to pump on my cock in earnest. Millie was frankly jacking me off with her pussy, making my big hard dick slide in and out, all the way in and all the way out, dragging her stiff little clit up and down my shaft with her ass cocked back to increase the contact. 

I worked my oily fingers in her spongy knobs, wadding them up and kneading them in my fists like Play-Doh., and she gave a deep gargling groan and shuddered all over."I'm cuh-cumming, Jeff," she grunted through clenched teeth. I watched the erotic grimace of building orgasm on her sweet baby face and twisted her crushed nipples without mercy, squeezing them, pulling on her fat tips, letting my fingers slide in the oil and jacking them off like I was trying to milk a cow's udders. 

I stretched them out like I was trying to pull them off, then let my fingers slide off the ends, popping them free, and then I grabbed and pulled and plucked at them again and again, stretching and popping her huge, hot nipples over and over. 

My sweet, naked Millie broke down and sobbed in ecstasy as she came, harder than I'd ever seen her, her bald cunt grinding hard into my bristly crotch and my dick buried in her hole up to my balls. I felt her climaxing cuntmuscles squeezing my dick like a greasy fist, and I jerked and shuddered and started shooting in her, my cock geysering hot jets of burning cum into her grasping, cumming pussy. It felt like my brains were shooting out of my dickhead so hard they would split it open. 

Still pulling and popping her fat, oily milk-faucets, I buried my face in slippery white tits and thrust upward like I was trying to buck her off--but Millie clung to me, her tits in my face and her cunt hanging on tightly to my bursting dick. Her chubby bare legs curled under mine to hold on, and she came hard all over me in jerking, jiggling spasms. 

After what seemed like half an hour of crazed, animal orgasm, we finally spun back down to Earth and came to in each other's arms. I stroked her slippery back, her tits tucked under my arms, and she rubbed her soft cheek into my chest lovingly. My softening cock was still deep in her twitching, quivering pussy tube. 

"God, Jeff, that was fantastic," she breathed, her voice raspy. "Way past fantastic. It was--" She searched for words, couldn't find any.

"I know," I whispered. "I was there." She giggled and squeezed me closer. 

"Especially what you were doing with my titties." She shivered. "That was--fantastic," she said again, "kind of pulling and snapping them like that. Ooo," she shivered again. "I LIKED that. We keep oil in the bedroom from now on." 

"Okay," I said. "I liked that too. It was like I was milking your tits like a cow's udders." 

As soon as I said it, I regretted it; she might take it as a putdown. But she only giggled again. "Just call me Bossy," she said. 

I sighed, relieved, and held her close. "Speaking of oil," she said, "your clothes are all soaked with it." 

"Extra soap in the wash," I said. "I'm doing it anyway." Those hands, I had lost. 

I held her slick bare ass as we lay there. "You know, for a girl who doesn't think she looks good, you sure showed it off and shook it like you know how hot you are," I said. 

"This time," I didn't say; but we both knew the thought was there. 

She lifted her head and looked in my eyes. "For you, Jeff," she said. "Just for you. I've decided to trust that I get you hot. I don't know why you do. But I love it. It makes me feel sexy to show off for you now, and outside, with just the oil on--I guess I went a little crazy. I was thinking how stupid I looked the whole time. But then you fucked me like I was Marilyn Monroe." 

I laughed. "Next to you, Millie, Marilyn would have looked like a boy." 

"Fooey." She rested her head on my chest again. "Maybe you think I'm hot, because you love me so much, but you're the only one. I still think I'm a fatandugly pig. And everybody else does too." 

I patted her oily bottom and thought. 

A few days later, I read an article in a "Plumper" magazine about a certain beach not far from where we lived, and a related article about a new club in a nearby large city; and my wheels started turning. 

Soon I had developed a plan. I sent off for a book and a few other items, and by the time summer rolled around, I was ready. 

(Yes, all of this was just the introduction. The real story begins in the next installment. Stay tuned...) 



Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 02



One Friday night a few weeks later, we sat down to our weekly poker game. It was late June, and warm outside. 

Millie was wearing nothing but nylon panties and one of my sleeveless undershirts; it clung to her huge tits like half-transparent paint, with acres of pretty white flesh exposed at the top and sides, and she looked wonderful. I estimated I was looking at eight inches of inviting cleavage. 

"Uh, Jeff, my face is up here," she laughed as I dealt the first hand. 

"Um. Sorry," I said. "If that shirt is your strategy for distracting me during the game, it's gonna work." 

"Thanks. It's hot and I--"

"It sure is," I put in. 

She laughed again. "I just meant I wanted to be comfortable." 

She may have been, but I wasn't. I could see her enormous nipples through the ribbed cotton fabric. "I know, but you look hot anyway. Your bet."

"The laundry tomorrow, plus vacuum the house. You really like me in this?" 

"See that, raise you cleaning the garage. You look delicious. Not a man alive wouldn't want to grab you and ball your brains out." 

"Fooey. You're just weird. Call." 

I dealt another card. "Some day I'll prove it to you. Your bet again."

"You can't because it's not true. Laundry Saturday, vacuum, do the garage, and clean the bathrooms." 

I looked at my cards. "I fold," I said. According to our rules, I was now stuck with doing the laundry tomorrow and vacuuming the house. 

"You sure have loosened up since your oil dance," I said with a hint of inquiry as she dealt the next hand. I couldn't get the image of my sweet Millie wriggling and jiggling in nothing but a coating of shiny oil out of my mind. That, and the ferocious tit-popping fuck that followed. 

Millie shrugged--an awesome sight; you have NO idea. "I'm just more comfortable with you looking at me," she said. "I used to hate it. Now I like it. It makes me feel good, knowing somebody likes the way I look. Now stop staring at my damn boobs and bet." 

I was reflecting that her huge nipples were bigger than many women's whole tits. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, clean the garage." 

We chatted like this while we got the chores divided. I tried to make sure I didn't win all the hands I dealt.... 

You see, this was the night my plan would go into action. The book I'd sent for was on how to cheat at cards, and I had been practicing. 

It was working like a charm. All through the game, every time it was my deal, I was faking the shuffle, running up hands, nullifying the cut, and dealing seconds and bottoms out the wazoo--and Millie didn't have a clue. 

After we started playing for fucks--we had started calling it what it was, instead of "forfeits"--I was biding my time, waiting till I could run up exactly the hands I wanted. 

By the time it happened, I owed her a full-body oil massage with a tit-milking fuck (tragic loss, that), a blindfolded, no-hands pussy-eating, and I would be getting the mail in my underwear all week. She owed me two blowjobs, a soapy handjob in the shower, a naked bouncy-fuck squatting on my dick, plus washing the car in a T-shirt and shorts, braless. I was looking forward to collecting all of my winnings, but especially that last. I won it honest, too--it had been her deal. 

Finally, I was ready. I had her hand on the top of the deck and mine on the bottom, and off we went. I dealt her a pair of kings, one up, one down. I was holding two fives. Her bet. 

"Fuck me blindfolded," she said. 

That, I hated. I pretended to think. "Call," I finally said. 

Next card. Another King for Millie; an ace for me. She was high, a pair of Kings showing--and I knew she had another one in the hole. 

"Fuck me blindfolded every time we fuck this week," she said with a smirk. 

"That's mean. You just said you were getting to like me looking at you," I complained. 

"That's my bet," she replied, smirking even more. 

"I get it. You just want to be a pain in the ass," I said, nodding. "Okay, then: we go to the beach tomorrow afternoon. No sundress. You wear a swimsuit the whole time, and we don't leave till it's dark." 

Millie looked at my cards. She knew that I knew she hated going to the beach, and hated wearing her one-piece tanksuit even more. This was a big bet for her. 

"Call," she said. "You're pretty brave with that pair of aces." 

I tried to look like I was trying to look confident. "Here's your card, Big Tits. Ooo, a big four. Whoopee. And I get--another five. Still your bet."

"Blindfolded fucks all week, plus a topless air blowjob. One hour. Suffer, Big Dick." 

I gaped at her. "On a pair of Kings?" I made a big show of looking at my hole card. "Call," I finally said. "I know it's dumb, but there it is." 

"You're not fooling me. You've got two pair, aces and fives," she said smugly. 

I tried to smile confidently. It was hard not to grin like a hyena. She was falling for it big-time.

Last card. Another four for Millie, giving her a full house, Kings over fours. She was trying really hard to suppress her smile, but I knew it was there. She had a beautiful baby face, but it wasn't much of a poker face. 

I got another five. Now I had four of a kind. 

I was high, with three of them showing. "Gotcha!"

"You wish." She grinned at me. "What's your bet, Blindfold Boy?" 

I looked at her for a long moment. Then I got up from the table and went into the living room, backing away. "Don't peek at my cards. I'm watching you." 

"I won't. What are you doing?" 

"Getting my bet." I came back with a small box. "I got this in the mail today. Sent off for it last week." 

"What is it?" She looked at the box suspiciously. It was about the size of a box of Kleenex. 

"A swimsuit." I opened the box and held up the two pieces. They looked like a couple of white handkerchiefs with some strings attached. "A stretch G-string bikini."

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "Uh-uh. No way." 

"You wear this to the beach," I went on relentlessly. "No coverup. You wear it all afternoon and evening, and nothing else."

"No way," she said again, and for a moment I was sure my plan was failing. Then Millie said, "There's no way you're bluffing me out of this one. I'll see that, and raise you a two-hour air blowjob, naked, with a week of blindfolded fucks." She smiled at me smugly, confident that I would either fold or lose. 

And that, I thought, was the sound of a trap snapping shut. "Don't you even want to try it on? You ought to know what you're betting," I said. 

"Siddown, Jeff. Call, raise, or fold." Millie sat back with her arms folded under her tits--another awesome sight--and looked at me expectantly. "Whatcha gonna do?" 

She had worked it out just as I'd hoped. She figured me for a pair of aces, which with the three fives would give me a full house, fives over aces; but her kings over fours was a better hand. She never thought of a fourth five. 

I shrugged and sat down. "Okay," I said. "I'll raise you. You put that bikini on before we leave the house, and you don't even bring anything else with you. You wear that, and nothing else, till we get back. And we leave first thing in the morning, and we stay till dark." Might as well dig her in a little deeper.

"Blindfolded fucks all week, a two-hour naked air blowjob, and you serve me breakfast in bed all weekend wearing a frilly apron and nothing else." 

We looked at each other levelly. "Call," I said. 

She flipped over the king with a sly grin. "Read 'em and weep, cowboy."

I smiled and flipped over my five. Her jaw dropped, and her big blue eyes went wide; and then she was furious. 

"God damn it, Jeff!" She slapped the table hard. "I was sure you had another ace! Shit!" 

"That's why they call it 'gambling,' Sweet Cheeks." 

She looked at me with a wry expression. Her furies never lasted more than a few seconds. "And a lot of people are going to see my big, fat sweet cheeks tomorrow, I guess." 

She sighed. "Let's see that damned bikini." She took the scraps of white cotton and strings and went into the bedroom. 

I half expected her to renege on the bet after she tried it on. It took her a long time in the bedroom, and when she came out wearing it, her face was red. So were her eyes. I'm pretty sure she had been crying. 

"Jeff, look at me!" she cried plaintively. "I look ridiculous!"

I was looking at her, had been since she came out. I shook my head slowly as I looked her up and down. "Nooo," I said, just as slowly. "No, baby. You don't." 

Millie stamped her bare foot, which made everything jiggle delectably. "I do too! Look at my tits! This thing barely hides my nipples!"

It was true. The bikini was sized extra-large, but for a normally busted woman; average, even big, breasts would have been decently covered. On Millie, it looked like a pair of extra-large, triangular pasties. Her huge breasts were basically left bare, with the straining, stretched-to-the-max triangles of her bra covering her double-fist sized knobs and little more. 

And "covered" was a relative term; you could clearly see the outline of her slightly swollen aureolae, and her thumb-sized titty-tips were clingily sheathed like the fabric was wet. They weren't bent or folded up or to the side, like in a regular bra or even in my undershirt. They stuck all the way straight out, like fingertips gloved in white cotton. Her fat pink faucets were perfectly wrapped in the little pocket of slack at the end of the seam that gave the cups a slight cone shape. 

She had had to tie it low down on her back; if she had pulled it up underneath her big floppers, you couldn't have seen a thread of the bra, only the strings. The stretchy cups gave her tits no support at all. They swung and dangled just as low, almost to her waist, as they did when they were bare. 

The G-string bottom covered only her shaved pussy mound, and the crease of her pussy was clearly visible. The white fabric clung to her plump cunt like it was painted on, and the whiteness emphasized the fold of her deep pussy slit. 

Ridiculous, no; practically naked, yes. 

She turned around, and I gasped in spite of myself. From behind, she was naked, with only a couple of strings across her bare back and broad hips. Her spectacular, huge, firm, pale and perfect beachball ass was entirely bare. 

She turned back and looked at me. "Glared" would be too mild a word by light-years. Her eyes were absolutely white-hot. Through gritted teeth, she said, "I've never reneged on a bet, Jeff, and I'm not going to start now. But I want you to know: tomorrow will be the worst and longest day of my life, and I'm never going to get over it. Never."

I moved forward to take her in my arms, but she stepped back. "No," she said. So I just stood there. 

"Millie," I said, low and quiet. "Do you trust me?" 

"I always did," she said. Her voice had a little quaver to it. She was near tears again. 

"Millie." I said again. She looked at my face, and I looked directly into her big, blue, red-rimmed eyes. "Do you trust me?" I asked again. 

Our gazes locked for a very long moment. "Yes," she finally said. "I don't know wh--" She stopped and her eyes widened. "There's something I don't know, isn't there?" 

I nodded. "But I'm not going to tell you what it is. You'll have to trust me and see it for yourself." I looked at her. "You know how I love you. Trust me, Millie. Please." 

Doubtfully, she finally came into my arms and snuggled close as I stroked the beautiful, bare, smooth expanses of her exposed skin. "Is it a private beach?" she asked hopefully in a tiny voice. "Nobody else will be there?"

"No, it's a public beach. There'll be lots of people there. But it'll be all right. You'll see." 

"I can't imagine what could possibly make it all right." She shivered in my arms. "But I love you, Jeff. I do. And I know you love me." She nuzzled my chest with her soft cheek, and I felt the sweet pressure of her huge, precious tits moving softly against my chest. "I trust you. I'm in your hands." 

As we made love later, she cried out, just before she came on my plunging cock, "Oh, Jeff, I'm so scared!"

She cried and came at the same time as I shuddered and spurted deep in her sweet shaved pussy. I held her close and reassured her and kissed her till she finally fell asleep, still trembling. 

The next morning, Saturday, I woke her at seven o'clock. We hardly spoke as we ate breakfast--Millie made scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, wearing a floor-length terry robe, and we ate in virtual silence. 

"More coffee?" I asked as I got up to get mine. She just shook her head. 

We were finally done. "Time to go, baby," I said. She nodded again and padded off to the bedroom, shoulders slumped. I began packing the car with the few things we'd need. A blanket, too big and thick for her to wrap up in, but perfect for lying on the beach; a big beach umbrella; and sandwiches, chips, soft drinks, and other snacks in an ice chest. 

Then I realized there was one more thing we needed. Just as I thought of that and closed the trunk, Millie came out of the house wearing the obscenely miniscule swimsuit, looking around cautiously. 

Her pretty hands were trembling, and her loose, swinging tits were quivering. She stood on the doorstep, almost paralyzed with fear. I opened the passenger-side door of the car, which was nearest her, and she scampered into it quickly, huge tits flipping and swinging and bare ass jiggling. 

As she slid onto the seat, I saw that one of her breasts had slipped entirely free of its pathetic covering and was quivering bare, the triangle of white cotton lying on its upper curve like an envelope on a creamy-white pillow. I have truly seen watermelons smaller than my Millie's tits.

I pointed it out, and she quickly tucked her enormous nipple back into its lewdly clinging sheath with a seething look at me. 

Then--I was so proud of her--she said bravely, "Let's go, Jeff! I can't wait to hit the water!" 

As I started the car, she asked timidly, "Are the sandals okay?" I looked down at her feet. She was wearing her tiniest and most revealing sandals, just white-leather soles held to her pretty bare feet by a few strips of matching leather an eighth of an inch wide. She was getting into the spirit of the thing. 

"Those are fine, Millie. Perfect." Somehow I didn't think she wanted to be called "Big Tits" just then. 

Millie kind of scrunched down in the seat as I drove, trying to make herself small--not possible, but she was trying anyway. She drew her shapely bare legs up on the seat and huddled against the door, arms crossed over her chest. 

It was hopeless. The curve of bare tit exposed under her arm was twice as big as my forearm. She looked naked, with only the two white strings across her body--one at her hips, one a little above her waist. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered. 

I pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store. "Jeff, what are you doing?" she squeaked. "Don't stop here!" 

"We need sunblock," I said. "Lots of it. Sit tight, I'll be back in just a second." 

I left her shivering on the seat and went inside. I watched the car as I stood in line, and no one came near--until just before I went back out. 

Some guy walked past the driver's door, glanced inside, and took a full two steps before he stopped dead in his tracks. He did the funniest slow-motion doubletake I've ever seen. His head slowly swiveled around on his neck, and he looked back at the car; but Millie's seat blocked his view. Just as he started to turn around and go back, I was approaching my door and warned him off with a small smile and a shake of my head. 

He grinned, shrugged, and walked on. A few steps away, though, he looked back and gave me a wink and a "thumbs up" sign. I just grinned and got in the car. 

Millie was fuming. "No more stops, okay?" she grumbled. 

"No more stops," I agreed. "We really did need sunblock, baby. Especially you." 

"I guess." 

We drove on in silence. I don't think I've mentioned how hard my dick was during this trip, or how much my balls ached before we got there. My beautiful, big-titted wife sitting next to me on the car seat, wearing what amounted to a cut-up handkerchief and a few feet of string, was making me painfully horny. And I couldn't see doing anything about it before that night. 

After almost an hour, Millie had calmed down a bit. Traffic was light in town, and on the highway, what with the way she was sitting, anyone in the occasional bus or truck couldn't see much. "Are we getting close?" she asked. 

"Just a few more miles. Look, you can see the ocean." We had just crested a rise, and there it was, glittering blue in the middle distance. 

Millie looked at it with a strange expression on her cute baby face. Her cheeks were bright pink. "Jeff, I'm so scared," she whispered. 

"I know, baby," I said comfortingly. "It'll be okay. You'll see." I took her hand, and she gripped it tightly. I felt the humming tension in her muscles as she clung to it. 

Finally, we were there. Following the directions given in the magazine, I turned off the two-lane blacktop onto an unpaved road, marked only by a small wooden sign with the silhouette of a very fat woman and an arrow. 

Millie looked at me with a questioning, puzzled expression. "What was on that sign?" she asked. Evidently women weren't as quick to recognize that outline as men were. 

I followed the road toward the beach, and suddenly it widened into a large parking area. The beach was still fifty yards or more distant. 

There were cars and trucks and SUVs and RVs parked here and there, maybe thirty or forty of them. "Lots of people here today," I observed. 

"M-maybe we sh-should have come on a w-w-weekday," stammered Millie. 

I looked at her. She was pale, and her eyes were so wide I could see the whites all around her sea-blue irises. She was terrified."

Don't be afraid, baby," I said. You're in for a surprise." I got out of the car. When I walked around to her side, she was still huddled up against the door. I opened it and she whimpered. "Come on, baby. Time to pay off your bet." 

Reluctantly, she got out and crouched by the open door, her hands pathetically trying to find a way to hide herself. It wasn't happening. 

She finally, slowly stood up. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and looked at me with a surprising calm. "Okay, Jeff," she said. "I'm ready. What's the thing I don't know?" 

"Wait a minute," I said. "Sunblock first. Put your hands on the car roof and spread your legs." 

"Here?" she asked, shocked. We were out in the open, though no one seemed to be in sight. 

"Better down on the beach?" I asked matter-of-factly. She chewed on that for a second, then did as I said. 

I started with her pretty, almost-bare feet. I had once gotten sunburned feet, and it was misery. As I worked my way up her deliciously curvy legs, rubbing in the soothing, oil-based sunblock, it occurred to me that though this wasn't in my plan, it could become an important part of it. 

I oiled her pale, fleshy thighs, taking care to rub it in well--especially the inner surfaces of her legs. The higher up I massaged her with the oil, the pinker her face got: by the time I was oiling the tender skin near her pussy, her mouth was open and she was breathing a bit faster. 

I poured the oil over her bare, creamy-white ass, and I whispered, "Remind you of anything?" She nodded, then lifted it up to me, bending over slightly, as I rubbed it all over her fabulous big bottom. 

I did her back, then poured a quarter-cup or so into my hand and reached around her to smear it all over her bare belly. I slid my oily hands all over her torso; so much skin was left bare, I was oiling practically all of her. 

I slid my slippery hands up underneath her wonderful tits and oiled her there, where the sun could never reach, then turned her around and poured more oil all over her almost-bare, enormous, magnificent tits. Millie was so into it, she forgot to look around. She just stood there, leaning back against the car with her eyes dreamily closed, as I oiled and massaged and hefted and kneaded and pressed and caressed her heavy, sensitive tits. She had forgotten all about the beach.




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 02



I slid my hands under her tiny bra and began to oil her big nipples. "Ooo, what--what are you doing?" she breathed. 

