"I have to do WHAT?" Sydney Sweeney's voice snowballed into a scream. "You are joking! TELL ME YOU ARE FUCKING JOKING!"
"Syd, you signed a contract," her lawyer sounded petulant over the phone.
"I was drunk!" she raged, heavy fuck-toy breasts jiggling inside her crop-top. "As if I actually read any of the shit you shove in front my face! I thought I was signing up for some retarded Make-A-Wish cancer kid thing where I go to a hospital dressed as Spider-Woman, or some shit!"
Calculated pause.
"...I don't know about cancer, but you'll definitely be making wishes come true today."
"Very funny." A finger twirled a platinum-blonde lock into an angry little corkscrew. "Come on, can't you work some angle and get me out of this?"
She heard a sigh. Mr Fiedelman was clearly wondering if this would be the last day he worked for the bitch-princess.
"There's nothing I can do, Syd. The Touch of Love Initiative has you on a contract. Break it, and they can sue us for millions. Come on. One day, and then it'll be over."
You had to hand it to the engineers at Apple. Sydney Sweeney's phone didn't
entirely
shatter when it hit the wall.
* * *
She drove to the hospital through hellish peak-hour LA traffic; swearing, cutting off people, blowing through stop signs, throwing up middle fingers until her distal phalange hurt. Her list-price Bentley was now a liability.
I wish this car was cheap enough to commit vehicular homicide with
, she thought, clenching her teeth.
She tried to recall what Mr Fiedelman had said about Touch of Love.
They were a government-funded initiative formed to deal with an alleged public health crisis: hospitalized boys who were unable to masturbate.
A recent scientific paper--which might see peer review someday--had speculated that buildup of seminal fluid could cause numerous physical and psychological morbidities. Spermal impaction. Epididymal hypertension. Mental breakdown. A healthy teenage boy produces 300 million spermatozoa per day, and who knows what happens if he can't discharge them?
According to someone who claimed to be a doctor -- the medical degree displayed on his Facebook page was too blurry to tell -- it was a violation of a man's human rights to not get jerked off by hot nurses while in hospital. Fringe science at best, this ordinarily would have gone nowhere, but someone in the DHHS had seen his research, liked it, and had chiseled off a few bucks to fund a program.
My tax dollars at work,
Sydney thought as she swung into the hospital parking lot, illegally parking her Bentley in a handicap space. As she got out and slammed the car door shut, she glimpsed her own reflection in her car's mirror-silver bodywork.
She was outrageously curvy and stacked. Her clothes clung to her figure like a coat of wet paint, bulging outward at hip and bust. Her sunglasses fired back echoes of the blazing Californian sun like precision laser equipment, hiding her eyes, which were almost always set in a scowl. Her silver-blonde hair seemed to blaze like liquid fire, errant strands getting lost in her deep bronzed cleavage.
As Sydney walked toward the hospital--her big heavy jugs sloshing and wobbling in her crop-top's cups, her thick ass pouring out of her chambray cutoffs--she idly wondered how many other celebrities were currently moonlighting in hospital wards, pleasuring cocks at the behest of Touch of Love.
Not Dakota Johnson
, she thought nastily.
That slutwhore probably already does it for free.
Her lawyer had told her what she had to do.
"It'll be easy, Syd. These boys are eighteen years old, disease-free, and are under NDAs. Nobody will ever know you did this. Not your parents, not your boyfriend, not the media. You just have to masturbate them to climax once with your breasts, and then you can leave."
"Why my breasts? Can't I use my hand?"
"No. You have to titfuck them. These boys asked for you specifically, and many highlighted your tits as their favorite body part."
Her skin almost smoked with fury beneath her mascara. "You know what's fucked up? If I poured gasoline over this hospital and set it on fire, they'd call
me
the bad guy."
"Relax. Syd. Most of these kids haven't busted a nut in weeks. How much staying power will they have? Ten seconds?"
That's eleven seconds too long, asshole
, Sydney thought as she stomped to the hospital entrance with rage-fueled swings of her hips.
She pushed open the double-doors. The hospital's reception bay was large and well-furnished, and her Louboutin-Pigalle heels rang loudly on the sanitized formica floor as she crossed to the reception desk.
A fat Hispanic abuela waddled out to greet her. "Miss Sweeney! My daughter loved you so much in that...uh...movie or show you were in! Can I get an autograph?"
Sydney could play the game. She wouldn't have come this far if she couldn't. She plastered a simpering, angelic, and totally insincere smile on her face. "Of course! Do you have a pen?"
"Here. You're so brave for agreeing to do this."
"Not at all!" Sydney's smile grew even wider as she scrawled an illegible signature on a napkin. "I'm...delighted to be doing this! I love my fans!"
I hate all my fans and your daughter in particular, bitch,
she thought behind that perfect white smile.
* * *
A Touch of Love representative was waiting for her in the Orthopedics wing.
He handed her a t-shirt, made her sign forms--she saw the phrase
sexual emission achieved through stimulation of the undersigned's mammary glands
on one of them and wanted to puke--and then ushered her to a sectioned-off cloister of the ward, where boys in private rooms were waiting to be serviced.
