Ate Upton's Titfucs

Warning: "Sydney Sweeney Gives Unenthusiastic Titfucks" was merely somewhat depraved. This story probably reaches "crime against humanity" status in several countries. It's a bit long, and could use a haircut, but others seem to enjoy it.

And I'm proud of "laid more pipe than a Windows 98 screensaver", even though it probably makes no sense to anyone anymore.

Note that this series is intended to be satirical, stupid and humorous--not a serious portrayal of anyone. All real and fictitious characters are over the age of 18.

-- Juliette de Lorsange

* * *

Paparazzi swirled around Kate on the hospital steps like iron filings drawn to a magnet. She transcended hot. She was a fireball--a sex bomb no bunker could withstand.

She smiled. Struck a hipshot pose. Angled her hot, lethally fuckable body into the drenching light of the flashbulbs. Cameras loved her, though not as much as the men behind them. Kate Upton was the American Dream wrought in flesh. Alluring. Insidious. Totally unattainable.

Gaze upon this face

, her smile said.

See what you'll never have.

She waved and broke hearts; giggled and stomped those hearts into atoms. It was what she did, automatically and instinctively. Photographers took dozens of photos, then dozens more for illicit personal collections, to be masturbated over in private. They drooled over her playful, all-American features--achingly blonde hair, body decked out in a white blouse and jeans, an exhuberantly feminine yet compellingly boyish figure.

The front of Kate's blouse ballooned out grotesquely, distorted by a pair of disgustingly huge breasts. Kate had always possessed big, heavy tits. Now that she was aging out of

girl-next-door

and into

sexually-overavailable hausfrau

, they were monsters: titanic fleshglobes that stretched her blouse to bursting point and threatened to break straps on her bra's 28HH cups. As men stared in awe at Kate Upton's economy-sized fucktanks, perspective seemed to yaw and twist through the camera viewfinders, as though her huge tits were a quantum singularity, bending the weft of reality.

She would not have lasted long in the middle ages

, one photog thought, his erection thumping miserably inside his slacks.

They'd have burned her as a witch.

A microphone was thrust into her face. "What brings you to the hospital today, Kate?"

"Charity work!" She beamed.

"Will you name the charity?"

And just for a second, Kate's smile shrank...

...then re-ignited to its full 200 watts.

"It's...confidential. But they're a wonderful organisation, whose mission I

truly

and

genuinely

support. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

* * *

Kate closed the door behind her, shutting out the cameras. Alone, she let the mask drop.

The smile vanished. Her eyes gained a thousand-yard stare. A drop of anxious sweat charted a curving, wandering path through the black hole depths of her cleavage.

She was broke. Stone-broke. And this was her last chance to save herself.

"I'm ready," she said tonelessly to the man who'd just appeared at her side.

"Brill!" his odious smirk exposed gaps in his dentition. "As representative for the Touch of Love initiative, I speak for us all when I say we're

very

glad to work with you, Kate..."

"It's not mutual." The words were tipped with hoarfrost. "I'm doing this for money, and I'd be grateful if this didn't take long. Where are the men?"

"Ward D." He gestured at the sprawling labyrinth of the hospital. "Once you've...

satisfied

them, come back to me."

"And then I get paid?"

"Then you get paid."

* * *

Two weeks ago, she'd fucked up bad in Malibu.

As was her style, she'd picked up a stranger at a baccarat table and pole-vaulted on his dick all weekend. While they were spooning in bed, waiting for him to get hard for the next round, he'd posed an innocent question.

"Ever heard of NFTs?"

She hadn't, so he'd blitzed her with a sales pitch, buzzword upon buzzword, blockchains and distributed payment platforms and Merkel hash-trees and Byzantine fault tolerance. NFTs were the future. The frontier.

It hadn't mattered that it sounded like a bullshit scam. He'd closed the deal with his dick.

Kate had trouble restraining herself around cock at the best of times, and this guy

fucked

. He'd laid more pipe into her than a Windows 98 screensaver that weekend, and she was gagging for more.

Straddling her, he'd obscenely splayed her legs, and laid the tip of his penis against her drooling, hungry gash. Her pussy lips had gaped like an eye opening...but he hadn't put it inside.

...not until she agreed to buy an NFT in his collection, the Tedious Chimp Canoe Gang.

The next few hours had been a blur. While humping her into a puddle of squirt, he'd walked her through the process on her phone. She'd emptied out the bank account she shared with her husband--Houston Astros pitcher Justin Verlander--and liquidated the cash into untraceable Ethereum.