"This fabric is so thin you could get a sunburn through it," I murmured. I stroked and rubbed her sensitive knobs, pulling at her oily tips and letting them pop from my fingers. She hissed and sighed. I twisted and kneaded them in my fingers till I felt her shiver. Then I pulled her little nipple-hiders back into place. 

She gasped, "Don't stop.... Oh..." as I slipped my greasy hand beneath her G-string and stroked her smooth, bare pussy. I poured a little oil into her suit bottom and spread it over her mound, and slipped a finger slyly inside her slit and oiled her swollen clit and pussy lips. 

She looked at me through slitted eyes and smiled. "Afraid I'm going to get a sunburn there?" she whispered. "Want me to hold my cunt open and toast my pussy meat in the sun?"

"Whatever makes you happy, Big Tits," I whispered back. 

"Have I ever told you how much I love it when you call me that?" 

I slid one finger all the way up her pussy and twisted it around and around. "Maybe I should call you Juicy Cunt, too," I said. 

She giggled. "I'd like that too," she said as I fingerfucked her juicy cunt. I finally took my hand away. She shivered a little, and after a moment, she opened her eyes. 

She hadn't forgotten where she was and what she was doing. But now her face was flushed with excitement, and she was all but humming with sexual tension. "Take me to the beach now, Jeff. I don't care who sees me or what they think. As long as you want me, I don't care." 

I kissed her, and she kissed me back--a long, hard, deep kiss. "I love you," I whispered. 

"I know. And I love you, too. Let's go while I still feel sexy." 

We adjusted her tiny suit, I got our blanket and umbrella and the small ice chest from the trunk, and we started walking toward the ocean. 

I had her walk in front of me. I enjoyed the sight of my all-but-naked wife walking through the sand; the effort made her big bare ass roll and bounce, and I could see the sides of her huge tits swing and wobble from side to side from behind her. "You look good, baby," I said as I watched her. 

"Thanks," she said without looking back at me. I saw that her hands were still trembling. 

There was a low, grassy ridge to climb just before we reached the sand, and on its crest was a sign, knee high and maybe three feet wide. I didn't know there was a sign there, but it was perfect and the timing couldn't have been better. 

WELCOME TO CHICAS GRANDES BEACH! 

it said, in capital letters a foot high. Below, in smaller lettering, it said: 

Where the hottest girls in the world come to play! As featured in CURVY Magazine, May, 2008! 

Millie looked at me. "'Chicas Grandes'--that means 'Big Girls,' doesn't it?" 

"Yep."

She looked at me skeptically. "This is a beach for fat chicks?" 

"Not fat. Curvy, like you. And for men who appreciate and love them." 

"So every guy here is going to like the way I look?" She was beginning to smile. 

I grinned at her. "Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, baby. You're going to be the hottest babe they've ever seen." 

I smiled at her doubtful, but hopeful, expression. "I told you I was going to prove it someday. Today is that day." 

Millie stood a little straighter, and seemed to have an air of--anticipation. 

We went over the ridge and saw the beach for the first time. We looked around as we walked down the small slope to the sand.

What we saw stopped Millie in her tracks. In front of us and to our left, there was a woman much fatter than Millie, though her tits weren't as big, wearing a bikini almost as small. She was dancing. A small group of men was gathered around her, watching avidly as she wiggled and giggled, shaking her large tits and bouncing her big belly. After a particularly good shimmy, the men would whistle and clap. 

Nearby, there was a mixed group of men and women watching; the girls were all heavy, some very large, some just slightly plump, but all wore remarkably tiny swimsuits. Most of them had men's arms around their waists or draped over their shoulders. One pair was kissing, and rather intimately. 

Farther on, there were three women sunbathing; all three were topless, and one was lying on her back.. They were all big, with broad fleshy thighs and thick waists. 

To our right were similar scenes; a couple, the woman just short of grossly fat, making out in the sand; her swimsuit was a one- piece, but a daring one that left most of her huge ass exposed. The man's hand was stroking it sensuously. A circle of people around a campfire, the girls all fat, the men all staring and smiling. Plump girls in suits of various sizes playing volleyball for an appreciative audience of at least a dozen men. 

And everywhere were couples like us, ordinary or even great-looking men and large, or curvy, or chubby women, sitting on blankets and watching the scene together. Bikinis seemed to be the norm, but none were as small as Millie's.

Everywhere, too, were wandering men, singly or in groups of two or three or four, walking in the sand and frankly ogling the girls. None seemed to mind, and I saw some even preening or posing as the men stopped to stare at them. Millie's big blue eyes were wide, looking everywhere, taking it all in. 

"Holy shit." 

The voice came from behind us. As we turned, another voice said, "I'm in love." 

Behind us were three guys. I might as well have been invisible. They were all staring open-mouthed at my wife. 

"Oh, my God," said one as Millie turned around. "Look at those tits." 

"I am totally in love," said another, evidently the source of the second voice we heard. To my total shock and surprise, Millie smiled brightly. 

"Thanks, fellas, but I'm taken," she said, threading her arm through mine. She winked at them, and we started down toward the sand. 

I heard one of them mutter, "Lucky son of a bitch." Millie heard him too, and she giggled.

"I think I'm going to like it here," she said. She seemed almost euphoric, and no longer self-conscious at all. 

I couldn't believe the sudden change from the terrified Millie who was cowering on the car seat less than an hour before. As we walked along, we heard "Holy shit!" "Day-yum!" "Oh, my God!" and the like, the whole way. And Millie smiled more and more broadly. 

She took to the attention like a bird that is finally uncaged takes to the air. She loved it. 

As we walked along, we also often heard "Shit," or "Oh, crap," in a disgusted tone. The third or fourth time we heard that, Millie looked the question at me. 

"They're looking at your hands," I said. It was true; I had watched the reactions. Millie still looked puzzled. "They're noticing your wedding ring," I clarified with a grin. Millie laughed, delighted, and she absolutely sparkled after that. 

We were heading down to the water. I noticed a little extra swivel to her hips as she walked, a little extra jiggle and swing to her huge tits. 

The wandering, ogling men seemed to be casually drifting our way. I wasn't surprised. Millie looked naked from a distance, with her pale creamy skin and tiny white bikini--and of course from behind, she essentially was naked. On top of that, any man with eyes would notice her tits at a hundred yards. 

The men were gathering around to stare at her, walking nearby, pacing us. Though they kept at a discreet distance, say 20 or 25 feet, they made no pretense of doing anything but eating her alive with their eyes. And from the looks they gave her, their eyes were starving. 

Millie's nipples were swelling. Her giant "puffies" were blatantly visible through the stretchy fabric, and her long, fat tips stuck out like a couple of video-game joysticks. With every awed exclamation, they seemed to get stiffer and her knobs more inflated. 

She knew it, too. I saw her glance downward and saw her cheeks grow pink. And I saw her smile. She wasn't embarrassed. She was proud. 

I had been waiting to see that smile on Millie's sweet face since I first met her. "Give 'em a show, baby," I whispered, encouraging her. She giggled and walked even more sexily, and she let everything she had bounce and wobble freely.

Correction: she *made* everything she had bounce and wobble freely. She was absolutely loving it, and we weren't even down to the water yet. 

There were at least 20 men around us when we finally picked a spot. I spread out the blanket, but I left the umbrella on the sand. We might need it later when the sun got high, but for now it was comfortably warm. 

Millie made a big show of settling down on the blanket. First she kicked off her sandals so she was barefoot; then she went around and pulled out all the edges, so it was completely flat and wrinkle-free on the sand. That, of course, required her to either squat or bend over. She did both, alternately. 

The views were spectacular. Her broad, round, perfect ass, displayed entirely bare; her unbelievably huge tits, swinging and dangling freely, only her nipples covered, and those barely; her swollen pussy lips, clearly visible under her thin, obviously sopping-wet, plastered-to her-crotch white G-string; and not to forget, her curvy, beautiful bare legs and pretty little feet. The men's tongues were all but hanging out as they watched her tease them. 

She finally sat down and began to pose and stretch, ignoring them entirely. She showed them no mercy, displaying everything she had with grace and sensual pleasure. "You're really getting into this, aren't you?" I whispered. 

She replied in kind, her lips hardly moving. "It's like being surrounded with Jeffs," she whispered. "They all think I'm hot. I never felt like this before in my life." 

"Enjoy it, Big Tits," I whispered. "You deserve it. Just remember who loves you." 

She looked up at me, her eyes warm. "Let's make out," she suddenly said in her normal voice, so the watching men could all hear. "I want you to hold me and kiss me and feel me all over." She lay back with her arms--and her legs--wide. 

I heard a couple of the oglers groan. I lay down beside her, and she whispered, "I'll show you I know who loves me." She lunged at me, and we were instantly in a Hollywood clinch. Her arms around me, her tits against my chest, her tongue in my mouth, and her legs wrapped around mine. She started grinding her pussy against me, and I could imagine the effect on those watching her bare ass undulating as she did it. 

I got into the spirit of it. I stroked and fondled her all over, oblivious of the gasps and hisses and moans of our audience. They seemed to make Millie even hotter, though. "Feel my tits more," she whispered into my mouth. "Let them see you feel them all over. Feel my ass..." 

We made out like we were teenagers in the back seat of a '57 Chevy, and like we were alone. Millie was holding and squeezing and massaging my dick through my swimsuit, openly, knowing that by this time maybe fifty men and not a few women were watching the show. 

I was pulling and twisting and playing with her huge knobs through her suit, and pink crescents of her swollen aureolae were peeking out from her overmatched cotton cups. 

She was gasping and nearing orgasm as she sucked on my tongue and kneaded my stiff cock with her pretty hand. As the crowd watched eagerly, Millie stiffened and shuddered, rolling onto her back and crying out in full-on, shivering orgasm in front of everyone. 

She was really coming, but she was also showing off for our audience, She let her body go, letting it shudder and jerk convulsively, wildly, shaking all over and pumping her generous, bare hips with her thighs spread wide like she was being fucked by King Kong. 

Her tits, trapped between her arms, slipped free of her bra top and vibrated like gallons of white merengue topped with balls of pink foam, her thumb-sized teats pointing at the sky and shaking. She was pulling her G-string tight, and the spreading wetness at her plainly bald and deep-split crotch was keeping it plastered to her clearly visible, swollen cuntlips. It was soaked and almost transparent, and every man there could see her most intimate secrets as she shuddered in blistering orgasm for almost a full minute. 

When she finally stopped shaking, the watching crowd erupted in cheers, whistles and applause. Millie looked at them foggily over the mountains of her exposed tits and swollen nipples and smiled and nodded her thanks, stroking her soaking-wet crotch. Then she slipped a hand beneath her G-string and started to finger herself. 

I moved back and just sat and watched with the rest as Millie pulled her bra all the way off and worked her fingers in her barely-hidden pussy in front of the crowd. 

To my astonishment--and everyone's--she rolled over, got awkwardly up on her knees, then stood up, without ever stopping her masturbation. She was fingerfucking herself in her tiny G-string, standing up in a lewd crouch with her unbelievable tits bare and waggling with the motion on her arm pumping her fingers in her pussy. 

She began turning around and around, obviously wanting everyone to see her from all sides as she worked her cunt. "Talk to me," she quavered. "Tell me I look good..." 

The crowd, including me, erupted in shouts of encouragement. "You look great, baby!" "You're beautiful!" "Whatta honey!" "Shake those titties!" "Show us that big bare ass!" "Whooo!" "Never seen anything like you, mama!" 

And of course, "Take it off!" A split second later, we were all shouting for Millie to shed the G-string and cum naked for us. She was shivering, her orgasm coming close, and I could see the desperation on her face as she looked at me. 

I nodded, and my sweet Millie pulled the string at her hip and the G-string fell to the blanket around one ankle. She kicked it away and crouched lower, and we all saw her two pretty fingers frantically sawing in and out of her bald, plump, red and glistening pussy--and she came naked in front of us all, even harder than before. 

Everything she had jiggled and waggled and shook; she tossed her tits skyward and bounced them as hard as she could, and lifted her other pretty hand to stretch and pop a fabulous nipple as she squatted lower and lower and rubbed her clit till we thought it must burst into flame. 

Then she peaked, screaming "I'm HOT!" at the top of her lungs--

And collapsed into a shivering heap on the blanket, nerveless and unconscious. I knelt by her instantly, and found her limp with her eyes rolled back in her head. I looked up at the crowd, "She's okay," I said. "She's just fainted." 

Someone handed me a beach towel to put over her, and I arranged her in a more comfortable position and let her rest. 

A lot of the watchers, men and women, came up to express concern, and wonder - and envy. I thanked them, but said little. After a while, they had all drifted off to ogle other women. 

Millie came to, or woke up, not long after she had passed out. She was a little disoriented. "Are we still at the beach?" she asked. "That seems like it was days ago.". I recalled the same feeling when I blacked out from a chokehold in a high school wrestling match. 

"It was about fifteen minutes ago. We haven't even been here that long. Do you remember what you did?" 

She blinked, slowly. "I remember making out with you in front of the men--and I remember cumming--and then I--I got up and--" 

She swallowed and looked at me, dumbstruck. "Did I really feel myself off topless and then cum naked in public?" Her face was bright pink. 

I held up the two parts of her bikini. She gasped, realizing that she was still naked under the towel. "That was fifteen minutes ago?" 

"Sure was." 

She looked at me. "Take me home, Jeff."

I tried to reassure her. "It's okay, baby. You didn't do anything wrong." 

"I know that. Take me home." 

"Then why--" 

"Jeff. Listen to me." She lifted a finger like she was lecturing me. "I want you to take me home because I want you to fuck me. Hard. And more than once. And I don't want to do it here. Okay?"

I smiled broadly. "But the bet was, we stay till it gets dark."

"The point was to get me to show myself off here and get to enjoy it, right?" 

"Well, yeah..." 

"So how about if I walk the length of the beach, both ways, stark naked in front of everybody, and then ride naked all the way home? Will that do?" 

I stared at her. 

"Okay," I finally said. "Who are you, and what have you done with my Millie?" She cracked up, and so did I. T

rue to her word, she stood up, dropped the towel, and we started walking down the beach. "Tell me what I'm wearing, Jeff," she said. "I want to hear you tell me." Her nipples were swelling again. 

"Nothing, Millie," I said. "You're barefoot and completely naked, with a shaved pussy and your big tits and fat ass sticking out bare. Your knobs are all swollen and your bare cunt is red and dripping, and everybody can see you're ready to fuck. You have to walk like this in public and let anybody look who wants to, and you aren't allowed to hide yourself at all. How's that?" 

"Oh, God, Jeff--you can"t imagine how hot that makes me." She was trembling. 

We were already maybe fifty yards from where we left her bikini and sandals lying on the blanket. "Yesterday this would have been my worst nightmare because I was fatandugly. Today it's a dream come true because I'm totally hot and sexy and every guy here wants to suck my big tits and fuck my juicy pussy. And I have to walk naked in front of them all."

"With your swollen knobs sticking out bare and your cunt juice dripping down your bare legs." 

She shivered and almost lost her balance. "I want to stay naked till your dick is in my pussy, Jeff. I want you to fuck me fresh from my naked walk in public. And I want you to make me do it again."

"Huh? Make you do it?"

"I want you to bet me that I have to ride here naked and barefooted, and then I have to use a big dildo till I cum, with nothing on but shiny oil, out on the public beach in front of all those staring guys. And I'm gonna fold on the next card so I have to do it." 

Millie looked at me, her face pink, her eyes desperate like when she wanted me to make her pull off her G-string. 

I understood now that she wasn't asking for permission; she wanted to be made to do it. "I want to have to do it, like I did today, Jeff. I want that. Okay?"

"Okay. Go over there to to those guys with the boombox and tell them you'll dance naked for them. Then do it. I'll wait here." We were near the end of the beach, and there was a group of young men, college kids maybe, gathered around a small fire with a CD player going. They were all staring at the naked, big-titted woman walking down the beach. 

Millie looked at them, shivering. Then she kissed me and whispered "Thank you," and started walking toward them. 

As I watched her bumping her bare, wet cunt in their faces and lifting and shaking her tits by the nipples, I thought: Well, this worked out way better than I'd hoped. I won't even need the second part of my plan. 

When I take her to the Chubbies strip club tomorrow night, she won't just be watching from a back table and learning that guys like to watch plump women strip naked. Millie is going to be up on the stage. 

As she ran back to me, gasping with happiness and excitement, I decided to make her go back and hold her shaved pussy open for them. Then we'd start back down the beach. 

Life was going to be exciting from now on, I thought. 

And it is. You have NO idea.



Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 03



My sweet, big-titted plumper wife, Millie, had changed after her day at the beach. I had thought she was perfect before, but I hadn't known what perfect was before that day. 

Oh, she was still the same Millie; funny and sweet and giving, and more devoted to me than ever. After her struggle to trust me that day, and her amazing, instant transformation from self-hating "fatandugly" housewife to blazing-hot naked cockteaser as a result of that reluctant trust, she would do literally anything I said without hesitation. 

The change was exactly that transformation. She was no longer the self-conscious fat girl who hid herself in frumpy clothes and dreaded going out in public. She became a proud and happy BBW, walking down the street or through the Mall with her head held high, her astonishing tits thrust out boldly, her big ass rolling and jiggling, and a contented and secure smile on her face. Where once men hardly gave her a glance, she was now followed by bugged-out eyes and dropped jaws everywhere she went. And she loved it. 

The first thing we did when we got back to the house from the beach was have three absolutely savage fucks in succession--in the living room, the bedroom, and the shower--with her still naked from the beach and me telling her over and over what she had done. 

She stayed naked all the rest of that day, and I fucked her twice more before we went to bed. When we finally did, we cuddled and kissed and murmured love to each other till Millie drifted off. 

She was snuggled close, one huge tit pressed into my side, the other lying across my chest, and she slept in my arms with the most beautiful childlike smile on her sweet lips that I'd ever seen. 

Only one day, I thought. 24 hours. Less. That morning she had been so afraid....

It was a long time before I slept.

The next day we spent shopping. We went to a series of "plus size" women's dress shops and bought Millie a whole new wardrobe. We had to go to three or four, because the first ones we saw seemed to have only the kind of frumpy, dull things she would never wear again. Finally, we found one that had a little of that, but much more of the sexy, tight and revealing clothes that Millie was looking for and hungry to wear. 

"You don't know what this means to me, Jeff," she enthused as she looked through a rack of low-cut tops. "I always wanted to look good and wear sexy stuff, but I never thought I could. Now I find out I AM pretty and sexy and--and hot." 

She looked at me, her eyes brimming with love. For about the fiftieth time since the day before, she hugged me and gave me a passionate kiss and whispered, "Thank you, Jeff. Thank you so much." 

She leaned back and looked at me, her tits still pressed against my waist, and said, "You always knew, didn't you? You always saw me that way when no one else did." 

"Yup. You got it, Big Tits." 

She giggled and rubbed them against me for a second, then said, "I love you so much," and went back to her search. 

We left the store with so many boxes and bags I had to make two trips. "Where to now?" I asked, and she shocked me--and not for the last time. 

"Do you know where we can get a dildo?" she asked, a wicked smile on her baby face and her big blue eyes sparkling.

"Am I not enough for you?" I asked teasingly. She looked down, her face pink. "Oh, yes, Jeff. But I want to--to--" 

"You want to show off with it and cum while you do it," I said.

She nodded gratefully and asked, "Do you know where we can get one? Or two?" 

I took her to an adult bookstore I knew. We were there for over an hour after she realized they also stocked lingerie and other goods that other stores didn't carry. 

Even though Millie was wearing a fairly modest pair of jeans and an ordinary blouse, the clerk couldn't keep his eyes off her. Can't say I blamed him. 

Millie chose five, count 'em, five outrageous dildos. She also picked out two fishnet body stockings, some crotchless, thong and G-string panties, three pairs of outrageous, stretchy shortshorts, and several amazing T-shirts. 

One read "ALL NATURAL" in huge red letters; another said "Want me to SHAKE 'em?" and a third came with two iron-on sets of big red lips that we would place on the shirt where her nipples showed through. Across the top it said "KISS ME TWICE." 

"You're going a little nuts, aren't you, baby?" I said, as she looked at one that just said "BIG TITS," but in letters that were made to look as if they were vibrating up and down. She dropped that one in our basket too and laughed. 

"You don't know how long I've envied girls who could wear things like this," she said. "Now I'm making up for lost time. Ooo, look at this one!" 

She held up a shirt that said, "I have two important points..." and beneath, a large "1" and "2." She giggled and took it. "Find me a really dirty one that I can wear just for you, Jeff," she said happily. "Then we can go look at the leather stuff!"

I picked one out that said "FUCK ME TILL I CRY," and she squealed with delight. "Do they have it in XXL?" she asked. They did, and we bought that one too. 

In the leather aisle she first picked out a spiked dog collar and leash. I blinked at that, and she smiled at me, her cheeks pink, and said, "I want you to make me go to the beach naked in this and lead me around and make me do tricks." 

I was still digesting that when she chose a harness that would emphasize her tits and still leave them bare. Then, to my shock and cock-hardening joy, she picked out some wrist and ankle cuffs, a beginner's bondage kit, and a ball gag. "I want to be helpless," she said with another enchanting blush. 

Finally, we went back to the "clothing" aisle--if you can really call it "clothing." Millie picked out a few nighties--two that were totally transparent, one that was just a network of ragged rips and tears, and one made of nothing but long fringe. Then she chose some spangled G-strings with matching tasselled pasties and a belly-dancing costume. 

