Freeuse Titfucks at a Party

It was one of those packed house parties—cheap booze, bad music, every guy pretending not to stare at me all night while tripping over themselves to get a better angle. My tits were doing most of the socializing: stuffed into a thin ribbed tank top, no bra, nipples visible, shape impossible to ignore. They strain against fabric no matter what I wear. 34K doesn’t disappear into clothing. It becomes the clothing.

I needed air.

The balcony was already occupied—two guys smoking, trying not to look directly at me when I stepped out. One lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. The other muttered something under his breath, and they both laughed in that awkward, pathetic way guys do when they know they shouldn’t be turned on that fast.

I leaned over the railing, tits shifting forward, the weight pulling at my shoulders. I’ve had back pain since I outgrew DDs.

The sliding door opened behind me.

I didn’t even turn all the way. Just glanced. He wasn’t impressive. Not tall, not fit, not charming. Just a guy. Soft face, worn sneakers, hands in his hoodie pocket like he was trying not to be noticed. But I noticed. And he noticed me.

He nodded once. “You mind?”

I looked at the smokers. One was already pretending to check his phone. The other just looked away.

“You 18 yet?” I said, flat.

“Yeah.” he muttered.

“Ok, go ahead then.”

He didn’t even pull his hoodie off. Just unzipped his pants and let his cock fall out—soft but thick, veiny, low-hanging, already twitching from the cold air. I tilted my head down and spit between my tits, then pressed them together, forming a slick tunnel of soft flesh that swallowed him whole.

He fucked them in silence. Just slow, steady thrusts, like it was routine. His cock vanished and reappeared with every stroke, sliding through the tight press of my breasts, tip bumping just under my throat.

Behind us, I heard one of the smokers whisper, “Jesus fucking Christ,” and the other shushed him.

Inside, through the glass, I caught sight of someone I recognized—family. Too close. One turn of the head and they’d see me, bent slightly, tits being used like a fleshlight by a guy I hadn’t even exchanged names with. I didn’t stop. I just squeezed tighter.

He didn’t last long. Most of them don’t. A couple sharp thrusts and he came—hot, thick streaks across my chest, one shot landing just under my chin, pooling in the curve where one breast met my collarbone.

He grunted, zipped up, and walked back inside without a word. No eye contact. No thanks. Just used me and left. Like a smoke break. Like I wasn’t even part of it.

I stayed out there, tits sticky and cooling in the air.