Men I’ve Loved Fucking
The Other MILFs — Niall
My eyes dropped to the crotch of his black slacks, which bulged provocatively
Tori regales her therapist with selected highlights of her sexual history. This is part 14 of a 26 part episodic series; each chapter is a stand-alone story and will be published here on Tantalizing Tales each Wednesday. You can find them all here…
Doctor Bonner is holding his notepad upright now, blocking my view of his crotch. “Tell me about Niall.”
“I want to start by saying I’m not bisexual. No judgment, I’m just not. I’m not even bi-curious, not really. Maybe a little bit. It’s just… sometimes I get fascinated by another woman’s breasts. It’s okay to look, right?”
The doctor’s eyeline drops, for a split-second, then he meets my gaze again. “I’d be hypocritical if I said otherwise, Tori. Does Niall have, um…”
“God, no! Niall is one hundred percent masculine. Two hundred percent. But I only found out because of Topsy’s breasts.”
There’s this mad thing I like to do some weekends: I dress up fancy, put on a hint of a German accent, and browse little art galleries in the West End, pretending to be minor European nobility. For a few hours, I’m Lady Victoria Riesige-Schlampe. I never buy anything, because it’s all over-priced rubbish, but I have fun.
I met Niall in WoManIa, a chi-chi sculpture gallery I hadn’t trolled before. It was one long, white room, with all the art tucked away in sections on either side, separated by floor to ceiling dividers. There was a bored girl at the front desk, wearing a Gucci blouse with a big, floppy bow. She was flipping through the latest Vogue. She was probably called Toodles, or Topsy, or something stupid like that, and I’d bet any money Daddy paid the rent for her. She didn’t even look up when I walked in.
Most of the art was conceptual crap, just junk some rich kid had arranged as though it had meaning. But one section towards the back held ‘real’ sculptures, that I could recognise as art: nude women; sometimes their whole bodies, but often just torsos. The artist was clearly fascinated by breasts, and in the case of one small, bronze torso, I couldn’t blame him, because hers were beautiful: large, perfectly-shaped teardrops, with plump nipples.
Maybe it was the enticing form, or maybe it was just the smooth, glossy metal, but something compelled me to run a gloved fingertip around the soft curves of one breast and over the nipple.
From behind — and above — me, I heard a deep, stern voice, like God speaking from the heavens if God was Irish: “Do not touch the art, miss.”
I turned, looked up, and found myself staring at another enticing chest. This one was wearing a white shirt, sadly, and belonged to a giant of a man. He must have been six-eight, maybe even six-ten, and so wide I’d have had to stretch to touch both his massive biceps at the same time. Pinned over one impressive pec was a badge which read, ‘Security. Niall McCormick.’
My first thought was, Christ! I wonder if everything is to scale? My second thought was more graphic: I had an intrusive — but not unwelcome — image of him naked, picking me up in one huge hand and plonking me onto his mighty cock.
My eyes dropped to the crotch of his black slacks, which bulged provocatively. Too provocatively. The same fingertip that had molested the sculpture ran down the cotton-clad ridges of his six-pack to hook the waistband of his trousers.
I asked him, “What happens if I don’t stop touching?”
He put a warning hand on my waist. “I’d have to take you into the back office and deal with you.”
I did not stop touching. In fact, my finger descended below his belt and toyed with the tab of his zipper.
He used both hands to pick me up, carrying me like a mannequin… but not as far as the office. He set me down in the aisle, facing the entrance.
Desk girl had put her magazine down, and now she cast an appraising eye over me. Then she looked up at Niall, and nodded.
I thought, He must have a great union! He gets fuck breaks, as long as his boss approves of his choices.
He spun me round by my shoulders, slapped my ass, and said, “March!”
His slap already had me stumbling forward, so I carried on walking. The last section on the left had no art, only a door at the back labelled ‘Private’. He opened it, pushed past me, and walked in to a small office. I wanted to see his privates, so I followed.
He stopped in front of the desk, turned to face me, and dropped his trousers and boxers.
My cunt clenched, in fear as much as arousal. For every part of Niall to be to scale, he’d need to be ten feet tall. His cock was monstrous, and getting bigger, fast, as he played with it.
Fully erect, his cock was maybe fourteen inches long and thicker than my calf. I have a dildo that big, for when I want a little suffering and a sense of achievement to go with my orgasm, but I use a lot of lube and I’m in control. If Niall wanted to fuck me, I’d need all the lube, and a paramedic on standby.
I said, “Jesus wept! You are not putting that inside me! I can give you a handjob if you like?”
He shrugged, and said there was lube in the desk drawer.
I went behind the desk and took out a little bottle labelled Coco de Mer, which looked more like perfume than lube. When I looked up to check with Niall if I had the right thing, desk girl was standing in the doorway.