She asked me, "Is there anything you'd like to see me in, Jeff?" I chose a slave-girl outfit--a string to go around her hips with narrow silk panels in front and back, a string bra that wouldn't even cover her nipples, and a harem veil. She squealed again when she saw it and said, "I can't wait to dance for you in that!" 

We finally went to the counter and paid for it all. It was a bundle, but I'd have spent twice that much without blinking. 

The clerk called me back with a gesture as we were leaving. When I got back to the counter, he leaned over and whispered, "Mister, I hope you get down on your knees every night and give thanks to God." 

"I do," I whispered back, grinning. "Believe it." I really do, and every morning as well. 

"Here," he said as he put a small box in my hand. "This is on the house. I hope she enjoys 'em." 

I looked. It was an assortment of French ticklers, meant to be put on my cock as I fucked her to add to her excitement. "Thanks," I said as I slipped them into my pocket. "Now you can feel like there's a little bit of you in her pussy." 

He grinned. "That's the idea."

Before I walked away, I whispered, "She shaves it bare, too..." He grimaced in mock pain and waved me away. 

"What was that all about?" asked Millie, who had waited by the door. 

"He just wanted to know if we wanted to open an account," I lied. "And to tell me how lucky I am, like I didn't know that." 

She giggled and said, "Promise you'll tell me when anyone says something like that."

So I told her exactly what he said, and Millie glowed. I left out the part about the ticklers. That would be a surprise. 

My head was spinning as we went to the car. I guess it showed, because Millie asked, "Jeff, do you want me to drive?" 

I shook my head. "I'm okay," I said. "It's just a big change, and it happened so fast." 

I looked down at her. "Less than 48 hours ago, you wouldn't have been caught dead in that place. Now you're buying out the store." 

She looked up at me with her old sweet smile, but with a new twinkle in her beautiful eyes. "Do you like the change?" she asked coyly. 

I just looked back at her and said, "Oh, Millie. I loved you more than life, before. Now..." My mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. I shrugged and almost dropped one of the black plastic bags. 

"You are my life," I finally said. "Your body is my soul, and your face is my heart. I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have you love me." 

Her eyes filled with tears. "No, Jeff," she said. "I'm the lucky one. You showed me who I am, and now you're letting me be that." 

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, lifting her face to me, and I leaned down and kissed her again. That time I did drop a couple of bags. 

On the way home, Millie was bubbly. "I can't wait to model all my new things for you," she said. 

"Do I get to jack off?" I laughed. 

She looked at me with a wicked smile. "You better, Big Dick," she breathed. "And you better shoot, too. Lots of times. I want you to tell me to lick it up off the floor." 

"We have carpeting," I said. My head was spinning again. 

"So we do it in the kitchen. I better mop first." 

I glanced over at her. She was totally serious. 

It was amazing. Not only had Millie learned what I wanted her to learn, but she had somehow fixated on me "making" her do things. Apparently her being all but forced to parade around in her obscenely small bikini in public had affected her deeply, and now, "having to" do something was an essential element of the erotic thrill for her. 

I found myself making plans. I thought about Chubbies, the strip club, and smiled to myself as we drove home with Millie excitedly looking through her purchases and ooohing and gasping and giggling. 

We relaxed over a light dinner, and then I sat in the kitchen and waited for the "fashion show" to begin. Millie started with the "street clothes" she had bought first--and they were eyepopping enough on their own. 

Skintight jeans and sexy sandals, clingy low-cut tops that threatened to spill gallons of tits at every move, short skirts that showed off her beautiful, curvy white legs, and dresses that would stop traffic at rush hour (and did). 

The shortshorts were incredible. They started four inches below her bellybutton, and they ended halfway down her ass. A hand's breadth of asscheek was left bare on either side, and they were about as concealing--in back and in front--as a coat of spray paint. 

The T-shirts she wore with the shorts we're shocking with her enormous braless breasts bouncing and wobbling beneath them, and she decided she might not wear them in public after all--"Unless you tell me to," she said. I could tell that she hoped I would. 

She moved on to the nightwear and exotic costumes she'd chosen. I made it through the transparent babydolls and the net bodystockings--no point in trying to describe those, the effect was nuclear--and the belly dancing outfit, but when she came out wearing a red spangled G-string and matching tassels, and started to do a fuck-me dance in front of me, all bets were off. 

Jack off, hell. Some other time. I bent her over by the kitchen table and had her hold onto the back of a chair as I pulled the G-string down to her ankles and off and jammed my stiff cock into her wet cunt from behind. 

She mewed and whimpered and hissed as I slid my cock in and out of her gushing-wet pussy, watching her tits swinging free and her tassels tossing wildly as I slammed into her grasping, slippery cunt. Her big, creamy-white ass rippled and quivered with the impacts as I fucked her deep and hard. 

I knew how to make her cum. "You cock-teasing bitch! I'm going to make you wear that outfit in public! I want to see you walking down the street barefoot and bare-assed, with your bare tits swinging and your fucking tassels bouncing around and your G-string sparkling in the sunshine!" 

She was shivering and grunting as she pumped her big ass back at me. "Oh, yes, Jeff--I'll do it--I'll shake my tits the whole time if you tell me to--"

Her pussy was milking my cock like she was sucking me off with it. I was already getting close; the stimulation of watching her pick out all those sexy clothes, and then model them for me, had brought me halfway to shooting before I ever touched my dick. I had had a hard-on all day. 

And grasping the idea that she'd do anything I said was sinking in, too. It was turning me on like a million-volt generator. As I fucked her, I tried to scare her. "I'm gonna take you for a walk in your dog collar like the bitch you are--"

"I'll crawl naked on my hands and knees--" 

"With your bare tits swinging--" 

"I'll drag my ni

pples on the sidewalk--" "I'll make you squat and hold your pussy open and piss on the ground--"

"I'll do it--I'll shit in the gutter if you tell me to--"

"And wipe your ass by dragging it through the grass--"

"I'll do it, Jeff! I'll do anything!"

She shuddered and jerked and her pussy clamped down on my dick like it was her fist. "I'm cumming, Jeff! I'm cumming all over your dick! Make me do something!" 

"Catch my wad in your mouth! Do it now!" She shivered and pulled herself off my dick, then spun around and knelt at my feet. She grabbed my dick and put it in her mouth, hands quivering--she was still cumming--and began to suck and slurp and slobber all over it, as noisily and sloppily as she could. 

One hand went to her bald crotch, and she fingered herself desperately as she worked on my bursting dickhead like there was air in it and she was drowning. I bent down and yanked her tassels off, then grabbed her nipples by the tips and pulled them up till they were level with her eyes--and she mewled and came again, still sucking my dick. 

I shook her huge tits by the nipples, hard, and she whimpered and stopped sucking long enough to gasp, "Keep doing that"--and at that I shot in her mouth. 

Millie slurped on my spurting dickhead, working hard to make my orgasm as intense as possible, even as I pulled and stretched and shook her tender nipples and made her cream so hard her cunt was trickling fluid onto the floor. 

My sperm leaked from her sweet baby lips and ran down her chin, and she looked up at me with slitted climax eyes and opened her mouth and let it spill out, licking my dick as the last few spurts jetted across her nose and cheeks and into her hair. 

I let go of Millie's tits and let them flop heavily to her chest, and I sat down. 

Fortunately, there was a chair behind me. I hadn't bothered to check. I sat there and looked at my sweet wife, kneeling naked with my sperm all over her pretty face and dripping onto her wonderful tits, and she looked back at me. We were both gasping and panting, and Millie's cum-streaked face was pink, her eyes bright. 

"I like your new wardrobe," I said, deadpan, and she snorted in surprise and started laughing. I began to laugh too, and as we laughed till our eyes watered, Millie stood and moved to sit in my lap. 

Finally, the laughter subsided. Millie wiped her eyes and said, "Yeah, I kind of gathered that," and we were off again. 

We eventually stopped laughing, and I squeezed her as she sat on my lap. I lifted my head, she bent hers, and we kissed with Millie's huge milkers cradling my chin. I bent my head and rubbed my face in them, and she put a hand to the back of my head and caressed it. 

"Mmm, I like that," she murmured. "I still have other things to show you, you know." 

"Later," I said. "Maybe I shouldn't pig out and devour them all at once, anyway. Bad for my heart."

She hugged me and said, "Okay. It'll be fun to surprise you later." 

I thought of the French ticklers. "Yeah. Maybe I'll have a few surprises for you, too."

We managed to get through a shower without fucking again--just lots of soapy caressing and cuddling and kissing--and we went to bed. 

Millie wore one of her transparent babydoll nighties, and modeled it for me a bit. She looked divine. Her delicious body was more decorated than hidden by the filmy nylon, and her gigantic tits lifted the front so high I could see her pink, hairless pussy. She hadn't bought any panties to wear with it.

We fucked again, of course. I slipped on the most interesting of the ticklers the store clerk had given me--given her, really. It was a rubber ring with three thin rubber "fingers" attached to it by quarter-inch bits of nylon cord, so they could swing freely and move around in Millie's pussy as I fucked her. 

The effect was devastating. "Oh, God, Jeff, what IS that? It--oh--it feels--ungh--fantastic--" She was already shivering and spasming, and we had only just started. 

"It's called a French tickler," I said. "Little item I picked up at the adult bookstore." 

"It's--ungh--oh--OH--it's good--nngh--" 

She pulled her knees back, opening herself completely. "F-fuck me--nngh--slide it--in and out--oh, fuck me, Jeff--" 

She came five times before I even started to get close, each time more intense than the last. 

By the time I drove it in all the way and blasted her cervix with boiling cum, she was in continuous, writhing, grimacing orgasm, and had been for more than ten minutes. It probably didn't help that I had oiled her big nipples and was milking and popping and tugging on her long, erect titty-faucets without stopping. 

After I came, we lay together gasping, still connected. She shivered and jerked every few seconds; the tiniest movement of my dick or her pussy was still giving her split-second electric orgasms for long minutes after we stopped our fierce, animal humping. 

She was as soft and warm and creamy as melted butter, and she could barely speak. "God... Never came... Like that... In... My life... Jeff... Love... You... Hold... Me... Hold me... Jeff... Love you... For... Ever..."

I took her in my arms--she was as limp and heavy as if she had been filled with warm water instead of muscle and bone--and she was asleep in seconds. 

I kissed her sweet, slack mouth gently and finally slipped my dick out of her pussy. Even in her sleep, she mewed and shivered. 

I looked at the tickler, then kissed it and carefully placed it on the bedside table. Definitely a keeper. Then I put my arm back around my amazing wife and went to sleep myself. 

My life changed from that day. I can't begin to describe it. Suddenly my bashful plumper wife was a blistering-hot, exhibitionist cocktease and an enthusiastic fucking slut. I had hot, shaved and sloppy-wet pussy three or four times a day, and huge, quivering, blatantly displayed tits ALL the time. 

Heaven? It was better than heaven. It was my Millie, as I never dreamed she could be. 

A few weeks later, as I was paying a disgusting sum for a tank of gas at a convenience store (yes, the same one), I glanced at the magazine rack and did a neck-wrenching double take. 

The latest issue of CURVY magazine was out, and my wife was on the cover! It was only a small picture in the upper right corner, but my eye was drawn to it instantly. It showed Millie from just above her nipples--in other words, quite a lot--with the caption, in caps, WHO IS THIS GIRL?

I bought it, of course, and tore off the plastic wrapper in the car. Inside-on page two, no less, right inside the cover--were five more pictures of Millie from her adventure on the beach. The pictures were a but grainy, but clear enough. 

Obviously, someone with a cell-phone camera had captured Millie's image and sent it to the magazine. Four of the photos showed her in her ridiculous bikini; one walking from the front, one from the back, and two of her adjusting the blanket. 

And one picture--the largest, taking up three-fourths of the page--was of Millie dancing naked. Her shaved pussy was clearly visible, gleaming with sweat or sunscreen, and her incredible tits were swinging to the side, toward the camera. Her huge knobs were partially swollen, and one of them was caught in profile, with the long, rubbery tip of it sticking out more than an inch, like one of her thumbs. The picture showed her from her short, swinging hair to her pretty bare feet, with her cute baby face wearing a bright, sweet smile of delight at displaying herself. All in all, it was a beautiful shot--graceful, pretty, and shockingly erotic.




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 03



The copy on the page was as follows: 

"WHO IS THIS GIRL? 

"One of our readers snapped these photos of an unknown young woman exhibiting her awesome body last week at Chicas Grandes, our favorite beach. We will give $500 to anyone who can give us her name and city of residence and/or put us in touch with her. 

"This girl has the prettiest face and the most incredible body we've ever seen. If we can find her, and can convince her to pose for us, we plan to devote an entire issue to her. If anyone out there knows who she is, please call us immediately at 212-555-TITS." 

I looked at the picture and wondered. 

When I got home, I casually handed the magazine to Millie, who was sitting crosslegged on the couch in her new shortshorts and the "FUCK ME TILL I CRY" T-shirt. She glanced down at it, then did the same doubletake I did. 

"Oh, my God!" she squealed in alarm. I watched as she opened it. Her reaction would be--interesting, I thought. 

Her big eyes were enormous and her hand was on her open mouth as she stared at the big picture of herself swinging her tits and bumping naked, and the other pictures of her in her obscene, cockteasing bikini. She was gasping, softly repeating, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God," over and over again as she stared at herself, displayed stark naked in a jack-off magazine. 

I watched in amazement as her hand snaked under her shortshorts and she began to finger her pussy as she stared. "Oh, God, Jeff," she breathed. "I didn't have any clothes on--and now jillions of men are going to see me... Naked... My shaved pussy... My big floppy tits..." 

She hissed and threw her head back, her eyes clenched shut and her hand busy in her tiny shorts. She began to shake. "A million men are gonna shoot cum to meeeeee..." 

I never saw Millie cum so fast. She stared at her picture with that familiar slit-eyed orgasm face, and she jerked and shuddered and cried out. 

I sat down beside her, and she looked at me with an unreadable expression--and then her face twisted and she dissolved in tears, falling into my arms helplessly. I held her as she sobbed uncontrollably, shaking convulsively and gasping and snorting in her anguish. 

I thought it was anguish--but when she raised her head, she was smiling. 

I was thoroughly confused by then. "Baby, what--why--I don't get it," I said, giving up. 

"Jeff," she choked out. "Jeff--you don't understand." 

"You're not kidding, baby," I said. "What's going on?" 

I handed her a Kleenex, and she took it gratefully, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. "You know how I've always wanted to be sexy." 

"You are. You always were." 

"But I didn't know that," she sniffed. "Not till you showed me. But ever since I can remember--the girls I most envied--the girls I most wanted to be like--" She stopped and took a deep, unsteady breath. "--were the girls in those magazines, the ones who were so pretty and sexy they could pose naked so men could jack off to their pictures." 

Her face began to twist again. "And now I am one!" She began to cry again, and I held her. 

When she calmed down again, I asked, "Millie, honey--did you read what it said on that page?" 

She looked at me wide-eyed. "N-no," she said. "What does it say?" 

I handed her the magazine again and watched as she read. Her eyes grew bigger and bigger as she read, and her mouth opened wider and wider.

She finally looked up. "They want me to pose for them," she said in a childlike voice. "They want to take naked pictures of me and show me to everybody."

She looked back at the magazine and began to flip through it, looking at the pictures. I could she she was imagining herself in those pictures, those poses. She said nothing, but occasionally gasped or put her fingertips to her mouth when she saw a particularly revealing or lewd pose. 

I thought she was horrified--but when she came to the centerfold, she did both, then looked up with a wicked smile. "Look at this one, Jeff," she whispered excitedly. "Look what she's doing." 

I looked. The model had one foot up on a chair and the other on the floor, half-squatting with her legs wide open and her pussy brazenly thrust forward. She was leaning back and sucking her own tit, while opening her gleaming-wet pussy with her other hand, pressing it inward to make her obviously erect clit stand out prominently between her fingers. 

There was a knowing smirk on her face as she looked into the camera, her lips firmly locked around her nipple--half the size of Millie's, but still huge. Her other tit hung down almost to her navel. 

I looked at my wife. Her eyes were sparkling, her color high. "They want me to do that, Jeff! They want me to pose like that!" 

"Do you want to?" I asked. 

She turned red, and I saw her nipples suddenly spring out, fully hard and erect. She shivered and looked at me in mock fear, trying to look afraid and embarrassed. 

"No, Jeff! I'd HATE having to do that! It would be so embarrassing, having to suck my own nipples and hold my wet pussy open and maybe finger myself and cum while some stranger took p-pictures of me! I'd h-HATE it!" 

Yeah, right, I thought. 

I pointed at the number in the magazine. "Make the call, Millie," I said. "Call them and tell them who you are and tell them you want to show off everything you've got, on the fucking COVER. Do it now." 

Millie could hardly push the buttons fast enough. 

"Hello, is this--" She looked back at the cover-- "CURVY magazine?"

"I'm the girl on page two of this month's issue." 

"That's right." 

"Sure, I'll hold."

"Hello. Yes, that's me."

"Millie Wilson." 

She giggled. "58 triple H." 

"Why, thank you. That's very sweet." 

"Yes, I would." 

"I'll do anything you want." She looked up at me. "I want to show everything I've got. I want to show off my pussy on your COVER." 

"Oh. Well, inside then."

"That sounds like fun. Should I bring my own? I have five." 

"Okay. How about sexy costumes?" 

"Really? In EVERY picture?" 

She giggled again. "I guess I don't need to bring anything then, do I?"

"You're going to PAY me?" 

I almost choked on my laughter. Millie was ready to pose for free. 

"I don't know. Maybe--"

I leaned down and whispered in her ear: "Ask them to make an offer, then ask for twice that much." She looked at me and nodded, a huge smile on her pretty face. 

"Well, what would you pay me?" 

"No way. I want TEN thousand."

"Really? Okay, then. What do I do?" 

The rest was making arrangements. Millie finally hung up. She was quivering with excitement. "They're going to fly us to New York, Jeff! Whenever we can go! Five-star hotel, all expenses paid, whatever we want!"

"What was all that about what you'd do and costumes?"

She looked down and blushed yet again. "They asked me if I'd masturbate with a dildo. I said I would... And they want me stark naked in every picture, Jeff! Every single one! They said maybe for my next issue--" She giggled-- "they'd want me in costumes, but for this one they want me--he said, 'naked as a baby.'" 

She shivered. "I'm going to pose completely bare, Jeff! I'm going to be on every page in nothing but my bare skin!" 

"Well, not EVERY page," I said. 

"No, every page! He said so! No ads, not even any articles, just an interview with me and my pictures! It's going to be a special issue that'll sell for way more than their regular magazine! But I'll have some pictures in that one, too, and I'll be on the cover of both..."

She finally ran down, and sat and stared at the magazine for a few minutes--a little glazed over, I thought.

"Millie, are you okay?" I asked. 

She looked up at me slowly. "Is this really happening?"

"Huh? Of course it is. What do you mean?" 

She shook her head. "It's just hard to believe. My whole life, I've been this ugly fat girl, and now I'm--I'm--" She stopped. 

"You're what, baby?"

"That guy on the phone said I was going to be the most popular model they've ever had. He said I'm the most beautiful and the hottest and sexiest girl he's ever seen, and he said he's been an editor at CURVY for twenty years, ever since it started. They never did a special issue for just one girl before." 

She looked at me with an expression of childlike fear. "Jeff--is this a dream?" 

I laughed and hugged her. "No, baby, it's not. It's all real. And in a week or two, you're going to be showing off in front of the cameras in your pretty birthday suit. Any guy with a few bucks in his pocket is going to get to see what I get to see and touch and hold and kiss and fuck every day." 

"Is that really okay with you?" she asked timidly. "I know you told me to call because you knew I wanted to." 

I laughed. "Are you kidding? I'm going to be known as the luckiest guy in the world! And you know what?"

"What?" 

I took her in my arms and kissed her. "I am," I said.



Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 04



We were standing at the airline counter, redeeming our tickets to New York. The clerk was going through his list of canned questions, looking up only to snatch glimpses of the Grand Canyon--the 16 inches of Millie's creamy-white cleavage (I measured it while she giggled). 

Millie was wearing a shockingly short microskirt and an incredibly low-cut T-shirt top, with a stretchy sling bra that offered very little support for her swaying, wobbling football tits. 

Actually, they're bigger than footballs. But never mind that now. 

Anyway, he was surreptitiously ogling my wife's huge knockers, at which I took no offense--what non-gay male wouldn't ogle her?--and asking us his routine questions. 

"Have your bags been out of your sight at any time this morning?" 

"No," I said. 

"Are you carrying any explosives, fireworks, dangerous chemicals, or other prohibited items?"

"No."

"Do you have big t--uh, a projected return date?"

"One week from today." Millie and I exchanged smirks. 

"Reason for your ti--uh, trip?"

Millie leaned forward--the clerk did not look at her face--and said excitedly, "I'm going to New York to pose naked for CURVY magazine!"

The clerk looked at her face then, his eyes wide. "Jesus Christ," he said. "I'll buy it!" Then he blinked and said, "I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone I said that." We both laughed. 

As we walked toward the gate, I leaned over and whispered, "Next time just say 'business,' baby."

She just giggled.