Just once, he'd allowed her a glance at the artwork she was buying: a pixel-art monkey shoving a banana up its nose. It was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen--including the time she'd had to give Sports Illustrated's vice president a rimjob in exchange for a cover issue--but her toyboy-cum-art dealer had insisted that NFTs were a sage financial investment.

"The Tedious Chimp Canoe Gang is going global," he'd said, power-bombing his hips into hers. Her mouth hung slackly open in orgiastic bliss, drooling onto a pillow. "This is the ground floor, Kate. The grand-slam.

We're shifting the paradigm

."

And so, fuck-drunk and cock-blind from nine orgasms and counting, Kate had tapped the final button.

Five million dollars, gone.

Justin was away on an MLB promotional tour. He still hadn't discovered the money missing from their joint account.

* * *

Days had passed. Her unease had grown.

Her marriage to Justin was already in jeopardy thanks to her near-constant cheating: if he discovered she'd stolen his money to buy a picture of an ape, it would definitely be over.

NFT Bro hadn't given her a contract or invoice for the token's sale--according to him, cryptocurrencies made all of that irrelevant. She didn't even know his

name

.

Twice, she'd phoned him for reassurance. "Kate,

relax,

" his unctious used-car-salesman drawl did not put her at ease. "It's all under control. You don't even have to think about it."

"This was a mistake," she pleaded. "I need that money returned

right now

. I'm so screwed if my husband finds out..."

"I'll sell out your position tomorrow. Maybe the day after. I'm timing the market."

When she'd called a third time, he'd disconnected his number.

As the phone rang into oblivion, she'd felt a dark cloud of panic boil across her. The kind of

genuine

panic that only non-famous people are supposed to feel. When stories hit the internet of a massive pump-and-dump fintech scam involving digital art--one that had apparently snared up several unnamed celebrities--she realized she was screwed. All of her money--and more importantly,

Justin's

money--was gone.

And then Touch of Love had stepped in.

She still didn't know how they'd discovered her financial situation. They were publically funded and awash with cash. What they didn't have was talent. They were looking for a famous, and--bluntly--

attractive

female public figure to represent them. They were willing to cover her losses from the Tedious Chimp Canoe Gang fiasco, provided she did some work for them at a hospital.

Kate had been a model since the age of eighteen. She'd been around

that

particular mulberry bush once or twice.

When an agency hires you for

work,

and provides no specifics, shave your pussy. It's getting gaped to the width of the Large Hadron Collider.

* * *

The hospital was a vinyl and linoleum maze that swallowed Kate like an apéritif. She wandered lost through its halls for a long time before she found Ward D--or

thought

she'd found it, at least. The paint on the sign was chipped.

She tugged open the ward's sliding door. In the reception room beyond were seven men, sitting in plastic chairs. Their eyes flicked in the direction of the door, and the buxom model beyond it. Many were visibly injured and bandaged. One had his arm in a cast. They ranged in age from late teenaged to middle aged. But whether young or old, hurt or healthy, males are males--as she walked across the doorway, she spiritually felt a gallon of blood surge into every penis in the room.

They leered brazenly at her busty figure as she stood before them. Whispers passed back and forth.

"Yo, that's Kate Upton."

"No way, I used to beat off to her."

"I heard she died."

"Man, they're even bigger in real life."

One man actually wolf-whistled, like a character in a Tex Avery cartoon.

Ugh

, Kate thought, wishing she'd brought a jacket.

"Alright," she said, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "You obviously know my name. Am I at the right place?"

"I'd say you are, babe," the speaker waggled his tongue between forked fingers.

She had no time to fuck around with these creeps. "Are you the men Touch of Love wants me to help? Yes or no."

"Touch of Love?" A lanky teenager with a heavily-signed fiberglass cast around one wrist asked. "Who are they?"

Haven't these knuckleheads even been briefed?

She rolled her eyes, sighed, and whipped out the pamphlet they'd given her. "It's a public health initiative that seeks to solve the issue of sexual frustration of hospitalized men. If you are unable to masturbate, they send a celebrity to do it for you. And today," she shrugged in reflexive faux-modestly, "I'm that celebrity."

The kid's eyes lit up. "So you jerk us off?"

"Technically," Kate said icily. "I'm supposed to use my breasts."

