Deliberately Miss

“Whose it gonna be?”

Imogen, practically bouncing on her feet, asks the million dollar question. Who indeed?

Michelle, to your left, gives you a harsh glare that sends a shiver down your spine. Nope, don’t want to fuck with that today, you think. Savannah, across the table, smiles cheerily at you; she knows that what you’re doing is out of her control now, and you’re tempted for a second to score on her. Then, there’s Tatiana. She, like Michelle, has been shooting you nasty looks all game long, taunting you each time you’ve missed a shot, and though you’d like to get her back for it, there’s somebody else whose tits you’d rather see…

Imogen, standing beside you with her brunette hair cascading down to her glorious backside, has got magnificent tits. Clad in electric blue, there’s no doubt that your partner is the right one for you.

That means that you can’t shoot for any of the others. But you can’t just directly score into your own cup, can you?

“I don’t know yet,” you answer Imogen.

“Whoever he’s going for, he’s going to miss,” Michelle says, her arms folding her chest.

Oh, of course. You can just miss! You feel silly for not coming up with that earlier.

“Quiet,” you say, holding up a hand. “I’m concentrating.”

You feign a look of **** concentration, wrinkling your forehead and leaning forwards, making several fake practice flicks. Then, you hurl the ball up and out into the abyss.

The ping pong ball whips past Savannah’s head, whose startled leap to the side comes a second too late to dodge the ball, had it actually been aimed for her.

“It’s a good thing you play soccer and not basketball,” Tatiana quips, while Imogen, on the side, gives you a curious look.

Something of a sultry smile plays across the future lawyer’s lips, and she raises an eyebrow at you. You return the gesture.

“I’m a bad shot, what can I say?”

“Let’s just hope Anthony’s not one too,” Imogen whispers into your ear.

The tall, drunk guy is a little wobbly on his feet, and you have serious doubts about whether he’ll be able to land the ball anywhere on the table, much less make the shot that he’s aiming at your last cup.

“HERE WE GO!” he yells, launching the ball into the air.

Against all odds, the ball does land into your cup.

“FUCK YEEAH! YOU BETTER STRIP FOR US, IMOGEN!”

Anthony’s a delight to be around.

Imogen struts up to the side of the table, relishing the sudden limelight. With a flamboyant gesture, she practically tears her electric blue bra off, tossing it off to the side. It fullers down to the ground, and all of a sudden, Imogen’s brilliant tits are out for the world to see. Her tits are moderately sized, but full and well supported even on their own, standing out tall and firm.

“Damn,” you breathe—the guys around you concur with their cat-calls and wolf-whistles. They’ve begun to crowd around the two of you, swarming to get front-row seats to Imogen’s tits. Jesus Christ, you’re practically surrounded now!

“You boys liking this?” Imogen says, thrusting her chest out.

The sight—Imogen with her bare tits out, a hundred thirsty guys reaching out with their hands—is as hot of one as you’ve ever seen. And you, you’re the closest guy to the action, having been pressed near against her by the sudden influx of people.

“Look all you want, but these aren’t for you guys to touch,” Imogen laughs, as she pushes away the arm of an unusually aggressive guy. You find yourself just as drawn to her tits, wishing desperately for there to be a way to get your hands on them…

It comes to you in a flash. With all the guys flocking around her now, you place a foot over her bra on the ground and surreptitiously scoop it under your pile of clothes. You look around, to make sure you weren’t caught in the act, and then you shout: “Hey, where’s that guy going?”

Heads turn to face you, just as Imogen chimes in: “My bra’s missing!”

She gives you a wink, letting you know that she’s in on it too.

“I saw a guy going that way,” you shout to Imogen over the din of the music. “Come with me! We’ll catch him.”

“Oh, it’s a definite catch,” she says with a smile, taking off through the crowd.

You do the same, following closely behind her as she paves a path through the rowdy drunks in the room. She’s still topless, flaunting her tits, and a small group of people follow the two of you, interested in the sudden turn of events…

“I saw him duck into that corridor,” Imogen yells, and you nod enthusiastically. Yep, definitely saw him going in there too.

The two of you make your way there, losing most of the followers in the process through the thicket of the larger party room, until you come across a small door on the side. Imogen gives it a good shove, and the door swings open; you stumble into a small sitting room with two couches. It’s empty. You give her a questioning look.