The plane ride was routine, except for the number of men who kept finding reasons to walk by our row of seats. There were three seats in our row, and the poor old bastard that was sitting on the other side of Millie was sweating and fidgeting before our plane ever left the ground. Her breast kept brushing his arm, and I noticed that instead of pulling it in to give her room, he actually moved it toward her a fraction. 

He finally moved to lean against the window so he was partially facing Millie, and pretended to read a book. He didn't turn a page for the whole flight. His boner was visible even through his baggy, pleated pants. I'd guess he was about 80, but the plumbing obviously still worked. On the other hand, if all women looked like my Millie, the Viagra people would go broke. 

After the plane landed and people were getting up and retrieving their carry-on bags from the overhead bins, the guy just sat there and frankly stared as Millie reached up over him to get ours. She handed them to me--then leaned over him and asked in a breathy, insinuating voice, "Did you enjoy the flight?" 

Her tits were dangling about a foot from his face. "Y-yes, I did," he stammered in his old, cracked voice. "Very much." 

She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him full on the mouth--and gave his hard-on a long squeeze as she did it. "Bye," she said as we turned to go. 

"B-b-b-bye," he said after her. His face was a mask of total shock, and he was shivering a little. 

"Damn, baby," I said as we walked down the aisle, "I hope the paramedics are ready. I think you gave that old guy a heart attack."

"No, I didn't. He just came, that's all." She looked back at me and smirked. 

"Oh." I watched her generous ass roll and jiggle beneath her short skirt as we went on down the aisle, and I wasn't the only one. I was smiling, and I guess I looked pretty smug. It didn't matter, though. No one on the plane was looking at me. 

We took a cab to the CURVY offices from the hotel, and the cabbie--a swarthy Middle Eastern type, big surprise--spent more time looking in his rearview mirror than at the road. I don't think it was adjusted to look at the traffic behind us, either. 

As we got out of the cab, I counted out the fare and was adding another five. "What's that for?" asked Millie. 

"You always tip cab drivers," I said. She knew that. 

"Oh. Well, let me do it." She handed me her big purse. I knew what was coming, and I stood back to watch. 

Millie leaned into the cab and said, "You want a good tip?" The cabbie nodded, his eyes suspicious. He had probably heard "Don't sleep on the subway" and such "tips" many times. 

"How about two good tips?" asked Millie, and to the cabbie's shock--and that of several passersby--she pulled up her top and bra and flashed him. She shook her bare, massive milkers in his face for a second, then quickly covered herself. "How's that?" she asked as she adjusted her bra. 

"Lady, dose are da best tips I ever got!" He must have been in New York a long time. His accent was pure Brooklyn, not Pakistani. He looked at me. "Keep da money, mister," he said. "Dis ride was on da house!" he rolled his eyes skyward. "God is great," he said as he put the cab in gear and pulled away. 

I handed her purse back. "I thought you wanted me to make you do things," I said. "You seem to be having a lot of fun on your own."

She shrugged, and some guy walked into a light pole. "It would be more fun if you were giving me orders," she admitted. "But I'm enjoying myself anyway. We're in New York, and I thought I'd let myself go a little. Is it okay?" 

"A little?" I looked back at the guy picking himself up off the sidewalk. He was still staring at my wife. "It's okay with me, Big Tits, but I think you're going to be keeping the doctors busy while you're in town." 

She giggled. I love that giggle. "Besides, you haven't made me do anything."

"Okay," I said. "Take off your underwear."

She goggled at me. "Now?" she said. "Right here?"

"Do it."

She hesitated a moment. The street wasn't crowded, but it was a long way from empty. Looking around with that expression I knew meant fear, embarrassment and pussy-gushing excitement all at once, Millie handed me her purse again--then abruptly pulled up her short skirt, exposing her pink thong panties, and skinned them down her plump, pale thighs. I don't think she could quite have been arrested--her skirt came back down with her panties and her pussy was never exposed--but it would have been close. 

At least a half-dozen men, and even a few women, stopped dead in their tracks to watch. Millie handed her panties to me in a wadded-up ball, and I put them in my pocket. "The bra too," I said. 

Standing right there on the sidewalk, in full view of her appreciative audience, she pulled one arm inside her sleeveless top and unfastened her bra. She slipped the strap down that arm, then slid her arm out again and reached around to deftly yank her bra from the other armhole. 

As she handed it to me, there was a small round of applause from around us. Millie, her face pink, gave the watchers an ironic curtsey. Her enormous tits, now quivering entirely free under her low-cut, stretchy top, swayed seductively. Her softball nipples and long, erect tips were clearly visible, probably from across the street. 

A car rear-ended a tour bus as we stood there. The gaping tourists in the windows of the bus didn't seem to notice. 

"Shit, let's get inside, Millie. You're going to cause a traffic jam." We were standing directly in front of the building where CURVY magazine was located. She grinned and we walked in. 

The CURVY offices were on the thirty-fifth floor. As we rode up in the elevator, Millie gave my ass a squeeze and whispered, "Thanks. I needed that. It's more fun when you order me."

Jesus, I thought. I could tell her to strip naked in Times Square and do Jumping Jacks and she'd do it. I shook off the dizziness; it was getting to be a regular thing.

The CURVY offices were nice, but hardly palatial. The walls were decorated with pictures of beautiful, chubby women--clothed, though not modestly--and there were a couple of sofas with coffee tables in front of them. Copies of the magazine were piled on the tables. Beats the hell out of the dentist's waiting room, I thought.

We walked--or in Millie's case, jiggled--up to the receptionist's desk. The young woman behind it, no lightweight herself, looked up and her eyes widened. 

"You must be Millie Wilson," she said. 

"Uh-huh. We have a ten o'clock?"

"They've been waiting since eight. Right this way." We followed her swaying hips down a short hallway, where she knocked at a closed door. 

"Come," said a masculine voice, and Millie giggled. 

"I bet I will," she whispered as the receptionist opened the door. 

"Millie Wilson is here," the girl said. She favored me with a grin and a wink and returned to her post. We went in. 

It was a surprisingly small office, and the man behind the desk was already standing. When Millie walked in, his eyes sprang open and he said, "Holy cow! ...Er, no offense." 

Millie laughed. "Mooo," she giggled. "Wanna milk me?"

"Hey, that's MY job," I put in.

The guy just gaped at us. He was maybe fifty, a little overweight, but still had all his hair--that, or a really high-quality rug. He finally recovered and put out a hand with a slightly disconcerted smile. "Uh, hi, uh, I'm Frank DeMarco," he said. "You're Millie, and you are...?" he looked at me inquiringly."

The luckiest guy on the planet," I said. "I'm her husband, Jeff Wilson." 

He looked at Millie, then back at me. "You'll get no argument from me, Mr. Wilson," he said with an envious shake of his head. "Can I call you Jeff? Have a seat, both of you." 

"Jeff is fine," I said. "Let me see the contract." 

"Right down to business, huh?" he said. "Here you go." He handed me a folder that had been lying on the desk. 

"Yeah, well, my wife is in a hurry to take off her clothes and get in front of a camera." Millie blushed and, of course, giggled. 

"Oh, it'll be a while before we're ready for that. Our hair and makeup people get a turn with her first." He looked at her and smiled. "Though I don't know how they can improve on what I'm seeing." 

"Thank you," murmured Millie, oddly shy now. 

I was reading the contract. Every word of it. DeMarco knew better than to hurry me, and he chatted with Millie as I read. 

"You know about the interview?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes. That'll be fun. They'll ask me a lot of sexy stuff, right?" She was glowing with anticipation. 

"Sure. How far will you go? Do you want us to write some of it for you? Our readers like it pretty raw," he said with a surprising air of apology. 

Millie smiled at him with a deceptively innocent air. "Oh, no. I'll tell you anything you want to know." Then she grinned wickedly. "The nastier the better," she said. 

I noticed that DeMarco kept glancing downward. The little tease--well, okay, BIG tease--had let her tiny skirt ride up and was showing off her pale, fleshy legs--plus giving him a partial peek at her shaved, pantyless crotch. The sexy, minimal sandals on her pretty feet weren't helping matters. 

"You can make up things yourself if you like," he said. 

She smiled. "I won't have to." I was halfway through the contract, which was three pages long on legal-sized paper. "I see a problem here," I said. 

All business again, DeMarco said, "What's that, Jeff? It's all pretty standard." 

"Well, my wife isn't, as you may have noticed... It's the part about the videos and DVDs."

"Videos?" said Millie. "I get to do videos?" Her eyes sparkled. 

"Says here she gets a flat fee," I said. "That's no good. She gets 15% of the gross receipts, or no videos." 

DeMarco looked at me for a long moment. Then he looked at Millie. "Done," he said. "We'll just charge more for "em. They'll still sell like hotcakes. Let me see that." 

I handed him the contract. He crossed out a paragraph and made some notes in the margin, then handed it back. 

"Do we need to initial that?" I asked. 

"No. I'll have it retyped before you leave and we'll use that one. Is that all?"

"Dunno. Haven't finished reading it." I resumed my perusal, and DeMarco turned back to Millie. 

"Do you think you'd like to do some videos?" he asked. 

Millie was bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, and excited. "Oh, yes! What kind? What would I do in them?" 

His eyes slid over to me for a second. "Anything you want," he said. "Some of our girls do hardcore, but you don't have to." He glanced at me again. I said nothing; I knew what her answer would be. 

But I was wrong. "Hardcore? What's that?" she asked innocently.

He told her, and she shook her head rapidly, finally shocked. "No, no," she said. "No way. That's only for my husband." 

"Maybe WITH your husband...?" said DeMarco.

This time I was shocked. That had never occurred to me. 

Millie and I looked at each other. She seemed as unsure as I was. "We'll talk about it," I said, "and we'll get back to you. No promises." 

"Fair enough," he said, and turned back to Millie. "We'd like some nice softcore, for a start," he said. "Posing, showering, maybe exercising or dancing, that sort of thing." 

"I can't wait," she said. "Ooo! This is going to be fun!"

"How about--er--feeling yourself up, or working with a dildo?" 

"I brought my own," said Millie brightly. "Wanna see one?" 

Before he could answer, she pulled one from her purse. It was her favorite--about a foot and a half long, as big around as a flashlight, and studded with marble-sized bumps. 

Demarco, the veteran, was speechless. He finally just nodded. "Got another problem," I said. 

"What?" he said, his eyes still on the dildo. 

"First-time payment only. No good. I want another payment, at least half the original amount, every time you run any of her pictures." 

He finally looked at me. "But that's--" He stopped and looked back at Millie. "Okay," he said abruptly, and held out his hand. He crossed more out, made more notes, and handed it back. "Jeff, I want you to know, I've never made these concessions for any other model." 

I looked at Millie, and so did he. She looked back at us innocently, still holding up her big, bumpy dildo. Her big eyes were wide. "What?" she said. 

DeMarco and I looked at each other, and he gave me a wry smile. "Anything else?" he said archly. 

"I think that's about it," I said. 

"Do you want us to use her real name?" he asked. "I'd advise against it." 

"Ask her," I said. 

He turned to Millie, who said, "What's wrong with my name?"

"It's not that, sweetheart," I said. "You just don't want creeps to find out where you live or call you or stuff."

"Oh." She blinked. "I never thought of that." She thought for a second. "How about using my real first name, and making up a fake last name?"

"That's what a lot of the girls do," said DeMarco. He looked at her appraisingly. "Say, I have an idea," he said. "I was just thinking, something Irish; it goes with your beautiful pale complexion and your pink cheeks. How would you like to be a redhead?" 

Millie blinked, then smiled. "That would be fun," she said. 

"Okay, then. If we're agreed on the terms...?" He looked at me. 

"Good to go," I said. 

"Great. Let's get you to hair and makeup." 

We all stood up. Millie was all but dancing with excitement. "I presume you'll want to be there through the whole process?" he asked, addressing me. 

"Up to my wife," I said. 

Millie gave me a sweetly mischievous smile. "For everything but the photo session," she said. "I want to surprise you when the magazine comes out." 

As we walked down the hall, Millie asked, "Can I do the video today, too?" 

DeMarco shook his head with a glance at Millie's wobbling, swinging tits. "Not today, honey," he said--followed by a quick glance at me. 

I shrugged. "Honey" was okay, but nobody gets to call her "Big Tits" but me. 

"You're going to be tired," he said. "You'll be surprised how much work a good photo shoot is. You guys are in town for the week, right?" It was a Friday.

"Yup," I said. 

"How about Monday for the video, then?" 

Millie was disappointed that she couldn't do it that day, but she shrugged. "Okay," she said. 

We went into the prep room. Two technicians were there, a man and a woman. Millie was handed a terry robe and told to strip. "Do you want me to leave the room?" asked Demarco. 

Millie already had her top off. "What for?" she said. "You're going to see my pictures, aren't you?" 

As she pulled her skirt down and stepped out of her sandals, all three of their mouths fell open. Millie stood proudly naked and smiled at us. 

"Jesus H. Particular Christ," said DeMarco. 

"Mother of God," said the woman. 

The other guy's plucked eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my," he said, flapping a limp hand at his face. "Suddenly I understand why most men are straight. You are a goddess, girl." 

"I'll, uh, be in my office," said DeMarco. He looked shaken and stirred. "Call me when her hair is done and you're ready to do the makeup consult, Sheila." 

Millie wrapped herself in the robe, and the woman went to work on her hair. I sat in the corner and read some back issues of CURVY, trying to stay with the articles and interviews. My dick was hard enough already. 

A little later, I was standing behind her as she looked in the mirror. Millie as a redhead was enchanting. "I like it," I said. "I really like it." 

"I do too, Jeff! Doesn't it look natural?" 

And it did. No phony fire-engine red here; her hair was a a vivid carrot-orange, but subdued by being mixed with blonde and light brown. It looked like she had been born with it, and it did go perfectly with her skin tone. Millie's short hair had been fluffed out as if it had a bit of curl to it, and she looked as Irish as County Clare. 

"Very, very nice work," I said to Sheila, a middle-aged, motherly type with gray hair in 60s-style braids. 

"Thanks," she said with a small smile. "Excuse me." She more or less elbowed me out of her way, and began looking at Millie's face critically. She keyed a number on her cell phone, said "We're ready, Frank," and a moment later DeMarco came in for the consultation. He began eyeing her face, too. The other guy was just sitting there, watching. 

"Well, we definitely want to go with the fresh, natural look," DeMarco said. "Maybe down the road we can try out the slutty hooker thing, but not this time. What can you do, Sheila? Doesn't look like she needs much help to me. " 

The woman stepped in and looked at Millie's face even more closely. Millie sat patiently, looking straight ahead as ordered. Finally, the woman stepped back. 

"Nothing, Frank," she said. "A little light eyeliner and mascara, a touch of lipstick, and that's all she needs. Perfect skin, like new ivory. Not a blemish on her. She doesn't need blusher--she has roses in her cheeks all the time, and she blushes a lot anyway." 

Right on cue, Millie did, eliciting friendly laughter. 

"Look, she even has dimples," said the woman as Millie smiled and showed them. "She has a little hint of a double chin," Sheila went on, "but that comes with the curves, and that's the way we like 'em, right? This girl--Millie?" Millie nodded. "Millie has the most perfect face you've ever brought me. If all your models looked like this, I could phone in this job." Millie was blushing furiously, of course. 

"Okay," said DeMarco. "Do your thing with the eyeliner and whatever. Shouldn't take long. Alex, you're up. Lose the robe, Millie." 

The woman waited as Millie shrugged out of her robe. She then sat naked as the woman went to work on her eyes. Alex, the gay guy, came forward with a slightly disdainful air and began to examine Millie's body--from inches away. He started with her arms. He inspected her carefully from shoulders to fingertips, and then he knelt down to peer at her legs, moving methodically from her pink toes to her fleshy thighs. 

He and the woman moved automatically to stay out of each other's way; it was clearly a dance they had done many times before. He stood back to wait as Sheila finished Millie's minimal makeup, then said, "Stand up, sweetie. Lift your arms. High above your head. Good." Alex began examining the rest of her, close up with a bright handheld light. 




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 04



"What's this about?" I asked Demarco after a few minutes. Alex had finished giving Millie's ass the spotlight treatment, and was now examining her tits. 

I wasn't feeling particularly jealous, just curious. It would have been hard to be jealous of Alex anyway, even if I was wired like that. The guy was obviously as gay as a Castro Street parade.

"Will you bend over for me, sweetheart? That's enough, thank you." He was kneeling next to her, shining his light on her hanging breasts from underneath. 

"Alex is our body makeup man," Demarco told me. "I don't think a straight guy could handle it, but Alex is immune." 

He overheard us. "I'm not immune to perfection, Frank," he said. "Stand up straight, sweetie. This girl is flawless. She has this cute little beauty mark just over her butt crack, a little to the left--" he pointed--"but I swear that's all. Her nipples are absolutely ENORMOUS--but they're perfect. Like a little girl's, only bigger. And how she can have boobs this big with no stretch marks, I don't understand." 

"I almost always wear a bra," Millie said in a tiny voice. "At least, till lately." 

"Well, keep it up, sweetie. They hang low, but they still stick out like a sailor's wet dream. Never seen boobs this big that are still so firm. Most women your size, they're down to their knees."

He turned to us. "She doesn't need anything from me either, Frank. Marble-white skin so delicate the veins show through, but not too much--a big, round ass without a hint of cellulite--that perfect bald pussy--did you shave this morning, sweetheart?" 

Millie nodded and pointed at me. "I shaved her at the hotel," I said. 

DeMarco grumbled under his breath, "Nice work if you can get it." 

Alex went on: "I've never seen skin like yours, sweetheart, and I've been doing this a long time." He turned back to his boss. "Frank, tell the photographers to be careful and not fuzz her up. She needs a razor-sharp focus. There aren't any flaws to hide. Even with that, you're going to get complaints that she's airbrushed. Women just don't come this perfect." 

Millie was smiling shyly--and blushing like a stoplight. DeMarco grinned and said, "Alex, you're beginning to worry me. Are you still gay?' 

Alex sniffed and drew himself up, offended. "You don't have be straight to appreciate a work of art," he said huffily. 

Suddenly he spoke without the affectation. "Frank--I mean, she doesn't even have calluses on her heels, man. All big women do. Her feet are like a child's. I've never seen that before." 

"I take care of my feet," said Millie timidly. We all looked down at them, and after a moment Millie giggled. 

"What?" I asked her. 

She giggled again. "Well, I'm standing here naked with my tits and ass hanging out and my pussy shaved, and everyone's looking at my feet!" 

We all laughed, even Alex. "They're gorgeous, silly," he said, flapping a hand. "Just like the rest of you." 

There was an odd moment when no one spoke; and then Alex abruptly turned to leave. He picked up his bag--at least it was tan leather, and not pink--and headed for the door. "Well, ta-ta, people," he said with an airy wave. "Call me when you have a girl who needs me, Frank. This one doesn't."

At the door, he stopped, turned back, and spoke to Millie once more. "Have fun with your shoot, sweetheart. I've never said this before, but I'm looking forward to seeing it. 'Bye, now." He wiggled his fingers in a wave and was gone. 

Sheila looked at DeMarco. "Did you see that?" said the matronly woman with the braids.

DeMarco was still looking at the door. "Well, I will be dipped in shit," he said. 

"What?" Millie and I said together. 

"Alex is the most critical human you'd ever want to meet," said DeMarco as Millie slipped back into her robe. 

The woman said, "I've never seen him speak directly to a model before. He always just criticizes them as he works, talking about them like they're not even there. He's usually pretty rude about it, too."

Demarco did a dead-on impression of his gay employee, flapping his hands limp-wristedly: 'Look at those lumpy thunder thighs! This bitch has stretch marks like ruts on an unpaved road! Oh, yuck, her skin looks like unbaked bread dough!' Stuff like that." All three of us laughed. 

"He seemed very sweet to me," said Millie. 

"You're special," was all anyone could say, and I did. Demarco and Sheila both nodded slowly, looking at her. 

I think we all felt it at that moment. Millie stood there barefoot in her white terry robe, covered from chin to mid-calf, and she was still incredibly sexy. 

"Well, if we're all done in here, it's time to go to the studio," said DeMarco after a moment. "Are you ready, Millie?" She nodded excitedly and bounced up and down on her toes for a heartbeat. Her smile was incandescent. 

We walked across the hall to the biggest room yet, a full-out photography studio. One wall was set up with a large sheet of seamless paper, pale green. It covered the floor, curved up against the wall, and on up to the ceiling. I saw other rolls of paper in different colors, and various pieces of furniture and props. Chairs, bits of metal scaffolding, ladders, even a small set of kids' monkeybars. Off to the side was a bedroom set, and nearby was a large shower stall open on two sides. There were lights, aluminized umbrella reflectors, and of course cameras everywhere. 

The wall behind us was done up to look like ancient stone, and it had shackles hanging from it. I noticed some bondage equipment around--a rack of leather straps and hoods, coils of rope, wooden frames and stocks, and something that could only be a rack.  

Millie's eyes were as big as saucers as she looked around. She pointed to the dungeon wall. "Can I do some of that?" she asked breathily. We had only experimented a little with bondage at home, but it turned her on like a lightswitch. 

Demarco blinked. "Wow," he said. "The girls hardly ever ask for that. We usually have to pay extra..." 

He shook his head as if dazed, and then answered. "Sure, honey. But not today. We'll save that for a special feature down the road." 

