I was 27 years old when I met the horniest person I had met in my entire life.
Her name was Angela. She was roughly 5 feet tall, with triple d breasts and a persistent penchant for flirtation. I had met her, unexpectedly, at the place where I worked.
Such a diminutive stature had enabled her to bypass many of the social norms of the office, as she was allowed to get away with any discretion on account of how innocent she seemed. When one day she decided to have some of the male employees do her share of the work in exchange for a peek at her massive tits, she managed to get out of the accusations by telling our boss she was "coerced" into it. She once fingered herself during a work meeting and then wet willied a guy with that same hand. On another occasion she was caught having sex with one of the interns in the break room. However, she told everybody that she had merely fallen into his lap and 'didn't know that he would have his cock out.' The poor fella was immediately fired and sent to prison. On her way out of the office that day, she winked at all of us as if to say, 'Good luck catching me for any of this shit, boys.'
In my earlier days at the company, before I was aware of her reputation, she tracked me down in the parking lot to ask for a ride home. Naturally, my indecision over the matter was minimal; she was a tiny human with big tits. That was enough for me. So I graciously offered to be her personal uber for wherever she needed to go.
As we rode along, I remember her breaking the silence by asking if I wouldn't mind turning on the air conditioner to cool her off some. I watched her out of the corner of my eye take off her corporate vest and throw it in the backseat. She then proceeded to unbutton her blouse so that I could fully see her bra, which struggled to contain her massive, pale tits. She glanced at me apologetically, said something about the state of the heat in the car, and then commenced into silence for the rest of the ride.
Not the least bit upset by this turn of events, I kept driving until we reached the destination - a trailer park in the middle of nowhere surrounded by corn stalks. I was worried about them potentially containing demonic children. I then watched as she got out and walked purposefully over to the driver's side window, which she motioned for me to roll down. Doing so, I watched attentively as she leaned towards me, giving me a good look at the massive jugs that were already stirring the dark parts of my imagination.
"Where are my manners?" she exclaimed. "Why don't you come in for a moment and I can catch you up on some things. Workplace gossip, who's worth talking to -- all that good stuff." She smiled, tossing her hair back. "I'd be more than happy to share."
Any man that says no to something like that should be castrated. I quickly answered in the affirmative, and was led into the tiny trailer in good spirits.
Once inside, she led me to what appeared to be her bed, and since there was little else to sit on I had no choice but to occupy the space next to her. Even in the dim light of the trailer I could see the edges of her areolas peeking out as she adjusted her bra. Thinking that at some point in the night I was going to be sucking on them, we began to softly talk about the office, and all the "mistreatment" she had suffered there. I decided not to tell her that I thought she was a perv.
Before long she had won over the sympathies of both me and my cock, which was straining to leave my pants and make its way to her large bosom. Hardly able to stand it, I reached out my hand to cover her own during a particularly emotional story and gently rubbed it. The tension in the room became palpable, and I could tell she was feeling it too.
We started to inch closer to each other on the cramped bed. As she spoke, she gave the most unwavering eye contact, not even turning to look away during the breaks in her stories. Gradually, her stories began to get a little sadistic, as she described her enjoyment playing with mens' balls around the office, choking them in a firm grip and then tickling them with a feather. When I asked her why this was the case, she said, "Because they deserve it." I realized in that moment that she had to be a Taylor Swift fan. There was no doubt about it. I briefly considered mentioning the benefits of healing emotional trauma, but doing that to a Taylor Swift fan is like trying to take a dino nugget from an autistic. It's simply not worth it. I was not trying to get screeched at in the middle of a trailer park.
Still, I was fairly optimistic over the idea of having mentally ill sex. Her lips were very plump and expressive, after all, and I got the urge to kiss them as her passion began to crescendo.