The first boy was a scrawny twig of an 18 year old who had shattered both wrists in a skateboarding accident. He lay in bed, both his arms immobilized in casts. His eyes flew wide open when Sydney Sweeney filled the doorway.
"Oh my God..." he murmured, lip trembling. "Is this real?"
Maybe if I pinch myself awake, it won't be.
Sydney shut the door and stood in front him, hands on hips, letting him take in her buxom figure. His gaze on her breasts felt like crawling insects.
"Alright, so here's the deal," she decided that a firm hand would be required with these kids. "As a lucky participant in the Touch of Love initiative..."
Sydney reached up to her shoulders, and yanked on the black straps of her crop top. Her huge boobs flew upward, almost burying her head in cleavage. The kid's avid eyes tracked the massive bounce of her giant breasts.
"...you get to fuck these puppies."
She released the straps. The crop top fell to her waist, and her huge pale tits dropped with it, bouncing against her torso with a pair of loud, moist slapping sounds.
Whap! Whap!
"Holy shit," the boy breathed as the most famous jugs in Hollywood jiggled to a halt, four feet away. Her nipples seemed to stare forward like car headlights.
"I'm busy, so let's get this show on the road..." Sydney glanced at the name written at the foot of his bed "...Trevor?"
She tied her long blonde hair back in a high ponytail, tossed it over her shoulder with a practiced flick, and climbed onto the bed with him.
She crawled between his spread legs, her hips moving from side to side with a predatory pantheress sway.
Trevor gulped. His brain seemed to have bluescreened with shock. Sydney was literally on top of him. The boobs he'd fapped to hundreds of times were swinging pendulously over his crotch, looking massive and heavy and soft. He could feel their naked heat merging with the hotness of her breath on his face.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked her.
"No."
She hooked fingers under the elastic of his waistband, and pulled his boxer shorts down. A stubby five inch dick popped out, jutting in the air. She glared at it in disgust, like it was a worm in her couscous salad. She was so used to horse-hung men that she'd forgotten that small cocks exist.
She retrieved a tube of water-based lube from her hip pocket--what a joke that Touch of Love had expected her to bring her own lube--and squeezed a cold mint-scented jet into her cleavage. Then she grasped a huge naked breast in each hand, and plopped them around his shaft, burying it in flesh.
SQUISH!
She pumped her tits around his dick with military efficiency, squeezing them like she was kneading dough. Obscene moist sounds filled the hospital ward as her tit-cannons rose and fell.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
Her breast-assault had a devastating effect on the young man. Trevor's head tipped back. He moaned on each squeeze. "Oh...oh...ohh...don't stop...it feels fantastic..."
Sydney didn't stop. Didn't raise her head. Didn't make eye contact. She gritted her teeth as she worked like a machine. Her slippery boobs seemed to pour and ooze over his cock like gelatin, more liquid than solid, she watched his cock spear out of her cleavage briefly before vanishing hundreds of times, like a sailor drowning in an all-swallowing sea of white flesh. Next to his scrawny legs and less than incredible penis, her tits looked as massive as footballs.
His mouth gaped in pleasure, and he began bucking his hips against her ensnaring cleavage, trying to spike his cock still deeper. As his slim hips smacked against her underboobs, they made disgusting fucking sounds. SCHLUP! SCHLUP! SCHLUP! Sydney kept her head down, ruthlessly titwanking him with the same technique she'd used on countless middle-aged Hollywood film moguls. She'd wanted to become a star, no matter the cost, and her casting couch had been a double-wide futon.
Isn't the point of being famous that I don't have to do this type of shit anymore?
she thought, feeling his cock throb harder and harder in her cleavage.
I am beyond the point in my career where I should be titfucking ugly losers with pin-dicks. Well beyond. Also, it's been five minutes. Can this dork please cum already?
"Ugh!" he grunted, sweat shining on his face. "Sydney...y-you're gonna make me...!"
She blew a loose strand of hair out of her eye. "No shit, Sherlock. That's the idea here."
Her boobs vibrated like jelly as he jackhammered himself to completion. Then his mouth shot wide open, and his hips wildly spasmed.
"AHHH! I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING!" Trevor pumped his hips in deep. "I'M CUUUUMING!"
His cockhead poked out between her glistening cleavage, and began blasting fat white ropes.
Seven bursts of sperm SPLATTED against the inner curve of her chin. Five or six more missed her chin, but splashed into her neck, sliding down and pooling in her collarbones. The boy's load pulsed away into increasingly small jets. She felt his cock go flaccid in her cleavage, shrinking away into a pool of gelid sperm.
Sydney pulled away from between his hairy legs, rocking back onto her heels. Jizz flowed in lumpy-thick streams down both her enormous tits.
"Do you have tissues?" she asked, gesturing at her cum-covered boobs. The kid had been incredibly backed up. She almost felt sorry for him.
The ruined boy gazed up at her in slack-jawed disbelief. He looked like he'd ejaculated his few remaining brain cells out through his cock. "Wow...I can't believe that happened..."
"I said, where are the fucking tissues?" she flapped her hands in anger. Splooge was running down her cleavage, into her belly button.
She found some, wiped away handfuls of fresh cum.