Then he smiled at her. "I think we're going to be giving you a lot of work. For a long time. And we're going to make lots and lots of money." 

Millie, honest to a fault, waved her pretty hand and said, "I don't care about that. I just want to show off and feel sexy." 

Demarco blinked at me, speechless again. I just smiled. 

The photographer and his assistant had come out of the darkroom and were waiting to be introduced. "Millie, this is Ed Wallenski. He's been our chief and best photographer for many years. There was no question about who was going to get this assignment. Had to be Ed. Ed, this is Millie Wilson. We're going to call her Millie O'Rourke."

"An Irish lass! I like it. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Wilson. May I call you Millie?" 

Ed was at least 65 years old, slender and slightly stooped, with gray, thinning hair and an aquiline nose that fit well with his old-fashioned courtesy. Millie was instantly taken with him. 

She laughed. "If you're going to be taking naked pictures of me, Ed, I guess you can call me by my first name." She offered her hand, and he shook it politely. I was surprised he didn't kiss it instead. 

"Millie, this is my assistant, Leon." A tall young man with a mop of thick black hair came forward and smiled. "He's invisible."

"Huh?" said Millie. 

"I mean that neither of us are to see him. You are to ignore him completely and concentrate on me. He does what I tell him, adjusting lights and reflectors and so on, and he is very good at it. But he is as much a tool of my art as my cameras, and he knows this. He may occasionally ask me a question; I am teaching him my art, and that is part of our arrangement. But to you he will say nothing, and you will say nothing to him. Is that clear?"

Millie looked troubled. "That seems rude to me, Ed. It doesn't seem right to just pretend someone's not there." 

Ed looked at Leon, who spoke for the first and last time, from what Millie told me later. "It's all right, Mrs. Wilson. Ed is right. You have to concentrate on his instructions and forget about me. Ed is very serious about erotic art, and I can't be a distraction. My feelings won't be hurt. I learn by watching him. I just hope I'm half as good as he is some day." 

Ed smiled at him paternally. "I saw your last shoot, boy. You're coming along." Leon beamed. "Now back under your Harry Potter cloak, Leon. We have work to do. Change that seamless to the ocean blue. Now that I see her, I want to bring out her eyes." 

Millie turned to me. "Time to go, Jeffie. You'll be a distraction, too." Ed nodded with approval as she put her hands on my chest and stood on tiptoe to kiss me--carefully, so as not to smear her lipstick. 

"Everyone out," said Ed, and Sheila, DeMarco, and I were all herded to the door. As we left, I caught a glimpse through the closing door of Millie dropping her robe to the floor and walking naked toward the blue background. 

Through the door, I heard Ed's voice: "Oh, my dear sweet Lord. Thank you." And even a muttered "Holy shit," from Leon. 

I knew the photo session would take at least four hours, and I had planned to take in some sights and maybe hit a few adult novelty stores to see if I could find Millie some new outfits or toys. I knew she'd call on my cell if they got done sooner. 

On my way to the door, though, DeMarco beckoned me back into his office. The new contract was ready. 

I skimmed it--can't be too careful--and I signed on the dotted line as Millie's agent of record. There was another line for her to sign when she and Ed were finished. 

After I signed, he closed the door. I looked at him inquiringly. "I have a question," he said. "Please don't be angry or offended. I assure you, it's business." 

"Shoot," I said. 

"It has to do with you and your wife doing hardcore." 

"We haven't talked about that yet." 

"I know, but this could be a deal-breaker from my end." 

I started to ask what it was, and then I got it. "You want to know how well I'm hung," I said. 

"Got it in one," he said. 

"Nine inches, about yea big around." I held up my thumb and forefinger in a very familiar and easy to remember position. 

"Measured on the top or the bottom?" he asked. 

"On the top." 

He smiled and nodded. "That'll do," he said. "That'll do. Lot of pros don't pack that much meat. Okay, that's all."

"I thought of something," I said. "If Millie agrees to that--and I don't know if she will--one thing that might make the difference is if you can come to our home and tape us there." 

"That's doable," he said instantly. "We do location shoots all the time for the magazine. No reason your place couldn't be a location for some video work." 

"I'll try to sell it," I said. 

He looked at me. "You're a funny guy," he said. "Most men would hate for their wives to do this kind of thing. Especially guys with beautiful wives like yours."

I smiled. "It makes her happy. I don't mind if other guys just look, and that's all she wants. She'd never let some other guy fuck her. But she likes showing off what she's got and making them want to."

He nodded with a grin. "She's a cockteaser." 

"To the bone," I said. "Turns her on like a high-tension line, and then she fucks me like I'm the last guy on Earth and she hasn't had a cock for ten years." 

He shook his head. "To have her in my bed every night--man, I can't imagine what that would be like."

"Bed, shower, living room, kitchen, back yard... No," I said. "You really can't imagine it." I left him there, smiling wistfully, and went out to the street. 

The photo session lasted for seven hours. When I got back to the offices after four, they were taking a break for a light meal. 

Ed looked a little frantic; turns out he had decided Millie was his Beatrice, his Mona Lisa, his Elizabeth Barrett--not the love of his life, but the inspiration for his greatest work, the raw material from which he would craft the greatest porn pictures ever made. He had that slightly wild-eyed look of something between genius and madness. I had to promise him that we'd stay in New York for as long as it took to create his masterwork. 

Leon looked okay, but he seemed a little haunted, too. It occurred to me that he was seeing things now that would stick in his head forever. I didn't hear him speak for the rest of that day. He either stared at Millie or the wall.

Millie was in better shape than any of us. She was energized, all but humming with sexual energy, and still looked fresh as the well-known daisy. I had never seen her so happy. 

After the snack, the three of them went back into the studio. As she left, Millie whispered in my ear, "Now I get to do the dildo stuff!" 

I found my own hands were shaking a little as I sat down in the lobby to wait. It seemed like a long wait, because it was.

When they were finally done, Ed and Leon came out first. Ed looked like a man who had seen God and had an appointment to see Him again. Leon just looked like he'd been hit by a train. Neither of them said much, other than Ed announcing their intention to go down the street and get drunk together. Apparently they had reached a new plateau in their artistic collaboration. 

Millie came out looking kind of dreamy-eyed, tired and relaxed, and her newly red hair was still stick to her sweaty forehead. I knew that post-multiple-orgasm look, so I just took her in my arms and held her. She leaned her head on my chest gratefully. 

"So how many times did you cum?" I whispered as I hugged her.

She breathed it in my ear: "I lost count around thirty-five or forty," she said, "but we were almost done by then. The best ones were after that. That's why I lost count." 

I looked down at her, and she smiled up at me almost sleepily. She looked a little stoned, to tell the truth. "Did you have a good time?" I asked, stupidly.

She giggled tiredly. "Sure," she said, "but the best time will be when you see the pictures." 

I looked at her skeptically. She kissed me then. "What do you think kept me so turned on, silly?" she asked. "All through it, I just kept thinking, 'Wait till Jeff sees THIS one!'"

I hugged her again and spun her around a little, and then I got her dressed and took her back to the hotel. We ordered dinner from room service, and she slept till noon the next day. 

We stayed in New York for two weeks, not one, and left after promising to come back in a few months, when they called us. 

Millie did seven more photo sessions and five videos; one was a location shoot in the Catskills, the only one I got to see. Millie posed in the shallows of a small creek, and seemed to spend most of her time bending over, squatting, and just generally spreading her legs. 

Her tits were the stars, but Ed and Leon were in love with her ass and pussy, too, and Ed seemed to have a thing for her pretty feet and hands. That was okay with me. I did, too. 

We finally met some of the other bigwigs at CURVY, like the publisher and some of the board members. After seeing Millie, they wanted to attend one of her photo sessions, of course; but Ed wouldn't hear of it, and DeMarco, the executive editor, backed him up. "If her husband doesn't get to be there," he said, "why should you guys? You'll just have to wait for the magazine to come out, like everybody else." 

They offered Millie an exclusive contract, so she wouldn't work for anyone else. I guess they knew a gold mine when they saw one. 

We held out for five times their initial offer, and they finally coughed up. They weren't complaining about it when we finally shook hands. 

We finally went back home. I had already quit my job by then, of course. When Millie and I left the City, we were carrying checks for more than I made in two years. It looked like between Millie's modeling fees and residuals and the projected income from her videos, we wouldn't need my puny income any more. 

Millie agreed to the hardcore shoot in our house, too. On the plane home, we discussed it in low tones. Crowding with other passengers wasn't a problem this time; we were flying first class. 

"We have work to do, baby," I said. "Look at this." I pulled an object from my carryon bag. 

"What's that?" 

"That, Big Tits, is a state-of-the-art digital video camera." 

"Ooo!" Her eyes twinkled. 

"They want us to produce some special footage."

"Us fucking?" She looked at me as innocently as if she had just said, "Birthday parties?" 

"No," I smiled, "But you're close. Do you know what a 'facial' is?"

She blinked. "Sure. That's when you go to the spa or a beauty salon and--"

"Not that kind." I explained it to her, and she giggled and licked her lips, eyes sparkling with delight. "That sounds yummy!" she said. "So every time you shoot--"

"Well, not *every* time," I said with a smile. 

"You know what I mean," she said petulantly, waving a hand. "Every time we do this--I jack you off all over my face while I try to catch your sperm in my mouth?" She looked at me expectantly, all innocence. 

"That's right. From different angles and distances. They want lots of closeups, but lots of shots of my cum squirting and dripping all over those big tits of yours, too."

"Sounds like fun!" She might have been a teenager agreeing to go to a movie. "But what are they going to do with this stuff?" 

"Well, if we have enough footage for them, they're going to come out with a special DVD called 'Millie Eats Cum'." 

She giggled. "That's so nasty! I love it! What else can we do?"

"Whatever," I said. "They said they can use any footage of you at all--reading, cooking, cleaning, gardening, brushing your teeth, whatever." 

She blinked. "That's weird. Why would they want that?

" "Makes you more of a real person. Millie, a year from now there's going to be about a million guys out there in love with you. They're going to want to know everything they can about who you are and what you're like and what it would be like to know you. It'll make you seem more real to them, and make your naked pictures seem even more intimate." 

She was blushing again, predictably. "Oh," she said. 

After a few moments of digesting that, she said, "Jeff, this is kind of scary. I'm starting to feel like it can't be real again." 

"It's real, baby," I said. "But the one that oughta be scared is me."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because every one of those guys' fondest wish is going to be taking you away from me." 

She smiled and looked at me like I'd said something really stupid. "That," she said with authority, "will never happen." 

"Some of them are going to be rich," I said. "And great-looking. And hung like a T. Rex." 

She laughed. "And they'd never have given an ugly fat girl who wore old lady's clothes and never looked anyone in the face a second glance. And they'd never let me show off for other guys. And they'd never, ever, ever love me like you do, and I could never, ever love them like I love you." 

I just looked at her, struck dumb once again by my incredible, amazing, totally undeserved luck. "Well, all righty then. Never mind." 

We both laughed, and then we kissed for a while. I considering asking Millie if she wanted to join the Mile High club, but decided against it. The trick there is not to be noticed, and when you're with Millie, that doesn't happen. 

After a while, I said, "There is one thing we have to do to get ready for the hardcore shoot at our house," I said. 

Millie was instantly all ears. Well, all ears and tits. "What?" she asked.

"We need to rehearse. A lot." 

It took a half-second, and then she giggled. "Now that you don't have a job, Jeff, I don't see why we can't rehearse all day."

The "fasten your seatbelts" sign came on with a bell tone. The plane was coming in for a landing. "Exactly what I had in mind," I said. "Now take off your panties." 




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 04



She did, without a second's hesitation. "Now stick that vibrating egg up your pussy and hand me the remote." 

As she did so, I said, "I want to see how well you keep your composure as we get off the plane, wait for our bags, and walk through the airport while everyone's staring at you." 

I cranked it over to High, and she closed her eyes and bit her lip. "I can t-tell you right now, J-Jeffie," she whispered, "Not v-very w-w-well..." 

She was right. It was fun to watch, too.

Flying can be fun. Even the dull, tedious parts.  



Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 05



It was a long couple of months till the magazines featuring Millie came out. We got them, both at once--the regular monthly, and the special edition devoted only to her--maybe a week before they hit the newsstands, by overnight mail direct from DeMarco's office at CURVY.

I tore the box open eagerly. It contained two copies of each, wrapped in those plastic bags that mask out everything but the title. 

It wasn't hard to tell the difference; one said "CURVY" above the black square, with a very familiar pair of big blue eyes looking at me over it--and the other had "CURVY presents" in very small letters in the upper left corner, and "MILLIE" across the top in sea-blue letters two inches high. The cover price was $24.95, and it was at least twice as thick as the regular issue. You could just see the top of Millie's head above the black square on that one, a little crescent of red hair. 

My hands were trembling as I tore the plastic off the regular issue first. Millie was watching me, of course, sitting crosslegged on the floor in front of the coffee table as I sat on the sofa behind it. 

I looked at the cover of the monthly. My mouth fell open. There was my wife, on the cover of CURVY, my favorite plumper magazine--wearing nothing but an innocent smile. 

The seamless background was white, not blue. She stood with her bare feet together and her pale, fat thighs pressed tightly against each other, crouching just enough to keep her pussy slit from showing. She was bending over slightly, and was holding her hands flat, in front of her huge, hanging breasts--and her hands were just big enough to barely conceal her huge nipples. The expression on her pretty round face was a teasing smile. 

I stroked my cock through my pants involuntarily. Millie giggled. "It took 20 minutes to get that shot right," she said. "Open it!" 

I did. The Table of Contents featured a quarter-page shot of Millie with a big 45 in the bottom corner, the page number where her feature could be found. The picture was--remarkable.

The top half of the shot showed Millie looking down between her enormous tits, her innocent, wide-eyed baby face framed between her pale globes and fully-inflated knobs, her nipple-tips standing up like sausages--and the bottom half was a closeup of Millie's hairless, flaring, glistening pussy, with the tips of her fingers holding it wide open. You could see her smoothly erect labia, her swollen, prominent clit, and maybe three inches into her red, liquid hole. Millie was stretching her cunt open right over the camera lens. 

"Jesus," I whispered, and Millie gave me that sexy little giggle I love so much. I looked from her delighted face in front of me, to the picture of her blatantly aroused and wide-open hole with that same face in the background above it in the magazine, and then back to her real face again. 

"I've never been this horny in my whole life," I said. She squealed with joy and clapped her hands like a child.

"Get your dick out and jack off to it!" she whispered eagerly. "I so want to see you do that!" 

"Not yet, Big Tits," I said. My voice was a little shaky. I would have shot in that moment if I'd gotten it out then. And this was just the first picture. 

"Turn to page 45!" she said, bouncing up and down a little. The upper slopes of her tits rippled liquidly, but the coffee table concealed the rest of her. 

Did I mention that she was naked? She had planned this for when the magazines came. 

I did turn to page 45, and I stared, transfixed. It was a full-page shot of Millie against a black background, which emphasized and exaggerated the milky-white perfection of her skin, all over. She was stark naked, covered with gleaming oil, and posing like a Balinese dancer: bare feet wide apart and flat on the floor, knees turned outward and bent till her pale, fat, glistening thighs were horizontal. Her plump pelvis was cocked forward to exhibit her white, hairless pussy mound. Her flaring pink pussy lips were prominently displayed, clearly swollen and fetchingly parted. Her plump, pretty hands were pressed flat together as if praying, directly over her head, with her chubby, curvy arms forming a frame for her sweet baby face. She was looking directly into the camera, with the hint of a smile on her rosebud lips. And then there were her tits.

In the picture, Millie's pale, gigantic, shining breasts seemed to flow from below her pale shoulders, flaring outward from her armpits till they were twice as wide as her body, her huge pink nipples pointing slightly down and outward. Her huge milkers hung to just above her waist--but were still pointed, full and preternaturally firm. 

The caption, the title of the feature, was in green Irish Uncial type: "Irish Cream." 

I was thinking that it was the most perfect naked picture I'd ever seen, absolutely suited to my taste--my favorite pose, made more perfect by the oil and her uplifted hands--when Millie said, "I wanted them to use that one on the first page. I knew you'd like it." 

"Y-you helped them lay out the feature?" 

She giggled. "It was the last thing I did before we left. They decided it would be fun to hear my suggestions, and they liked them so much they just let me plan the whole thing. They did the special issue, though. I don't know what's in that one." 

My hard-on was already leaking pre-cum into my briefs. I felt it pumping more as Millie talked. I looked at her beautiful childlike face, her smooth white shoulders, and the foot or so of inviting cleavage between her huge pale tits that ended at the coffee table. Then I looked back at the incredibly erotic picture. 

Damn. 

I wasn't going to make it to the end of this small feature without shooting in my pants. What was I going to do with Millie's special issue? I looked at her name above the square of black plastic and shivered. 

Millie saw the heat and pressure on my face, and--of course--she came out with that wicked little giggle. "Jeffie," she said in a sweet, pleading, childish tone, "Close your eyes for a minute..."

"Wh--why?" I stammered. I felt like a lake of sperm, an ocean, was pressing against the base of my dick, and I was trying to hold back the whole weight of it with nothing but a couple of tiny, quivering muscles and a scrap of will power. 

I had never been so close to shooting without touching my dick, or having it touched, in my life. And I was looking at picture of Millie #3. Out of... What? Hundreds? 

"Just close your eyes, Jeffie... Trust me..." 

Shivering, I closed my eyes. "Okay," I said. I heard her move. 

A few seconds later, she trilled in a childish singsong, "You can open them now..."

Millie was standing in the middle of the room in that exact same pose, with that exact same smile--hands together over her head, bald pussy thrust forward, and huge tits hanging and flaring out wider than her body. She smiled at me and began to bump her fat hips and swing her huge milkers from side to side. 

I shuddered and jerked and came in my pants for the first time in my life, and Millie smiled sweetly and bumped and dangled and jiggled and shimmied outrageously to keep me shooting. "You like my picture, Jeffie?" she cooed.

"Y-yuh," was the best I could do. I just kept spurting as she wiggled her fat ass and waggled her enormous tits, smiling at me innocently, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and naked as a baby. 

"Turn the page," she trilled. I did. 

The next was a two-page spread, an enormous picture of her, still barefoot-naked and white as milk against the black seamless paper--

And she was squatting on her pretty toes, bare feet spaced wide apart, her plump crotch spread so wide her pink asshole was on display--And she was stretching her swollen pussy flaps with both pretty hands, her tits captured between her bare arms and squeezed together so they swelled outward. They were so big they hid her arms from mid-forearm to just below her shoulders. Her nipples were swelling, her fat faucets as long and rubbery as Vienna sausages.

Her face was suffused witn sexual hunger, her mouth lolling open and her eyes half-shut. A string of fluid hung from her open, aroused cunthole to the paper, and another dangled beside it. 

I looked up--and Millie was holding that same pose, licking her lips lewdly as she looked at me over her tits. As I stared, she started working her cuntmuscles in my face, and a thick drool of her fucking juice oozed from her flexing hole and slowly dripped to the floor. 

I shot again. Two loads in less than one minute. No hands. What was happening to me? This can't keep going.

"Turn," she said. I did. The next page didn't show her face, just a puff of red hair. It was Millie from behind, on her knees with her big pale ass in the air, fat thighs spread wide, bare feet posed prettily--and her lovely little hands pulling her fat white asscheeks apart to show off her gaping, glistening cunthole, obscenely red and swollen and, again, literally drooling liquid-- 

And her tits were spread out on the floor on either side of her, impossibly far, her fat nipples pointing in opposite directions.

I looked up, and there she was, spread-out tits and all. Her cunt was even redder than in the picture. "Oh, baby," I moaned. "Oh, my sweet baby..." 

I didn't cum that time, but my cock was rapidly, impossibly stiffening again right after two involuntary orgasms. 

The next shot was a killer. Millie was lying on her back on ocean-blue paper, her knees cocked up as high and wide as she could spread them, exhibiting her naked pussy and asshole as hard as she could. She was pulling her tits up by her nipples on either side of her sweetly innocent face--it was dwarfed by her huge tits--and looking at the camera from between them, open-mouthed and wide-eyed as if she had been unexpectedly surprised. 

I hardly dared to look up--but when I did, there she was, duplicating that pose, smiling at me from between her huge pale tits. Damn. 

It was maddening, so stimulating I couldn't bear it. The magazine showed Millie to stunning perfection, every detail and feature, every plump and bare square inch of her from her sweet face to her cute little toes, displayed to best advantage and to the most obscene and sexually charged effect, a sort of ultimate plumper-lover's wet-dream fantasy; and when I looked up, there she was, that same picture in the bare and perfect flesh. It was almost too much. It *was* too much.

I finally dropped my pants--and my sticky, cum-soaked briefs--so Millie could see the effect on my long-suffering dick. 

After that, the effect was the same for both of us. I'd turn a page, gasp, and look up to see her doing it live--my cock would quake and drip fluid to the carpet, pre-cum running like a leaky faucet, and Millie's bald fat pussy would do the same. Or I would spurt, my sperm arcing through the air, as Mille shuddered and came in front of me without touching her pussy, holding whatever pose had made me shoot. 

It made her cum to see me shoot. That was my wife. What more could a man want, than my incredible Millie?

More pictures. Millie sucking her pretty toes with her tits flopped out across her creamy upturned thighs, above her glistening pussy. Cradling her tits in both arms, and still they spilled over in huge-nippled abundance. 