She asked Niall, “Thief?”
He shook his head. “No. Toucher.”
She turned her attention to me. “Pity. The last bitch we caught stealing was so much fun. Niall laid her on the desk, pinned her knees to her chest, and fucked her arse. He nearly split the poor girl in two. I had to sit on her face to muffle her screams.”
Niall clarified. “She’s only going to jerk me off.”
That had seemed like the preferable option, but it was good to have confirmation. “Yeah. Just, please don’t get cum on my best dress.”
That pissed off desk girl. “He won’t be spaffing on you, you stupid girl! He’s my boyfriend.”
She started unbuttoning her blouse , which is when I had my suspicions. Once she’d taken her bra off, I was certain: she was the model for the sculpture I’d stroked, and her name had to be Topsy.
Topsy knelt at Niall’s feet, thrusting her beautiful breasts forward, his cock bobbing menacingly above her face.
I took my gloves off, tucked them into my bra, then sat to the side of the happy couple, out of harm’s way.
I started wanking him with one hand, but I couldn’t get my fingers around his thick shaft, or control his heavy, slippery cock. I switched to using both — one above, one below — to keep him pointing downwards at Topsy’s magnificent tits.
I figured my elbows would get tired if I was too ambitious, so I used short, fast strokes, concentrating on his knob.
Topsy insisted on back-seat wanking. “Slow down! And use longer strokes; he likes that. And play with his balls, for goodness sake!”
I tried to obey her instructions because I assumed she knew what he liked, not because I was ready to be dommed by some posh cow. But sparing a hand for his balls would have meant losing control of The Beast, so I leant forward and tried to kiss his sac. I couldn’t get close enough, but he thrust his hips, his cock sliding through my hands, and suddenly he was within reach, if I put my hands behind my head.
I softly sucked one ball into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it while I awkwardly masturbated the monster over my shoulder. Niall helped by fucking the gap between my hands while I tried to avoid getting lube in my hair.
I carried on like that — a huge, hot penis beside my ear, slipping through my fingers while my lips nibbled gently on a thankfully waxed scrotum — until Niall spoke.
“Fuck, yeah! Faster! I’m nearly there.”
I abandoned his balls, sat up, and focused on his knob, my hands sliding around it like I could unscrew it and take it home with me. I made certain his cock was pointed directly at Topsy’s hands, which were busy tugging at her nipples.
When I felt the first twitch of his imminent ejaculation, I lifted his cock, flicked my tongue rapidly across the ridge of his bellend, then sat back as he hosed down Topsy’s face with an absolute fountain of cum.
She was horrified, and furious. She was also topless and dripping with jizz, and Niall had his trousers round his ankles. I, on the other hand, was fully and decorously dressed. So neither of them could chase me when I leapt to my feet and made my escape.
I stopped on the way out to steal that little, bronze torso with the perfect breasts: a memento of a mad afternoon.
Topsy had locked the gallery, but the key was still in the lock. I turned the sign back to ‘Open’, left the door ajar, and fled.
Doctor Bonner is silent for a moment, then finally thinks of something almost sensible to ask. “Did you ever go back to that gallery?”
“It wouldn’t have been a good idea, doc. Topsy would be sure to know I stole that statue, and if she recognised me, I’d get no mercy.”
The doctor nods. “Yes, that could be — ”
“I have thought about going back though. Usually while I’m playing with my huge dildo. I put my knees on my chest and… Well, you get the picture.”
I can see in his eyes that he does: he got a very vivid picture indeed, and it’s making it awkward to sit.
“You imagine returning for punishment. A kind of penance, if you will. Is Topsy in that fantasy?”
“Doc, I enjoy being in control sometimes, like with Colin, and you know I love it when the right man takes charge, like Ian, but I think I’d hate being demeaned or dominated by another woman. So yes, Topsy is in that fantasy. She’s sitting on my face, with two fingers working her cunt and my tongue buried in her asshole. That way I can have shame to go with my suffering.”
Doctor Bonner coughs noisily into his elbow, probably to distract me from how his other hand is rearranging his crotch, making himself more comfortable.
When he’s finished his fake spluttering, he asks, “You prefer larger penises, then?”
I wonder if he ever reads the notes he takes. “Doc, huge is rare enough to be exciting, but I had just as much fun with micro-Dick and perfectly-average Kris.”
“So it’s not the size, but what they do with it?”
“No, it’s what I do with it. Or maybe how I approach it, mentally? If I want a man — really want him — then his cock is automatically the right size. Like Odyssey, for example. His cock was perfect, but I never saw it and I don’t know for sure how big it is. And I never will, because I am not fucking him again.”
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