Their stares dropped ten inches, from her face to her chest. She blushed red. Her overloaded blouse was a light sneeze away from bursting, and they could see oceans of soft pale cleavage bulging obscenely from her bra cups through gaps between buttons. "So...this is Ward D, right?"

Bulges tenting their jeans, they glanced at each other for affirmation.

"Yeah, this is Ward D. Isn't it, boys?"

"Sure is."

"Absolutely."

Kate unbuttoned her blouse, burning with shame, disgust, and anger. Freefall in the NASA Vomit Comet hadn't been as stomach-turning as this. One by one, her fingers popped buttons out of their loops on her blouse. Each

pop

widened the white cleavage chasm by another two inches. They watched with fascination as she undid the last button, then pulled the garment over her head.

The black 28HH balconette had fit her chest six months ago. Now, she'd outgrown it by at least two sizes. Her huge breasts bulged out of the cups like bowling balls, excess titmeat flooding and gushing out of the sides, bottoms, and tops.

She arched her chest forward, reached behind her back, and unclasped the balconette. Hook after hook yielded with pops and whispers. Then the straps burst free, slinging around her torso as the bra exploded from her body, leaving her topless.

The men leered and hooted like apes when the black bra dropped away, leaving the legendary fap-goddess standing bare-chested in front of them. Blushing, Kate used her arm to clasp her bare tits against her chest. Her boobs spilled around her skinny forearm like dough, absurdly massive and heavy.

Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to three. She lifted her arm, releasing her trapped boobs. They flopped heavily against her lower stomach, swinging like pendulums.

SLAP! SLAP!

The men let out a raucous cheer. For an incongruous second, Kate

enjoyed

the sexual energy washing over her.

Male approval is a hell of a drug.

Then she noticed that several of them already had their hands in their pants, and were jerking off.

So much for being unable to masturbate

, she thought miserably, the chilled air making her nipples hard.

No backing out. She was in too deep.

Soon these men would also be in too deep, in a less poetic sense.

"So, are we...doing this?" she asked, her naked chest rippling into gooseflesh. "I don't have all day. Who do I titfuck first?"

They settled the issue by rolling dice on their phones' betting apps.

Who says romance is dead?

Kate thought as the winner swaggered forward to claim his prize.

* * *

Thunk!

The door to a private room slammed shut behind the two of them.

Kate twisted her blonde hair up in a knot behind her head. Today would be endless enough without a two-hour sperm-removal shower.

Her first partner sat on the bed--a greasy, unshaven man of indeterminate years with a castor shoulder fixation and a rat's nose. Everything about him screamed

mechanic

. Engine oil seemed to bleed out of every pore of his skin.

She kneeled submissively before him, folding her pretty legs on the cold tiled floor. She spread his knees, wedged herself before his obscenely bulging crotch, and let her tits hang straight down. The man's eyes tracked the huge, soft globes as they dangled between his forked legs. He made a loud mooing noise.

Ugh, what a charmer.

"You're a sexy piece of trim," he sneered, tracing a hand down the alabaster curve of her face. "You know that?"

"Whatever." Kate yanked off his belt, and pulled his jeans and boxers around his ankles. A turgid and disgusting cock bounced out, so heavy that it didn't jut out straight, but lolled, curved by gravity.

Kate found a hand-pump, squirted a generous palmful of lotion onto her chest, and rubbed it over her tits until they gleamed. Then she lifted her prodigous jugs, and dumped the lubed-up mass of breastflesh into his lap.

SMACKPLOP!!!

Her huge udders flooded his lap, ripples shuddering through them. Her perfect boobs jolted to a stop, slowly pouring into place around his dirty, unwashed penis, flowing like a Newtonian physics simulation.

As Kate went to work, his massive shaft lurched, spraying hot droplets of pre across her slopes.

Schlick schluck schlorrck.

"Oooohhhh yeah..." His lip curled arrogantly as the flagship girl of Sports Illustrated titfucked him. Here was a man who thought he was owed the best thing in the world, and somehow, the world had given it to him.

His dick submerged in an ocean of Kate Upton's warm, sweaty tit flesh. It swelled hugely inside her cleavage; becoming so hard she could feel his heartbeat resonating within her breasts. Clenching her teeth, Kate shimmied her boobs back and forth, seeking a position that allowed her to exert maximum stimulation on his shaft.

SQUELCH! SQUELCH! SQUELCH!

Up. Down. Up. Down. His distended prick drooled into her cleavage.

I'm the biggest idiot,

she thought, slamming him off with her enormous rack.