Stretching her cunt into a lewd pink funnel, showing off the depths of her liquidly gleaming fucking-hole--and looking innocently shocked, her mouth an "O" of surprise and her eyes wide. A closeup of her pretty, chubby little hand, with her middle finger out of sight--buried knuckle-deep in her shaved slit. 

Another of her bending over, her huge tits hanging bare, nipples pink and tempting. Her huge pale ass, upturned and baby-bare, with her fat mound and swollen lips protruding between her cheeks--and her sweet smile, as innocent and open as a child's, looking back as if she did not know her juicy cunt was on display. 

Millie sucking her own tits--a difficult task, not because she could not reach them, but because it was so far down the long upper slope of her breast to her oversized baby-bottle nipples. 

The last page of the feature had us both creaming--me with pulses of warm cum oozing from my dickhead to run down my cock and drip from my balls to the carpet, and Millie biting her lip and fingering herself to the sight. 

She did not attempt this pose. It was an ad for the special issue. Full page again, on a blue background: Millie, still barefoot and stark naked, posing prettily--lifting her tits in her hidden hands, with both curvy bare legs bent, one pretty foot up on a chair--

And the stump of her big blue knobbly dildo protruding from between the pink and swollen, wet and flaring lips of her fat, shaved cunt. No hands. It was devastating. 

Even as I came, without a touch, I saw Millie biting her lip squint-eyed and rising toward her own blistering-hot orgasm. 

"My God, Millie!" I scolded her. "You're posing stark naked for a million men, with a dildo up your fuckhole! Aren't you ashamed?"

She squealed and shivered and came for me, writhing naked on the floor. 

We took a break for lunch before we looked at the special. Millie wrapped up in a plush terry robe; her enormous tits made it look like she was hiding a pillow underneath it. Her baby face was flushed and pink, her eyes bright. "This is the neatest thing I've ever done, Jeff," she said. "Thank you for letting me do it." 

"Letting you?" I said. "I ordered you to do it, Big Tits. Don't forget that." 

She shivered. "Ooo, that's right," she breathed. "I had to. You made me." She shivered again. 

It was hardly really true, but it thrilled her anyway. "How do you want to look at this one?" she asked. We were seated on the couch, Millie still in her robe. The special issue, still in its modest plastic wrapper, lay on the coffee table in front of us. 

"You want to see it too, right? I mean, at the same time I do." 

"Sure." She giggled. "I wish you could fuck me while we look at it, though. Maybe we can feel each other."

"I have an idea," I said. "Wait a minute."

I went out to the garage, and finally found it: my old music stand, from when I played trombone as a kid. Well, I probably shouldn't say I played it, but I carried it around, anyway.

I set in in front of the sofa. "Now you sit on my lap and turn the pages," I said, "and I can fuck you and play with your tits." 

"Ooo!" Her eyes twinkled. "That sounds like good fun!"

I placed the magazine on the stand, then dropped my pants--all I was wearing--kicked them off, and sat down on the cushion. 

My cock was standing up stiff as a fencepost, which seems amazing after the number of times I shot that morning, but living with Millie gave me an advantage there. Sex with her was a frequent and strenuous workout. It had given me the ability to get hard and shoot a dozen times a day when I needed to. I could probably have done 40-pound curls with my prostate if I could have picked up a dumbbell with it. 

Millie dropped her robe--as always, I was slightly stunned at the sight of her astonishing body and the knowledge that she was my fucking toy--and backed up to me. Her pretty little hands delicately pulled her big, pale asscheeks apart, and she carefully settled her liquid pussy lips over my swelling dickhead--then slowly sat.

"Ooo," we said together, as my cock slid all the way inside her slippery, fluttery tube. 

"Yoga style," I said, and she nodded. We had done Tantric sex before, where we sat facing each other crosslegged, my cock deep in her cunt, and did not move for hours. The usual result was a mindbending five- or ten-minute orgasm for both of us, but I somehow doubted it would take that long this time. 

She began to unwrap the magazine. "I hope they used some of my bondage shots," she said. My cock twitched at that, and she giggled. "You're not supposed to move," she said. 

"They let you play in the ropes and chains?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes! That was fun. I felt so helpless and exposed! And it was fun to pretend to be scared and stuff, too!" I shivered again. 

She placed the magazine, unwrapped now, back on the stand--and we both gasped. 

Her name was at the top in huge letters. There was little other type on the cover. To the left it said, "Hottest new model ever!" and "Our first special edition!" To the right it said, "Over 500 photos!" and "ALL TOTALLY NUDE!"

The cover shot was amazing. It showed my sweet, fat wife standing naked and barefoot on a bright blue background, trying to cover herself modestly with one hand at her pussy and her arm pressed across her breasts. Her tits swelled out both above and below her chubby forearm, but it managed to conceal her huge pink knobs by a millimeter. The expression on her round baby face was one of shocked, childlike surprise, as if she had been caught innocently naked by the photographer; her big blue eyes were wide, and her rosebud lips made a tiny "O" of embarrassment and violated modesty. The effect was stunningly erotic. 

"Jesus," I said, and Millie squealed and giggled with delight. "I look like a scared little girl!" she said. 

I looked at her huge tits in the picture. "Scared big girl, maybe," I said. She slapped my leg lightly and laughed. I felt my cock throbbing in her pussy. My cum was already rising, like a slow incoming tide. 

We didn't know it then, but Millie's special issue #1 (as it turned out to be) would become a legend in the world of softcore porn. For big-tit and plumper lovers, it became almost a holy book; it went through a dozen printings and sold more than 150,000 copies, and still brings prices in the high three figures on the used market years later. A dog-eared, cum-stained copy will bring $100 or more, and a pristine new one closer to a thousand. 

I still have three, unopened. Sorry, they're not for sale. 

Millie opened the magazine, and I spurted deep inside her. She spasmed and came hard, her juicy-wet cuntmuscles milking my bursting cock like a fist. 

No ads, as she had said. Inside the front cover was a two-page spread--appropriately so called--of my plump and naked Millie squatting, from behind, her bare feet wide apart, her skin milk-white against a seamless black background. Her whole chubby body was glistening with shiny oil, and her pale and hairless crotch was completely exposed; her wet pink pussy was gaping open and her tiny puckered asshole was on gleaming display--and her stunning, huge and long and heavy tits were glisteningly revealed from underneath, dangling so low her long, fat nipples were an inch above the floor with a thin stream of oil trickling from each one. She was looking back at the camera with a sweet, embarrassed smile. The copy just said, "Say hello to Millie...."

"Jesus God," I said, when I was done shooting. Millie was still shivering, which was doing nothing at all to soften my still steel-hard cock. 

"I look good, don't I?" she said in a tiny voice. "Everybody thinks I look good..." 

For the first time that day, I took her tits in my hands and caressed them. "You look way better than good, baby. You look fantastic."

She leaned back against me, lifting her chest to my hands. "Oh, Jeffie," she whispered. "I'm pretty..." 

I fondled her 20 pounds of soft and warm breast-flesh and nuzzled her smooth cheek. After a moment, she turned the page. 

The next page was a table of contents, and across from it was a full-page portrait of Millie's sweet, round face, wearing her incandescent, childlike smile and looking at the camera with huge and sparkling blue eyes. I cut it out and had it framed, and it hangs on my office wall as I write this. 

The table of contents had me quivering again. I wondered how many times I would shoot in Millie's fat pussy before we got to the last page. 

Page  Feature 

3.   Millie in the studio




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 05



25  Millie in bed

49  Millie's Workout 

79   Millie's shower

107  Baby Oil Millie

135   Pole Dancer Millie

167   Punishing Millie

207  Millie's Toys

251   Millie's Fantasies 

279   Interview 

282   Beyond Outrageous

That last had me wondering. What could be "beyond outrageous?" 

I asked Millie, but she only giggled and shook her head. I'd have to wait and see.

The first section, "Millie in the Studio," contained dozens of beautiful shots of my chubby, sweet wife, buck naked, posing prettily on blue background paper that matched her eyes. The pictures were artistic and tasteful, excepting of course the sight of her ridiculously gigantic tits; she did not exhibit her pussy too blatantly, though she took no trouble to hide it either. 

"You're not just pretty, Millie," I whispered in her ear as we looked and fucked. "You're stunning. You're beautiful. You're gorgeous. You're a man-killer." 

She sighed and whimpered and humped me a little, subtly moving her plump hips to circle her pussy around and around on my hard cock. 

Every shot was spurt-worthy in its own right, especially one with Millie simply sitting on the floor. She was facing the camera, leaning back with her arms braced on the floor behind her and her pale, fat legs, knees bent, splayed casually apart. With her back bent forward like that, her tits hung below her navel. For some reason that one got me. She looked like she had just lost a game of strip poker and was waiting to see when she could get her clothes back. 

"I was just relaxing between poses there," she said. "I'm surprised they used it..."

There was very little copy accompanying the pictures. Typically, the first picture in each section would have a short phrase to introduce it, as if spoken by her. The first, for instance, said "Do you think I'm sexy?" on the first page. 

The next section, "Millie in Bed," was hotter. Every shot showed Millie apparently about to be fucked, as in, one second from it--as if the reader was about to step forward and stick it in. The first photo showed her on her back, holding her knees wide open and exposing her flaring pussy lips, with a passionate, smoky-eyed, open-mouthed expression. Her big knobs were at full erection--which means full inflation, with Millie--dark pink and as big as softballs with her long, fat titty-tips sticking out like thumbs. The copy at the top of the page said, "Fuck me... Oh, please fuck me..."

Every picture in that section was like that. Millie on her knees, sticking her hairless cunt out shamelessly; on her side, one plump leg lifted and her fingers holding herself open, her huge tits spreading over the bed; with her bare little feet in the air, open wide and waiting. I came again as we went through that one, and Millie came with me. 

"Millie's Workout" began with a shot of her doing Jumping Jacks, caught in mid-leap; her bare feet were off the floor, her pale, giant tits flying up so high they hid all of her face below her laughing eyes. All the sweet white flesh of her thighs and belly was lifted upward by her leap, too. She looked like she was flying. The copy was, "Work up a sweat while you watch me!" 

"I'm working up a sweat right now, Big Tits," I said. She giggled, predictably enough, and I decided to make her life more difficult for a while. I grabbed her big nipples and crushed them in my fists like I was crumpling a piece of paper. 

She hissed in shock at the sudden stimulation, and moaned as I twisted my fists back and forth and pulled hard at her big, soft udders. "Turn the page," I said. She did, whimpering, her pretty hand shaking.

That section was amazing. Fat, white Millie, bare naked, on various exercise machines - and she always seemed to have her plump, pale thighs spread wide apart and her incredible chest thrust out or swinging free as she pushed and pulled and bent and squatted. 

Millie doing deep-knee bends--over the camera. A page with a dozen small pictures of chubby, naked Millie running in place, her tits flopping and swinging, no two pictures even close to alike. Millie doing Windmills, from the front and from behind. 

Tit-squashing Push-ups. Pussy-splitting Bicycles, with her plump bare legs and feet in the air and her big tits in her face. Stretches and flexes and dangles and squats and splits and spreads that would harden your dick while they broke your heart. 

I was still crumpling and crushing Millie's delicate knobs in my hands, and she was grunting and panting and gushing fuck-me juice all over my cock. "Oh, Jeffie, I didn't have any clothes on..."

"That's right, BigTits. You were bare-fat-pussy naked, and millions of men are shooting their sperm all over your pictures--right--now..."

She jerked and came on me, and I tugged at her fat nipples like I was trying to pull them off her tits. The picture before us was a two-page spread of Millie working a stairclimber--barefoot, backwards, and squatting wide open. I spurted up Millie's clenching hole as she shuddered out the last of her own climax. 

We rested for a minute after that one, and I caressed and soothed her poor swollen nipples. 

"Millie's Shower" began with a picture of her standing in the spray and laughing at the camera, sticking her huge tits out and displaying them as brazenly as she could, with her hands on her fat hips. The caption read, "Come play with my bath toys!" 

Page after page of plump white Millie, twisting and bending and squatting naked, foamy and gleaming with slick soapy lather and hot water. It was devastating, sweet and innocent and steaming-hot erotic at the same time. 

I was pumping her pussy from underneath, commenting on every picture as if I were speaking to another guy, and Millie was whimpering with heat: 

"Look at those tits! Don't you just want to chew those big pink knobs like bubble gum? I bet she fucks like a milking machine! Oh, man, look at that big fat ass! How would you like to spank that for not blowing you long enough?" 

Millie loved it. It made her cum, especially when I said something really filthy, like "All that fat bitch should ever be allowed to wear is fuck-sweat on her pussy and sperm all over her face!" 

The next section, "Baby Oil Millie," found her back on the seamless background again. Black. It emphasized the pale perfection of her skin and made her seem a shining goddess, floating in space. The first picture was similar to the one in the regular magazine--half-squatting, thick legs turned outward like a Balinese dancer--except that her hands were behind her back and her face bore an impish smile. She was glistening all over, covered from head to toes with a thick coating of shiny oil. The caption read, "I'm slippery on the inside, too!"

I groaned and shot in Millie's pussy again, and that was the first time I ever heard her giggle while she was coming. 

I came again before we were done with that section. Millie plump and naked is mind-bending and cock-bursting enough, but Millie plump and naked and shining with oil ought to come with a heart-attack warning. 

Big greasy nipples and an oily, fleshy shaved pussy, gleaming plump legs and a big shiny ass.... All displayed as lewdly as you can--or, rather, can't--imagine.... So far, this was the sweetest, hottest and nastiest section yet. Standing, squatting, kneeling, bending over, ass in the air--modestly hidden, wide open, in between--it didn't matter. Millie's pictures could have given a hard-on to a corpse. You just wanted to tear off your clothes and jump into the picture and fuck her tits off. 

Fortunate me--I didn't have to. I was tugging at Millie's nipples again, just her fat, sausagelike faucets this time, and whispering to her again: "Oh, shit, look what she's doing! Look at that greasy, open hole! God, I'd like to fuck that fat little bitch! Ooo, look at those swinging floppers! I wanna shoot my wad between 'em while she shakes 'em on my dick!" 

Millie came four times as we looked at that section. I thought I was running out of steam myself, but I didn't count on how steamy the rest of that magazine would be. 

The next part--"Pole Dancer Millie"--shot a steel rod up my dick yet again. Fat Millie appeared to be dancing naked and barefoot on an actual stage, in front of a howling crowd of appreciative men. Photoshopped, I knew, but it was done flawlessly. The first picture had her squatting on her pretty bare toes and squeezing her tits around the brass pole, taken at an angle so her gaping, hairless cunt was exposed and brightly lit up. She was totally naked, without so much as a fleck of toenail polish on. The caption read, "Guess where you have to stick your dollar bills?" 

I was humping Millie's juicy cunt with enthusiasm as we turned the pages. She was really dancing naked; many of the photos caught her gigantic milkers in motion, swinging out and flying up and distorted from her shaking them wildly. She kicked her plump legs high and did the midair splits and humped the pole like a pro, though I've never seen a pole dancer work barefoot. 

All around her--she appeared to be dancing out at the end of a runway--the wide-eyed, staring men were cheering and whistling and clapping with abandon, and some were reaching out at her. "That looks r-real," she said as I held her tits and fucked her. "I was in the st-studio..."

"How about if I made you do that for real?" I whispered. 

She gave me an answer, all right; she came like a hurricane, grunting, "Oh, God, Jeff... Unnngh.... You wouldn't m-make me d-do thaaat.... Ungh, ungh... W-would you?" 

I knew a hopeful question when I heard one. For the hundredth time, I thought about the strip club called Chubbies. Your time will come, baby, I thought, as her pussy squelched and squeezed on my dick. 

The last picture, sure enough, had curvy Millie crouching naked at the edge of the stage, hunching and working hard at it, her enormous tits in the air--and her fat, shaved pussy stuffed with dollar bills. She was laughing. 

The next section was "Punishing Millie." The first picture had plump Millie simply chained to a stone wall by her chubby wrists and ankles, plump arms spread wide above her head and thick and curvy legs spread even wider. Her jaws were held open by an enormous ball gag, and her eyes were wide with terror. Her huge tits were tied off with four separate ropes each, from her ribcage to her nipples, and stood out like huge, string-tied sausages, made longer and more pointed by the ropes. Her knobs were swollen grotesquely and were so red they were almost purple. There were clothespins, two each, on her long, distended titty-tips, and three more at her crotch; two on her pussy lips, and one more on her clit. I felt another load about to boil over. 

"Look at my feet," she gasped. In the picture, her knees were bent, and she was balanced on her toes; beneath each pretty heel was a sharp steel spike, pointed upward, to keep her that way. 

Diabolical. Her bare feet posed so prettily--and forced to be so. As I spurted in her, she grunted through her own climax, "They were rubber--look real--clothespins rubber, too...."

I was glad they took no chances with hurting my Millie, but the fantasy was vicious and delicious. She looked really terrified. The caption read, "I'm sorry! I won't cum till you tell me to next time, I promise!" 

The following pages were incredible: 

Millie, screaming, suspended in a huge steel ring, tied by twenty separate wires on her fingers and toes, with baseball-sized steel weights hanging from rings through her nipples and clit. 

Millie bent backwards over a huge barrel, tits pulled into long cones by chains from overhead hooked to her nipple rings, and her pussy stretched open with clamps on her cuntlips. 

Millie, crying, with tears streaming down her face, an iron collar around her neck, chained bending over with her wrists cuffed behind her and her tits swinging inches above a bed of glowing coals. Red lightbulbs, I knew, but the effect was eerily real--and my Millie was a gifted actress. 

I stroked her all over as she writhed and came, staring at herself in artificial agony. She was more turned on by these than I was. 

More bondage in the bedroom, I thought. I looked forward to hogtying her and fucking her hard while I spanked her enormous tied-off tits. 

In some of the pictures, I recognized Leon, the photographer's assistant, in a leather harness and full-head leather mask, standing over her with whips and paddles and red-hot irons. It all looked very real. Those guys were good! 

The next section was the most brutally exciting yet--"Millie's Toys.". The first shot had Millie kissing a huge dildo, which I recognized--her biggest, a two-foot black monster as thick as her small wrist--and smiling at the camera, her hairless, fat pussy oiled and open and ready. "Think I can take it?" was the caption. 

On the following pages, she did, grimacing as she forced that huge rubber cock up her red and stretched-out hole. She lay back with her feet behind her head, tits in her face, fat ass up, and pumped it with both hands; she squatted on it, wincing, and even stood up with it, crouching with her hands behind her head as it protruded from her cunt, "no hands." 

She posed, laughing, with three dildos sticking out from underneath each tit, holding them up by the weight of her tits alone; and then she posed with her big blue knobby buzzer, which was obviously vibrating. It was slightly blurred in the pictures as she slid it in and out. 

I knew those expressions on her baby face; she was really cumming on it as the cameras caught her slit-eyed grimaces and gasps. "Do that for me sometime," I groaned as we looked at a photo of her pumping it--upside down, her shoulders on the floor and her fat ass and pretty feet braced on the wall above her, her tits against her pink cheeks as she came.

"I'll do it on a street corner if you tell me to," she moaned. 

The next-to-last section was "Millie's Fantasies." I thought I knew them all. 

Wrong. These were things she wouldn't want to do in real life, but liked to think about, she told me later. Good thing. 

It started with pictures of Millie after an apparent gangbang. Fat Millie lying pale and naked on the floor of a men's room, in front of a row of urinals, in a pool of drying sperm; cum drooling from her red, distended pussy, cum all but covering her face, cum between and underneath her dripping tits, cum splashed on her plump belly and her heavy thighs, a spreading pool of cum beneath her broad ass. The caption was, "Who's next?"

"Jesus, Millie," I whispered as she shuddered and came again, staring at the picture. "Do you really want that?" 

"Nonononono...." She bit her lip and jerked as I pumped my cock in her. "F-fun to p-pretend.... I'm a f-filthy whooore..." 

Twelve pictures in that set, including one of Millie licking her lips with cum spilling from her open mouth and drooling to her tits in sticky strings, her short hair matted with it. Egg white, cornstarch, and cream, she said. It looked real.

There followed a set of photos of fat Millie tied naked and blindfolded to a wooden pallet, knees up and wide open, and left alone with it leaning against a dumpster in an alley with a sign over her head that said "FUCK THE FAT WHITE GIRL." 

She was gasping and cumming again. It looked like the fantasy of being gangfucked by strangers really got her hot. I started trying to think of ways we could play with that, short of really doing it. 

Then there was a set of chubby Millie caught naked on a public sidewalk, horrified and trying desperately to cover herself; another of her hitchhiking, stark naked with her thumb and big tits out, trying to hide her plump pussy; and another of her leading a parade down Main Street, prancing along alone in front of the band, fat and barefoot and stark naked, with nothing on but a drummajor's headdress and carrying a baton. That one made my balls vibrate. 

Running naked across a football field in front of a Super Bowl-sized crowd, tits flying; strip-searched to her skin in the public area at the airport, complete with body-cavity examination; marched down a public street to a police station, naked with her wrists cuffed behind her back--and then thrown in a cell with twenty men, still naked and still cuffed. 

Through all of these, Millie was hissing and gasping with excitement. She loved it that I thought her fantasies were hot, too--every time I'd whisper, "Ooo, poor little Millie," or "Nobody's going to help her," or "I bet everyone has cameras," she'd squeal and shiver with delight. 