“We use this room when we want some private time with a guy,” Imogen says. “Coincidentally, that’s exactly what I want right now. And,” she pauses running a hand across your stiff crotch beneath your boxers, “I get the feeling somebody’s not going to be complaining.”

“Urghhe,” is your cogent response as she fishes your cock out of your boxers with a quick move

You, being the red-blooded teenager that you are, go straight for those two great tits hanging out in front of you. Hands meet tits, soft and pliant, just as they should be, and you are happy.

“That’s right, play with my tits,” Imogen says. “I like it rough.”

You don’t need further encouragement—hands maul breasts and grip her tits, huge handfuls of breasts like sand dunes in the sky.

“Harder,” she moans.

Harder, you go.

You go from tearing at her breasts to tearing at her nipples, working the sensitive points into an enflamed frenzy. Imogen’s been stroking the length of your cock, working it into its full magnificent length, while you’ve been doing your part to make good on her order. You squeeze hard on the left nipple, giving it a sharp twist, and you can already see the red marks beginning to form as she lets out a moan in pleasure.

Meanwhile, Imogen, working your cock, abruptly pulls away from it—she pulls away from you, and your hands, once planted on those amazing tits, fondle the air in a moment of confusion.

“Onto the couch,” Imogen commands.

“What?” you ask, but you comply anyways, slowly walking over to the couch with your massive erection jutting in the air.

You sit yourself down, and then Imogen drops to her knees.

“Just ‘cause my mouth’s going to be planted around your cock in a moment, doesn’t mean you stop it with my tits,” she says, and then she goes for your cock.

Her soft lips envelope around your head, a light suckle at first, and your brain feels like its misfiring, all pleasure signals as she slides down, taking your shaft with ease.

“Mmgh tits,” you hear her say through her mouthful of your cock, and you suddenly recall that you were meant to have your hands on her tits—how could you forget to do something so essential, so pleasurable?

Hands go on tits again, getting a feel for their perfect roundness first, and then squishing, pressing, kneading… your gestures get rougher as Imogen gets sloppier with her blowjob, spitting onto her palm and giving you a handy at the base at the same time. The warmth of her mouth is brightness and joy itself, and just as you feel yourself being pushed to the brink, she lets your cock slide out of her mouth. Your turgid member hangs by her face, and she lets it sit there, brushing against the softness of her cheek for a moment.

“What…” you softly complain.

“You’ve been good with my tits,” Imogen purrs, and something flashes through her eyes. “I think they should give something back to you.”

With that, she kneels a little higher, pushing her tits up against your crotch. In a second, she’s pressed her tits together around your cock. She spits a couple times and rubs it down the length of your cock and on the insides of her tits, making sure that the surfaces are lubricated enough to do the deed. Then, she takes note of the cockhead pointing up and above through her cleavage.

“It’s always nice when they’re well endowed,” she smiles. “Because then when I go down,” she shifts her tits downwards, “I can do this…” And she takes your tip into her mouth, and you groan, the sensation of a tiitjob and blowjob at the same time almost too much for you to handle.

She ramps it up, beginning to heave her tits up and down around your cock, and the rough burn is so, so, sweet. Each time her tits go up, it’s as if you’re ascending to heaven, and then when they go down again, her mouth taking the top of your cock, you know you’ve gotten there. Over and over, the rush never gets old…

“How did you get so good at this,” you say, leaning back, your head facing the ceiling, the sensory input too much to handle.

“It helps when the guy’s got the stuff to work with,” she laughs, squeezing her tits a little tighter around your cock to demonstrate the point.

The titjob slowly accelerates—you can tell it’s a little hard for her to go as fast as a handjob might, but you have no complaints, if this was any quicker, you’d have blown your load and missed out on all this and oh god… here it comes.

You splatter your load straight into the air, long strands of cum falling through the air and coating Imogen’s luscious tits. Imogen sits there for a moment, panting, her tits still wrapped around your deflating member, and you mentally write that image of her with her painted tits, your cock sandwiched between them, deep into your memory.

The rest of the night passes quickly, mostly uneventfully—you wind up getting way drunk and dance away the hours at the party, occasionally seeing the other girls and high-fiving them or something or the other… You can’t quite remember, to be honest, but long story short, you end up stumbling home, alone.

Imogen +20