I spent five million dollars on a picture of a monkey. That's the worst part of this. It wasn't even a smart scam.

"Ooooh yeah...you fucking slag..." the mechanic said, closing his eyes as she plunged her boobs deep into his lap like slippery jelly. At their lowest point, they swallowed his entire shaft and threatened to engulf his balls. He started matching her pumps, thrusting upward with his ass, keeping pace. He was surprisingly healthy for an injured man.

Please cum. I hate life itself. Please cum

. Kate's knees hurt. The weight of her braless breasts strained her back. The man's cock was squirming and writhing inside her tightly-packed tits, like a hamster being suffocated.

The man tilted back his head, and groaned. He looked down at the busty blonde between his legs, and began degrading her.

"You're a real fucking slut. You know that, Kate? A total whore."

Pick a lane, asshole. A whore charges money. A slut gives it away. I can't be both at once.

She squeeze-pumped her mountainous breasts around him, stroking his dick, praying he'd ejaculate. His cock smelled vile. As it bulged from her cleavage on each downstroke, the oozing slit seemed to

grin

repulsively at her, as though it was relishing in her debasement too. The fact that someone like her--social media royalty, bred for the high life--was reduced to this was beyond offensive.

At least Cinderella's stepmom didn't have a dick and balls...

His cock dribbled massive amounts of precum. It poured from the tip and cascaded down the shaft, a colorless liquid that pooled aqueously in the chasm of Kate's breasts, squelching as her breasts wobbled.

...and if she did, she probably washed them once in a while.

Kate's fists clenched her slippery tits vice-tight. Pale flesh billowed out between the gaps of her fingers. The man's thigh muscles were tensing up: she felt it through the expansive globes of her boobs. He was close to cumming. Closer. Closer still. His breathing roughened. His half-humping motions sped up. She gave his cock three powerful squeezes, then he roared.

"Fucking shooting, you big-titted cunt!"

His massive load squirted up through his shaft.

"Busting all over your huge fucking jugs. UGH...CUMMING!"

Boiling hot sperm jetted out between her tits, spraying into her chin and neckline, one shot flying into her hair, more gunk pooling in her collarbones. She continued to milk cum from his balls as his revolting dick slid out of her divine breasts, still spouting out ridiculous amounts of semen.

He hollered and yelled obnoxiously, his cock bucking and spasming, hosing sperm over the floor and the bed and her chest and her face. "Shooting! Ugh, take that, you fat-jugged slutwhore! OOF! Ugh. How does it feel to get a pearl necklace from someone who makes forty large a year, you rich spoiled bitch?"

I'm one cock closer to being done. That's how I feel.

She made eye contact with the man, which was a mistake. A drop of cum slid from her forehead into her open eye. "OW!"

He stood up, gripped his softening dick like a club, and cockslapped her in the face. SMACK! A final wad of jizz splattered over her beautiful blonde face.

"Tell your husband his pitching arm sucks. He lost me six hundred bucks in that strikeout against the Twins. Hopefully they bench him."

Then he leaned forward, and spat in her face.

"Fuck you, whore."

* * *

The next man was disgustingly fat. His immense belly spilled into his lap like a half-deflated beachball. He plopped down in the same spot as the last man--heedless of the sweat stain he was sitting in--and pulled down his pants. A large engorged penis sprang out.

Kate sighed. She scooped up a fleshy orb in each hand, and placed them around his dick, sandwiching his smegma-crusted cockmeat between her pure milk-white tits. She bent her head back and closed her eyes. The huge slippery cock jumped and jerked inside her rack, as if alive.

"So, I gotta question..." the guy's smirk was esconced inside countless double-chins.

"What?" Kate wrinkled up her cute button nose at the rank stench of his crotch.

"I know about Kate Upton, I know about Kate Middleton..."

She began slamming her messy, hefty tits on his shaft. The pink head speared out between her jugs repeatedly.

"...but where's Kate Downton?" The fat, sweaty man guffawed as Kate juggled and bounced her enormous breasts around his huge, fetid cock.

Real clever. Think of that one on your own?

Kate gritted her pearlescent-white teeth as she juggled and bounced her enormous breasts around his cock, twisting her mouth in a corpselike smile, and locked her words behind it.

Never let men know what you really think. Never ever ever.

First and last rule of modeling.

His penis throbbed inside the slick, malleable breastflesh. Pre-cum bubbled and squelched into her cleavage.