There followed the interview--I will post that sometime if I get around to it--and then we came the last section: "Beyond Outrageous." 

It began with chubby Millie naked on a gynecologist's stirrup table, her pretty bare feet in the stirrups and her plump and curvy legs cocked up and spread wide for her examination--but she was leaning back on her elbows and looking around, a horrified expression on her pretty baby face. 

Small wonder; she wasn't in a doctor's office, but on a public street corner in sight of some rough-looking bars, and she was surrounded by a crowd of avidly watching men. The caption read, "I know fresh air is good for me, Doctor, but--a public pelvic?"

There were several more pictures in that set. Millie looking into the camera red-faced and biting her lip with embarrassment, with a speculum stretching her chubby hairless pussy open for the spectators. Millie lying naked on her stomach, huge tits spilling off the narrow table, with her big bare ass high in the air, pussy gaping--and a line of men behind her, all putting on rubber gloves. 

She was whimpering in my arms as I stroked her tits and gently rocked her on my exhausted, but still stiff, cock.

Millie as a signboard: fat legs spread wide, lifting her huge tits by her stretchy nipples to reveal "FUCK ME" written on them underneath. A closeup of her bald, wet pussy, aroused and open, with a cartoon of an erect cock drawn above it on her hairless pussy mound with an arrow pointing downward. Her fat white ass, displayed and spread wide open, with "SPERM DUMP" scrawled across it in lipstick. Her pretty baby face--with "SLUT" across her forehead, "FUCK ME" on one cheek, and "I SUCK DICKS" on the other. Her swinging milkers, with "FREE TIT FUCKS" written across her pale, deep cleavage. "FUCK MY FAT CUNT" on the insides of her beautiful thick white thighs; and so on. 

"We can do that, Big Tits," I said. "I can write all over you. How about 'BIG TITS' on your big tits?" She half-giggled and half-gasped. 

Fat Millie entertaining: carrying Coke bottles naked to the table--"no hands," the bottles swinging from her wet pussy. 

Millie at the table, seated low, with her enormous tits spread out on it as a serving tray for hors d'oeurves--crackers with cheese and ham, salmon puffs, shrimp wrapped with bacon, dozens of them. 

Millie standing on her head, tits in her face and fat legs spread wide, a lighted candle inserted in her cunt. Millie serving drinks by crawling on her hands and knees, glasses balanced on her back and a dildo sticking out of her pussy, swollen nipples dragging on the carpet. 

"Have to have some friends over," I said. "I'll tell 'em to bring their own French ticklers...." She made a keening sound like a bowed violin string. 

Plump Millie as a pet: chained naked to a doghouse by her leather collar, eating from a dog's bowl without using her hands and with her tits on the ground, squatting naked to pee in the grass. 

"Such a bitch," I said. "But I like you better as a cow. I think I'll take you to the beach with nothing on but a ring in your nose and a cowbell, and bring a stool so the guys can sit down and milk your big white udders. You'll have to bend way over and moo while they do it..." 




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 05



"M-mooo," she said, breathing raggedly. "M-m-mooooo.... Mooo.... Everybody milk me off...."

The very last page of the special issue was a truly lovely picture of Millie, sitting on an ordinary chair with one bare foot drawn up on it, chubby legs splayed apart to show her fat bald pussy and her chest thrust out to stick out her bare tits. She was smiling sweetly and waving goodbye. 

Across the bottom was written--in Millie's own hand--"I hope you COME to me again real soon! Love, Millie" 

I felt Millie rising toward another blistering climax, probably her last for the day; so I decided to whip her into a little bit of a frenzy. I reached around and started massaging her bare, incredibly swollen clit. At the same time, I whispered, "How would you like to go swimming naked in the swimming pool you could fill with the sperm you've made shoot? A million wads, Millie--you could swim in them--" 

It worked. She grunted low in her belly and kind of drew herself into a ball and bore down, and I felt her cunt clench on my dick like a soft, slippery bear trap. 

I reached forward and flipped the magazine closed, then put the other one beside it on the stand. "Look, Big Tits!" I said loudly. "Look! You're stark naked on the covers! You're a naked jack-off girl!" I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "You didn't have a single stitch on, not a thread, in any of those pictures! You were barefoot and bare naked and shaved bare in every single one!"

She was making a kind of incoherent gargling sound, staring at herself on the magazine covers and shivering. "You're beautiful, Millie!" I said. "You aren't 'fatandugly'--you're fat and beautiful and sexy and you make men cum just from looking at you! Just look!" 

She came so hard she blacked out. Millie came to in about a minute, and I cuddled her for a while; then she went to sleep. 

I think she was exhausted more from an excess of joy and fulfillment than from coming fifty or sixty times, but I could be wrong. Anyway, I was pretty exhausted myself, so I put the magazines in our floor safe and wrapped up in a blanket on the floor beside the couch and went to sleep next to her. 

We woke up later that evening, took a hot shower together, and went to bed naked. She snuggled close and slept in my arms, smiling like a child. The last things we said to each other before sleep were these: 

"I love you, Jeffie. No one but you. Always." 

"I love you too, Big Tits. You're my heart." 

She smiled sleepily. "I'm so lucky. You taught me I'm hot, and then you let me enjoy it. I love the things you make me do." 

I kissed her. "Time for our poker game tomorrow night. It's Friday." 

She smiled wider. "What are you gonna bet me?" 

"A naked dance." She looked disappointed. "Fucking yourself off with a big, nasty dildo," I added. 

She still pouted. "Is that all?" 

"On stage in front of a couple of hundred horny guys." 

"Ooo." She giggled and snuggled close, and I felt her nipples throbbing against my chest.

"I fold..."



Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 06



The poker game wasn't necessary to make Millie go to the strip club, as it turned out. We still played for chores and for fun, but Millie was so into submission now, she'd do anything I said just because I told her to. 

Millie was submissive out of sheer devotion to me. Ever since I made her go to Chicas Grandes beach in her G-string bikini, scared to death and crying, and she discovered that I wasn't the only one who thought she was a hottie--well, she'd do anything I said. 

The first time I took Millie to Chubbies wasn't all that memorable. On the way there, I told her that the fat-girl strip club was part of my original plan; after her trip to the beach, I was going to take her there to show her how much guys appreciate girls with lots of curves. 

"Why didn't you?" she asked. 

She was sitting beside me in the car, dressed to give guys hard-ons--wearing a short, tight, incredibly low-cut dress that threatened to spill her four gallons of tits at any second. "It wasn't necessary," I said. 

She giggled. "Yeah, I guess I figured that out by the time I fingered myself off naked in front of everybody." 

Chubbies was an upscale club; the furnishings and appointments were first-class, with comfortable armchairs at low tables and subdued, though not dark, lighting. The place was almost full.

When we got there, the waiter walked into a chair while he was taking us to our table; he was watching my wife's foot-and-a-half of pale, quivering cleavage and not where he was going. By the time we sat down, more eyes were on Millie than on the naked fat girl on the stage. 

She was cute and plump, swinging from the pole in high-heeled sandals and a headband and nothing else. She was shaking her babyfat C-cups and pumping her hairy pussy for the customers, but with Millie in the room she might as well have been reading the paper in a raincoat. I saw a few guys elbowing each other as they stared and mouthing the word "curvy," and I knew they'd seen the magazines. 

We ordered drinks--Scotch straight up for me, a wine cooler for Millie--and the manager was at our table before the drinks were served. 

"I'm told we have a celebrity in the house," he said with a smile, talking to Millie's tits. "Aren't you Millie O'Rourke?" 

She nodded, her cheeks pink. "That's me," she said. "I guess you've seen my pictures?" 

He grinned and nodded. "I sure have. You're beautiful." Millie glowed and smiled--at me. 

He turned to me. "And you must be Jeff, the lucky husband." (My name had been mentioned in Millie's interview.) He offered a hand, and I shook it. "I'm Norm Peters, and I own this place."

"Have a seat and join us," I said, indicating a chair. He did, and I said, "You must be a chubby-lover too." 

"You got that right," he said, grinning. "I always wished there was a place like this, and I always thought one would make money, so I decided to start my own."

"And does it?" I asked. 

He grinned. "I drive a Bentley. We do all right."

"I guess that blurb in CURVY helped," I observed. He rolled his eyes. 

"Incredible," he said. "We were doing great even before that, but since then we've been packed every night. On weekends, it's reservations only now." 

He turned to Millie. Straight to the point, he was. He looked at her--her face, this time, though it must have been an effort--and asked, "Millie, would you like a job?" He nodded at the stage. "I'll pay you a thousand dollars a night to dance here." 

Her big blue eyes got bigger, and her mouth fell open. The manager waited for an answer. Millie looked at me. 

"I want her to dance naked on your stage," I said. "Once. After that, we'll see how it goes."

His eyes widened. "It's true, then," he said. "She does whatever you tell her." 

"Tell him, Millie," I said. I felt like showing off a little. I didn't know what she was going to say, but I knew it would be good.

It was. "If Jeff told me to strip bare naked in your parking lot and wash cars with my tits, I'd do it," she said. 

Peters just sat there for a moment, stunned. Finally, looking at Millie's chest, he said, "Well, by God, they'd be damned clean..."

We all laughed at that, and Millie asked, "When can I do it? Dance, I mean?" 

Peters looked at me, and I shrugged. "I expect you'll want to do a little advertising," I said. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I would." He thought for a moment. "We'll take reservations and charge extra." He looked at Millie's tits again. "A lot extra. Will you sign autographs, like on your magazines, Millie? You can charge for it." 

"She'll do that for free," I said. "No point in bleeding her fans dry. She likes them. Right, Millie?" 

She smiled brightly and nodded. "Can I do it naked?" she asked. 

"Jesus," said Peters. 

"I just think they should get to see me naked up close." She shrugged, and her tits rippled like a waterbed and almost fell out of her dress. 

We were not having this conversation unobserved, and I heard at least five voices around us say "Holy Christ," "God Almighty," "Allahu Akbar," and other such religiously-oriented remarks. 

"We'll work something out," said Peters. He was sweating. 

---

Three weeks later, the night of Millie's performance finally came. She had been, you should pardon the expression, milking it for days. 

"I can't believe you're making me do this, Jeff," she said as I was shaving her pussy that afternoon. "I have to dance stark naked on stage and show everything I've got to a crowd of men I don't even know..." she shivered. 

"Hold still, baby," I said. "You don't want to do it with little bits of toilet paper stuck all over your pussy." I was shaving her with a blade. She wanted her cunt to be slick bald, without a hint of stubble. 

I had heard that same kind of excited protest for more than a week. "You're going to make me show them my asshole?" she'd whimper, and I'd cruelly respond, "And squeeze it for 'em in the spotlight, Big Tits." She'd squeal in horror and her pussy would drip fucking-juice. 

She was hot enough to melt a lead dildo by the time that night came around. We had picked out what she would wear very carefully--such as it was. As I got her ready, she was all but vibrating with excitement. She had to put a washcloth on her pussy to absorb her fluids, or her dress would have been soaked when she sat down; and she had to change it twice before we actually got to the club. 

We went in the back. There was a huge crowd in front of the club, of guys who thought they were going to get in without a reservation. Some of them were pretty pissed off. Peters was out front talking to them with a couple of bouncers beside him. It looked pretty tense. 

They had good reason, I guess. Out in front of the club were huge posters of Millie's magazine covers, with "ONE NIGHT ONLY!" signs above or below them--and "SOLD OUT" across those. The date had been advertised in the papers and by flyers on the street for more than a week, but it looked like several hundred guys didn't intend to be turned away. 

The magazine covers were being used with permission; CURVY had sent a team of photographers out, and a couple of videographers as well. They were going to do a big feature on it and make a video, too. 

My cell phone rang as we pulled behind the club. It was Peters; he had seen our car going around to the back. 

"You got to help me out here, Jeff," he said. "We're about to have a riot on our hands. See if Millie will give a show tomorrow night and the next. It's the only way these guys are going to go home." I could hear angry voices in the background.

"Five times the fee we agreed on, Norm," I said. "That's going to be hard on her." 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Will she do it?"

"She will." I hung up. 

"Who was that?" asked Millie. 

I smiled at her. "Are you scared, Millie? Are you embarrassed? Are you dreading getting up there on stage stark naked and shaking your tits and ass and shaved pussy in front of a crowd of strangers?" She shivered, and I knew that that third washcloth was probably soaked. 

"Yes, Jeffie, but I'm going to do it... You're making me do it..." 

She was so close to coming, I knew what was about to happen. I waited till she was out of the car. 

"You're going to do it three nights in a row," I said, as brutally and imperiously as I could. 

She came so hard she almost fainted. I held her up and helped her walk into the club. 

She was still so hot, even after her orgasm, she recovered quickly and was still shivering with excitement as we went in the back door. "Oh, God, Jeff, I'm really here--I really have to do it--"

"You sure do, Big Tits," I said. We went backstage. "Let's take a peek out front." I knew what she was about to walk out into, but she didn't, and I didn't want her to faint when she first went out onto the stage. 

We went to the edge of the stage, and I peeked out from behind the curtain; then I gestured for Millie to do the same. 

She did, and gasped longer and louder than I ever heard her. "Oh... My... God..." Her hand went to her pussy involuntarily. 

The place was jammed, probably beyond legal capacity, but Peters had told me that a few cops and safety inspectors had been given free tickets to take care of that. There were more tables than had been there before, crowded in around the stage and the runway--and beyond those, bleachers had been set up. They were all packed with guys, every single space. 

Norm would be paying Millie $25,000 for her three nights. Fuck him. He could afford it. I knew he was getting $500 a seat for the tables near the stage, $300 for the rest, and $150 for the bleacher seats--and there were probably five or six hundred guys out there.

It was almost eight o'clock, time for the show. Millie and I were in her dressing room, and she was trembling with tension--fear, excitement, and extreme embarrassment. 

Her favorite way to feel, in other words. 

"Now you remember everything we talked about last week, right?" She nodded, her big blue eyes bright, her chubby cheeks rosy pink. 

She's going to kill these guys, I thought. Sweet baby face, chubby-curvy body of a plump angel, the breasts of a tit-man's stoned wet dreams, and obviously scared to death. I was glad of the ten or twelve big, ugly bouncers that Peters had seated around the stage. 

He stuck his head in. "Five minutes, Millie," he said, and winked. 

She gave him a brave smile, then laid a kiss on me that made the hair on my balls stand up. "Thank you, Jeffie," she whispered. "I love you so much. And I love you even more for making me do this." She took twenty seconds to fix her slutty lipstick in the mirror, then headed for the dressing-room door. 

"Break a leg," I said. 

She looked at me like I had turned green. "Huh?"

"Old theater superstition," I said. "It means, 'good luck.' I'll explain later." 

"Oh. Okay." and then she swept out. 

I hurried to my seat at ringside just as a funky, sexual rock-and-roll beat began to pound through the club, and Millie stepped out onto the stage. 

The applause, cheers, and whistles were deafening. Small wonder. Millie was not wearing the conventional stripper's gold-lame evening gown; she was wearing a stoplight-red, thigh-high dress made of a thin, clingy knit--with, quite apparently, nothing on under it. 

Her enormous, pointed milkers were swinging and wobbling loosely, and her swollen softball-sized nipples with their cocktail-sausage tips were clearly outlined. Even the depression that was her navel was lovingly hugged by the clinging fabric, and when she turned around, her big, fabulously round and full asscheeks jiggled and bounced deliciously. The dress revealed her curvy, bare white legs to mid-thigh, and their quivering bare flesh held promise of things to come. 

Those who were paying attention to details might have noticed three things: First, the dress buttoned up both the front and the back. Second, there were almost invisible nylon monofilament threads trailing from the dress to backstage. And third, she was barefoot. I doubt that many noticed. 

Millie looked frightened and shy, which of course was incredibly sexy. Her eyes were wide and almost panicked, she was biting her lip, her dimpled chin was trembling, and her pretty, chubby hands were visibly shaking. 

I knew it wasn't an act; posing in front of two professionals in a photo studio was one thing, but this was something else. The crowd was staring at her avidly, hungrily, and howling to see her flesh. She looked scared to death.

Millie began dancing to the driving beat immediately, showing off her 200-plus pounds of quivering fat, wriggling and bumping, bouncing and shaking everything she had, still with that terrified expression on her pretty baby face. The guys cheered and whistled, and I saw the photographers from CURVY doing their thing. There were five of them; there would be hundreds of shots for the editors to choose from for the magazine spread. 

Millie hunched and wiggled and shook her big tits--but I knew what she could do, and she hadn't begun to cut loose yet. Her pale, pretty bare feet moved on the stage hesitantly, and she seemed reluctant to go out on the runway. Finally, she began to work that way, but very slowly. 

As. Millie continued to dance without removing anything, the crowd began to mutter. By the time she had reached the end of the runway, out in the middle of the crowd, the muttering had become louder. 

"Take something off!" came a cry, and when Millie nervously shook her head, there were a few scattered boos. She looked incredibly sexy in the clingy, revealing dress, but these guys had not paid $300-$500 to see a dress. They wanted to see her pale, bare skin. All of it.

The beat continued to drum through the club like a rapid pulse. Millie was dancing about five feet from me; my table was right beside the end of the runway, one of the best seats in the house. I shared it with a photographer from the magazine. She looked down at me and gave me a nervous smile, then bit her lip in anticipation and held her arms out, as if for balance. She wriggled and shook some more. The chorus of boos was building.

Holding her arms out was the signal. Suddenly, with shocking abruptness, the invisible threads drew tight, the Velcro dots behind the faux buttons on the back and front of her dress gave way, and--

The effect was that Millie was dancing in the red jersey dress one second, and the next she was totally naked. The dress split apart, whipped away in an eyeblink, and disappeared backstage, and my plump and radiantly beautiful Millie was left there, all the way out at the end of the runway, in nothing but her pink-and-white bare skin. 

She was as naked as a newborn baby, from her pretty toes to her blushing face.The crowd went loudly nuts. Millie squealed in horror and tried to cover herself; they hooted and cheered and whistled and laughed as she tried to find a way to hide her enormous swinging tits and her fat, hairless pussy with her bare little hands. 

Millie cowered in apparent fear for just another moment, shivering all over--but her eyes were narrow slits, not wide with panic, and I saw her fat white thighs squeeze together in a way I knew. 

Millie was no doubt scared and embarrassed and shocked at her sudden, complete and publicly displayed nudity--but she was also coming. 

After a few more seconds, she began to dance again, and the roar of the watching crowd grew louder. She closed her eyes and spread her bare feet wide apart and crouched--

And as she began to bump and grind to the music, swinging her enormous milkers and exhibiting her bare, shaved pussy, the roar suddenly lessened and took on a growling, animal quality. Every man in the place saw the gleaming slickness between her thighs and her red and swollen pussy lips. They might not have figured out that she just came, but that she was sexually aroused, there was no doubt. 

Millie squatted lower and stuck it out, and if anyone had missed it, they didn't now. Millie's fat cunt was flaring open, and the redness of her glistening, gaping hole contrasted with her milk-white flesh like a stoplight in the snow. Her huge, pink aureolae were swelling as well, turning a darker pink as she stroked and fondled and shook her huge bare tits out on the brightly lit stage. 

She finally fell back into a total squat, bare feet planted wide and leaning back on her hands, exposing her naked crotch to the max. Her tits swing to the sides, but were still astonishingly firm; they did not sag to her armpits, but stood out full and pointed even as she bent back and lifted her fat ass and waved her naked pussy at the crowd. 

She was still bumping and hunching lewdly to the music, her big bare ass wobbling like white Jell-O as it quivered beneath her. A little liquid drooled from her bare cunt and dripped onto the stage. 

The crowd went wild again, and Millie moaned and flipped over onto her hands and knees. As we watched, Millie made her massive milkers swing and dangle wildly as she hunched and rolled her big bare ass in time to the music. 

She crawled around the stage like that, making sure everybody got a good, long look at her four gallons of hanging, lewdly waggling tit-meat, her fat bare ass, and her hairless, gleaming pussy. My naked fat girl was amazing everyone, including me. 

Millie's pretty round face was red with both embarrassment and arousal, and as she crawled around and shook I saw her orgasming again. 

So did everyone else. They cheered and whooped as Millie arched her back and shivered with it, fat ass quivering and eyes shut tight. She didn't even try to hide it. Her pretty hands grasped blindly at the stage, and she looked around her, squint-eyed and grimacing, at the howling crowd as she gasped and quivered and came naked in front of them all. She swung her tits, brushing the hardwood stage with her nipples, and she grimaced and shuddered in her orgasm as the audience cheered her on. 

Finally, instead of standing up right away, she crawled around till her huge, pale ass was turned toward the crowd--then lifted and planted first one bare, fat leg, then the other, till she was in an outrageous, wide-open squat, still bent over with her hands on the floor.

The view was mind-blowing. Her bare feet planted flat and wide apart, her plump legs bent outward, her huge ass split open wide, her bald, swollen, glistening cunthole gaping open and drooling fuck-me fluid to the stage, and her enormous, long, full milkers dangling bare to her fat pink nipples dragging on the floor. If it hadn't been for the cheers and whistles, I'd have bet you could have heard cum spurting from the cocks of half the goggling audience. 

Millie grabbed the pole and squatted lower and came again, sticking out her fat shaved cunt and showing off her squeezing, fluttering, squelching hole as her pussy-cum drooled and swung in strings and drips from it. She shivered and jerked and jiggled all over, fat and pale and naked to her pretty toes. 

Millie had only just started. She began to dance again, slowly rising, but still showing off her dripping, bare, fat cunthole from behind as she pulled herself upright hand-over-hand on the pole and bumped and hunched and ground her hips as obscenely as she could. Finally, she was standing, the pole lost between her tits as she clung to it and pumped her fat bare ass like she was being fucked, legs wide apart. 

She leaned back and crouched then, and slammed her pretty pussy into the pole and began to squat and straighten, rubbing her wet pussy lips against the pole, making it shine with her juices as she dragged her bare clit up and down--and came again, of course. 

The crowd had grown quieter, watching with an air of gaping, eager wonder. No one had ever seen a pole dancer like Millie before. 

She ground her open hole against the pole hungrily, shuddering and shaking, loose tits waggling, bare feet shifting as she worked her way around the pole to make sure everybody saw. 




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 06



Finally, she let it go and began to dance around it, wriggling wildly, giving it her all as only my Miliie can. Her huge ass was shaking like pale Jell-O, her two-gallons-each tits flopping heavily and flying high, her quivering belly flexing as she hunched and shook every fat white inch of her naked body for the crowd. 

The cheers and whistles began again, and Millie bit her lip in red-faced arousal and embarrassment as she hunched and wiggled naked for the mob. Millie crouch-walked awkwardly around the stage with her hands behind her head, shaking and tossing everything she had, bumping so hard she was slinging cunt-juice into the audience. 

She did everything she'd ever done for me in our private bedroom--and more--out on that spotlit stage, as naked as a baby in front of hundreds of staring, drooling men. Even the bouncers had forgotten to watch the crowd. I couldn't blame them. Fuck the crowd; they wanted to watch Millie. 

She leaned forward and swung and shook her giant tits, pulling at her huge nipples with her hands and coming yet again. She bent over and pulled her asscheeks wide apart and squeezed her sweet pink asshole in the spotlight like I'd told her to, sticking it out and showing it off without a thought for grace or style--only working hard to make sure everyone saw her clenching, puckering asshole, displayed openly above her drooling cunt. 

She faced them then and squatted low on her pretty pink toes, stuck out her bare-shaved pussy, and stretched it open wide with both pretty, chubby hands--a sweet and terrified expression of violated modesty on her red face as she exposed her gleaming inner membranes and her swollen, shiny clit. 

They howled and laughed at her embarrassment, and she blushed even redder.She bit her lip and closed her eyes and pulled the pale flesh back from her bare, red clit, making it protrude obscenely--and then she worked her cuntmuscles for the crowd and made it wiggle. 

I had told her she had to do that, and she did. And she came again, and all the staring men saw her clit expand and pulse as she wiggled it in their faces and came hard at her lewd exposure. Her stretched-open cunthole was squeezing convulsively, fiery-red against her milk-white skin and drooling strings of fuck-me juice to the floor between her bare, arched feet. 

Millie posed and danced, alternating between the two, for most of an hour. She was so hot, she may as well have been drugged. She sucked her toes and sucked her tits, she belly-danced and did the Chinese splits, she lifted up her tits by her stretched-out nipples and looked out at the men from between them, she even masturbated openly with two pretty fingers and looked every man in the place right in the eye as she came, over and over. 

She looked me in the eye, too, and gave me a gasping, desperate little smile before she grimaced and came again. 

There was no need for oil. Millie was glistening with sweat from head to toe, and pussy-juice was running down her bare, fat legs all the way to her pretty bare feet. The sweet, funky scent of her hot, fat cunthole was coming from the stage in waves, and grew stronger every time she came. 

She posed and wiggled and swung and shook her tits, up on the stage so fat and cute and stark naked--as pale and smooth as milk and as bare and gleaming as a dick about to fuck her. 

There were at least five hundred dicks in that room that longed to do just that, but only one would get to--and that one was mine. I felt like God, or a King showing off his slave girl to taunt the masses. 

Millie grabbed the pole and crouched and did something I'd never seen before; she began to shudder, deliberately, making her whole fat white body quiver and jiggle outrageously from her bare feet to her pixie-cut short hair. She rippled and shook all over, and she slowly circled the pole so everyone could see from every angle. 

Millie began to do deep-knee bends, still making herself shudder and shake, showing off her quivering fat pussy and her jiggling, wide-open, fleshy thighs. She rocked her fat hips back and forth, and bounced heavily on her heels, still showing every ounce of her luscious fat in quivering, rippling motion. Her enormous tits were waggling liquidly, four gallons of sweet white milkshake being shaken to a froth, her fat pink faucets vibrating at their tips. 

She turned around, leaned back, and held the pole above her head and behind her; then she half-squatted and did a perfect impression of being fucked. She jerked herself an inch or two upward with the repeated, imaginary impacts of a pounding, plunging cock, tits shaking with the force of them, eyes closed and mouthing "Fuck me.... Fuck me..." as she pretended to be hammered by my driving, sliding dick. 

Every man there saw what I saw when I gave her what she wanted. She hunched and fucked her heavy hips, crouching lower and spreading her fat bare legs for it, still shaking rhythmically with the imaginary fucking. The crowd loved it, and when she shivered and jerked in a real, pussy-dripping orgasm again, you could have sworn there was an invisible man shooting in her hole as she hunched back at him and came. 

She squatted then, bare pussy gaping and drooling, and scooped up three fingers full of her juices and slurped it up, sucking her fingers while looking out shyly at the crowd. They cheered themselves hoarse. 

She wasn't done. I nodded to her and jerked my head toward backstage, and she shivered and ran, naked and jiggling, up the runway and disappeared backstage. There were groans of disappointment, though I feel sure every man there felt he'd gotten his money's worth; I doubt there was a dry pair of shorts in the place. 

But before anyone could leave his seat, a spotlight speared the darkened club and lit up the side of the stage where Millie had disappeared. Every eye was focused there--and then Millie came back out.

There were cheers and whoops and whistles, and once again Millie's cute, round baby face held an expression of embarrassment, arousal, and fear. 

She was still barefoot and stark naked--and she was walking awkwardly, bare feet wide apart, knees bent-- 

Millie was pumping an enormous dildo in and out of her fat, shaved, thrust-forward and exposed and spotlit pussy. That kind of public insertion show was illegal, I knew, but everyone who would arrest her was in the room watching--and rubbing their cocks through their pants. Besides, anyone who tried to stop the show would have instantly been torn limb from limb by the crowd. 

Millie worked her way out onto the runway again, sliding that huge rubber cock in and out of her fat, shaved hole in front of the staring crowd--but that wasn't lewd and humiliating enough. 

She had two heavy cowbells tied to her swollen nipples for extra stimulation, and her huge tits were pulled into long, fat, tapering rocket shapes, her nipples stretched. Into long pink cones. She was still trying to dance to the funky sexual beat, and the tonka-tonka sound of her clunking cowbells sounded incredibly obscene. 

She crouch-walked out to the end of the runway, pumping her juicy pale cunt at every step, her cowbells jerking and bouncing and swinging heavily--and then she grabbed the pole with one hand and braced one bare foot high on it, completely exposing her pale, bald crotch, and began to slide that big black dildo all the way in and all the way out, as openly as possible. 

My innocent-faced Millie crouched on one fat, bare leg and hunched and came, bouncing her heavy cowbells with her hardworking arm as she fucked herself off naked and wide open for the staring mob. She was struggling to keep her blue eyes open, staring out at the crowd that thrilled and scared and embarrassed her all at once and made her fight to keep from cumming hard before them, and lose, and lose, and lose again. 

I had told her what to do, and she was doing it. 

After hopping around the pole on one bare foot--you can't imagine what that looked like--to make sure everyone saw her spasming, dripping, deeply impaled hole and cruelly heavy, swinging cowbells, Millie squatted on the edge of the stage and began to bounce on her dildo, jacking it off with her exposed fat cunt and making her stretched-out tits get yanked and milked and pulled as the cowbells bounced and clanked and clattered. Of course she came again--and again, and again...

She rose up for a moment, and centered the big dildo on her teeny pink asshole, to cheers and howls of lust--

No one but Millie and I knew; this would be her very first anal penetration. I wanted her to take it squatting naked in the spotlight in front of a staring crowd, with cowbells on her nipples and a thousand men's eyes on her tender, secret, stretching sphincter. 

She sank down on the dildo, mouth and eyes open wide, feeling her virgin asshole get opened up in a public display. The expression on her sweet, round baby face was priceless; she looked frightened, hugely embarrassed, horrified that this enormous crowd of strangers was watching her take a dildo up her asshole for the first time, and on the edge of orgasm, all at once. 

She squatted lower and lower till her fat ass was almost down on the stage, and the dildo was in her all the way to the base. As I had ordered, she peeled her fat white cunt wide open in the spotlights and exhibited her swollen, red, and sloppy-wet hole to everyone as she rose toward yet another public naked orgasm, and she kept holding it open as she came, with fuck-me juice drooling from her squeezing, spasming pussy and dripping down onto the base of the dildo up her ass. 

She was forbidden to close her eyes, and she had to look back at the hundreds of howling, grinning men as she showed them all her orgasming pussy, her stretched-out and deeply impaled anus, and her stretched-out, swollen-to-bursting red nipples, bare to her pretty toes. 

And then she stood up and began to dance naked with a dildo up her ass and cowbells hanging from her knobs. She turned and bent over and showed off the dildo, her clunking cowbells almost on the floor and an inch of thick black stump sticking out of her red, taut ring of violated anal hole. She fingered her bare pussy under it, exposing her fat red clit with one pretty hand and pulling and popping it openly with the other. 

She stood up straight and began to wiggle around the stage, cowbells clanking, holding that dildo up her ass "no hands."

Speaking of "no hands," I thought.... 

I placed my beer bottle on the edge of the stage, and I pushed it forward slightly. Millie saw it, and did as she had been ordered; she hunch-danced over to it, crouched, and as the crowd whooped and cheered, she impaled her pussy on its long neck--and then picked it up, with her hands behind her head. She struggled to hold onto it as she carried it around the stage, fat legs cocked outward, crouch-walking awkwardly, still hunching her fat ass to swing and toss the bottle, shaking her huge tits and clanking her heavy cowbells. 

I hadn't made it easy for her; the bottle was full. I don't like beer. 

She finally brought it back and set it down before me, and as the crowd cheered, I lifted it to my mouth and took a long drink. The taste of Millie's pussy I DO like. 

At least another dozen bottles instantly appeared on the stage, and at a nod from me, Millie blushed, ashamed, and then went around and picked up every one, swung it for a moment from her fat, shaved pussy, then set it down again. 

More bottles kept appearing, and thus went on for quite some time. Poor Millie's fat bare legs were trembling with fatigue as she kept squatting and standing, but her clenching pussy never got tired. She clamped down on one stranger's beer after another and picked it up, showing off the strength of her fucking-muscles "no hands" as the crowd whooped and cheered her on. 

Fat, naked Millie was horribly embarrassed and humiliated, and was loving every second of it. About every third or fourth bottle, she came, and when she rose up after dropping it, she left the mouth and neck of the bottle thickly coated with her pussy-juice--which the grinning strangers sucked and licked up eagerly. 

I finally beckoned Millie over and gestured, giving her permission to take her cowbells off. Too much of that might give her those stretchmarks that that gay guy, Alex, couldn't find. 

She took them off, and her poor abused nipples stood out again, swollen to grapefruit size, their fat tips long and red. Millie stood there naked with a dildo up her ass, waiting; she knew what was coming--but I had a surprise for her.

I handed her another dildo. She took it, and stared at it, and then at me, and then out at the crowd, in shock and horror. She looked at me pleadingly and shook her head, but I nodded, once, slowly, and she bit her lip and nodded back, her eyes wet with fear and humiliation. 

It was a new dildo, bigger than the biggest one she owned; coal-black, three fingers thick, and almost two feet long. 

But that wasn't enough for me; nine little "fingers" of red rubber dangled from it, from three French ticklers spaced evenly apart below the lemon-sized head. 

As Millie looked at me, still pleading with her big blue eyes, I mouthed, "Don't come," then nodded toward the pole. My fat, buck naked wife moved over to the pole, tits wagging, then leaned back against it, facing the crowd, and squatted with her bare tits and cunt sticking out. She bit her lip and looked out at the crowd shamefaced as she began to work that obscenely tricked-out monster dildo into her fat naked hole, the stump of the other still protruding lewdly from her asshole. 

The gaping crowd whistled and hollered encouragement as Millie whimpered and moaned, working hard to fuck herself off naked in front of them all. First one, then two, then all three of the French ticklers disappeared inside her. Her tender pussy was already stretched to the max by the enormous girth of the huge black dildo, and she had to work hard, even as cum-soft and slippery-wet as her cunt was, to cram those nasty-looking rubber fingers in. Then she began to pump it in and out. 

The spectacle was incredible. Millie's agonized, grimacing face, so sweet, so pretty, so distorted by the outrageous stimulation of her sensitive pussy; her gigantic, wobbling, liquidly swinging tits and double-fist-sized nipples; her quivering, fat, white, widespread thighs and plump pale belly; and that jaw-dropping dildo, pistoning in and out of her fat shaved pussy with the ticklers flipping and flapping and splaying out as she fucked herself off, bare naked on the stage. 

Millie was soon gasping and gaping in shockingly intense sexual heat, her sweet rosebud mouth hanging open and literally drooling spit as she pumped her pussy with that cunt-destroying rubber cock. She was stark naked and gleaming with sweat, red-faced and ashamed as she reamed herself out in front of the mob. 

She was already fighting back her orgasm, desperately trying to keep from coming as I'd ordered. I knew she'd never make it; I knew what one tickler did to her on my big dick--I couldn't imagine what three, poking and digging and twisting around inside her swollen fucking tube on that gigantic rubber cock, were making her feel. 

My fat, naked Millie pumped her exposed hole with that obscene rubber monster for twenty minutes, till she was crying like a baby from the struggle not to come. She kept looking at me and begging with her eyes for permission, but I kept shaking my head. Finally, I gestured, and she knew what to do. Millie rolled onto her back and stick her bare feet up in the air, her fat white legs open wide and her huge tits in her face, and she started slamming that black rubber cock in and out of her blatantly exposed hole with both hands. The black stump of the other dildo protruded lewdly from her ass; the crowd had largely forgotten about that, but now it was in their faces. They grew silent at last, sensing that something special was about to happen. 

In the silence, the smacking, splattering sound of that decorated dildo plunging in and out of Millie's fat bare cunt was loud--and so were Millie's desperate whimpers and moans. The ticklers flipped and waggled wildly as she pumped, staring slit-eyed at the mob over her enormous tits. She was stabbing that cruel monster in and out like she was trying to saw herself in half, gasping and squealing, pretty bare toes clenched into tiny white fists. Her fat bare ass rippled with the impacts, and she was shaking all over, every square inch of her luscious, pale fat exposed and in quivering motion. 

Finally, she arched forward, her head and fat ass rising from the stage as she curled into a tense and jiggling ball of impending super-orgasm. Her tits slid out to the sides, her fat pink knobs swolllen to the max and her long sausagelike tips vibrating with her masturbation. She began to make a high, keening sound, and the funky smell of her hungry cunthole grew suddenly stronger. 

Suddenly, she cried out in a high, childish voice: "I'm gonna COME! I'm gonna come HARD! W-watch me COME, everybody! I'm NAKED on STAGE and I'm c-c-c-"

She got no farther. Millie basically exploded, gritting her teeth and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, pumping her huge dildo with blinding speed and pumping her fat white legs as if to make it go faster. All the way in and all the way out, five times a second, her little fists a blur as she gushed pussy-cum in the spotlight. I had never seen Millie squirt before, but her girl-cum sprayed into the air and splattered on her open thighs, over her tits, and onto the stage all around her, scattered by her blindingly fast pumping. She rolled up tighter and tighter as she came harder and harder, grunting like an animal and grimacing with the intensity of her colossal orgasm. 

She began to scream wordlessly; I had never seen her do that before either. She wailed and shrieked like the dildo was made of white-hot steel. Millie pumped her hole superfast and came and sprayed cunt-juice and came and quivered all over and came and screamed and came for most of a full minute. I had never seen her come so hard and so long and so violently. 

She finally collapsed, as I knew she would. She fell back onto the stage, as limp as a wet string. She lay there unconscious, her fat, bare arms and legs splayed open like a broken doll's, both of her dildos still hanging from her holes. She did not move. 

After a few brief, awestruck moments, the cheering and applause began. Millie didn't see the ten-minute standing ovation she got as four of the bouncers carried her from the stage on a stretcher. She would see it later on the videotape as I made her watch it naked--and come again, over and over, just from watching what she did. 

Backstage, I held Millie till she came to, just as the cheering was beginning to subside. "Come on," I said. "You need to take a bow. Your fans want to thank you." 

She was weak and shaky, but I helped her to her feet and to the side of the stage. 

I made her walk out into the spotlights once again, still naked and barefoot, and hold her swollen, red, distended pussy open and display it to the crowd as the cheering and clapping rose to a deafening level again. 

Millie smiled weakly and shook her tits a little as she crouched and held her hole open, her way of taking her bows. Finally, she staggered offstage to continued applause and cheering. 

The speakers in the club announced, "Millie will be signing autographs in the lobby in a few minutes. She is NOT going to get dressed, and she's agreed to allow anyone who gets her autograph to feel her bare tits. The line is forming now." 

There was a mad rush to the lobby, and the bouncers had to intervene to prevent a few fistfights when guys tried to cut in line. 

By the time we came out, things were pretty well organized. The line circled the lobby three times, so everyone had a good view as they waited, and then led out onto the street. There were two tables set up at different levels; Millie knelt naked on one, and leaned forward to sign magazines and pieces of paper on the other. Between them, her huge bare breasts dangled invitingly, and as she smiled and signed, each guy had a chance to feel and fondle them. 




Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 06



I had been a little worried, but none of them were rough with her. They touched her reverently, stroking her long, heavy tits gently, exploring her enormous nipples with their fingers tenderly, hefting them in their hands and shaking their heads in awe at the privilege. 

Millie signed her most obscene naked pictures with autographs fitted to them:

"Don't you love my big swinging milkers? You got to feel them for real! Love and gallons of bare tits, Millie" 

"Enjoy my bare open pussy as you jack off to me! Love and sloppy shaved cunt-meat, 'Shoot-It-To-Me' Millie"

"I'm your big fat naked fucking toy! Love and sperm-splattered rolls of hot fat, your chubby naked Millie"

"Wanna come play with my toys? Come feel my big bare tits and pull on my nipples! Oh, wait--you did! Love, Millie" 

"I wish you could fuck me like this! I love it from behind! Love and juicy pussy squeezes on your squirting cock, Millie" 

"I wish I could suck on your bare, hard dick! Think about me slobbering all over your spurting dickhead! Love, Millie"

"Squirt lots of cum to this one--I'll be dreaming of your hot sperm splattering all over my open hole! Love, Millie"

She knelt there naked for hours, writing filthy messages and letting hundreds of guys play with her bare, dangling milkers and tug on her long nipples. 

Every now and then she came, and she'd give the guy who did it a kiss right on the mouth and write "You made me COME!" next to her autograph in a big heart. 

A lot of the guys came, too. Most of them had wet spots showing on their pants anyway, and more than a few shuddered and spasmed a little when they got their hands on Millie's sweetly hanging bare breast-meat. She'd giggle and wink at them when she saw it, and sometimes she'd reach out and give their cocks a little squeeze. 

Kneeling as she was, with her fat thighs apart and leaning forward, everyone in the room could see her bare wet pussy hanging open as she worked. A few of the guys reached for it, but they were stopped by one of the two bouncers that stood by her. We were there for hours. 

Millie insisted on writing a long, filthy message every time, to give her fans a chance to get a good long feel of her tits--and something to jack off to when they got home. The line moved slowly, but no one left.

Around 3 AM, the last guy finally got his autograph and his feel--and as a consolation prize for being last in line, Millie offered him her fat nipples to suck. 

He sucked them both and made her come twice--he was apparently pretty good at it--and on another page of his magazine, Millie wrote, "You made me come TWICE and I squeezed your bare dick!" He read it and gaped at her. She just smiled at him--and gestured at his pants. He feverishly whipped his fly open and pulled it out, all of five inches long and hard as a fencepost, and--after looking at me for permission--Millie reached out and gave it a gentle squeeze and a little shake. He shot his load all over her plump white arm, and she giggled and kissed him. 

What the hell. He was an old guy, kind of sad-looking, and he deserved it for waiting so long. He didn't look so sad when he left. 

Millie wiped the cum from her arm with a Kleenex, and then gave me a long, sloppy French kiss that left me gasping. 

"Thank you for making me do all this, Jeffie," she breathed into my mouth. "This was the scariest and most, best fun I ever had. I felt like a goddess." 

"You are, Big Tits," I said. "You're the Goddess of Cum. I'll bet you'd have to measure the cum you pulled out of all those guys tonight in gallons." 

She giggled tiredly, and we finally went back to her dressing room where she slipped into a robe I'd brought her to wear home. 

She slept for twelve hours, but the little sex bomb--okay, the BIG sex bomb--came hard, once more, before she went to sleep. 

I didn't touch her. I just reminded her that she had to do it all again the next night, and again the night after. 

She shivered in her sleep every now and then. And smiled. 

I love my Millie.