Have you ever thought about being hypnotized while giving a titjob?
No hypno involve and then BAAAM the other person use your titjob skills to hypnotize you while you give them pleasure.
The bass from the club’s speakers was a physical thing, a thrumming in my chest that matched the frantic beat of my heart. That’s when I saw her. Leaning against the bar, a glass of something amber and glowing in her hand, was a vision. She was a coed, probably, but she carried herself with a predatory confidence that had nothing to do with textbooks. Her dress was a simple black slip of a thing that did absolutely nothing to hide her assets. Her breasts were magnificent, full and heavy, straining the fabric, and I was completely, utterly captivated.
I bought her a drink. Then another. Her name was Jazz, and she had a voice to match. An hour later, we were in a cab, her hand resting high on my thigh, her nails tracing patterns that promised everything. She didn’t waste a second once we were inside. The moment the door clicked shut, she turned, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me down for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw, unapologetic hunger. We stumbled towards her bedroom, shedding clothes on the way, a trail of discarded fabric marking our path.
She pushed me back onto her bed, my cock already rock-hard and jutting up from my lap. She stood before me for a moment, a slow, satisfied smile gracing her lips as she reached behind her back to unhook her bra. Her breasts tumbled free, and I swear I stopped breathing. They were perfect.
Large. Round, with nipples that were already hard and begging for attention. They were heavy, natural, and I wanted to lose myself in them completely.
Instead of climbing on top of me, she knelt on the bed, straddling my hips. She squeezed a generous amount of lube into her cleavage, the cool gel a stark contrast to the heat of her skin. Then, she leaned forward, pressing those glorious, soft mounds of flesh around my aching shaft.
The sensation was indescribable.
It was a wave of pure, liquid pleasure. Her skin was impossibly soft, yet the pressure was firm, enveloping me completely. She began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm. Up and down. Up. And. Down.
My eyes were fixed on the sight of my cock disappearing and reappearing between her breasts. The head, swollen and dark with blood, would emerge with each upward stroke, glistening and slick, only to be swallowed again by the warm, pillowy canyon on the way down. The rhythm was hypnotic. Steady. Unrelenting. It was like a metronome counting down to the end of my own will.
The world began to narrow. The low light of her bedroom, the scent of her perfume and sex in the air, the soft sound of her breathing—it all faded into a distant hum. The only thing that existed was this feeling. The friction, the heat, the perfect, steady pressure. Up. And. Down. My thoughts started to dissolve, melting into a single, primal need for more of this, for this feeling to never end.
I looked up from the mesmerizing sight of my cock in her cleavage to her face. Her eyes were locked on mine, but they weren't just watching me anymore. They were… boring into me. Her green irises seemed to swirl, to deepen, pulling me in. The steady, rolling motion of her breasts on my cock became the pulsing of my own blood, the beating of my own heart. I felt a shift inside me, like a key turning in a lock I never knew I had. A profound sense of peace settled over me. All the anxiety, all the noise, all the me-ness of my consciousness simply… quieted. There was only her. Only the rhythm. Only the pleasure she was gifting me.
She must have felt the change. The rhythm slowed, then stopped. She held me there, enveloped in her warmth, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. It wasn’t a sigh of pleasure, though. It was a sigh of… annoyance.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "Not again."
She pulled away, and the sudden loss of contact was a physical ache. I lay there, hard, throbbing, jaw slack and eyes lidded, waiting for… something. I didn't feel confused or scared. I felt… purposeful. My purpose was to wait for her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her dark curls. "You men are all so pathetic," she said, her voice losing its seductive purr and taking on a tone of weary exasperation. "One good titfuck and your brains just turn to mush. It’s like a fucking superpower I never asked for."
She looked at me, her head tilted. I stared back, my expression blank, my body still. I was a beautiful, blank canvas, ready for her art.
A slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. The annoyance was being replaced by something else. Opportunity. "Well," she said, her voice dropping back into that smoky, commanding tone. "Since you're here and… pliant… I might as well make yourself useful."
She lay back on the bed, spreading her legs. Her pussy was neat and perfectly shaped, already glistening with her own arousal. "Get to it," she ordered, pointing down. "And don't you dare stop until I tell you to."
Without a moment's hesitation, I scrambled down the bed and buried my face between her thighs. My cock leaked precum onto my thighs, but my own desperate need for release was a distant echo, a secondary concern. My primary directive, my entire world, was now her pleasure. I licked and sucked and nibbled with a single-minded focus I’d never possessed before. I explored every fold, every sensitive ridge, my only goal to draw those sounds of pleasure from her lips. She was wet and tasted divine, and the act of worshiping her with my mouth was its own profound reward.
She came with a shuddering gasp, her thighs tightening around my head. When she was finished, she pushed me away gently. "Good boy," she said, a little breathlessly. "Now, my place is a mess. The kitchen needs tidying, and there are dishes in the sink. Go on."
I rose from the bed, my cock still painfully hard, and walked out of the bedroom. I spent the next twenty minutes in a state of serene bliss, scrubbing dishes, wiping down counters, and organizing her pantry. The mundane tasks felt sacred. Each plate I cleaned was an offering to her. Each wiped surface was an act of devotion. My mind was empty, but my heart was full.
When I returned to the bedroom, she was lying on her side, watching me. There was a look of amused satisfaction on her face. "Look at you," she purred. "So obedient. I guess I can let you have your reward now."
She climbed off the bed and back onto her knees, lifting her tits up underneath my shaft.
"Go ahead and cum," she said with a roll of her eyes.
Every muscle in my body tensed and thick ropes of cum shot out of me, painting streaks across her tits and chin. One after another. More than I think I've ever cum.
As the spasms subsided, I stood there, swaying slightly, my mind still a beautifully blank slate. She looked down at the mess on her chest, then at me, and sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of contentment. And as my mind cleared from the orgasm, it cleared of its trance as well.
"What," I started to say, vaguely remembering doing dishes for some reason. "That was…"
"Mindblowing?" she finished for me.
"Yeah," was all I was able to offer. As I started to pick up my clothes to get dressed I turned to her. "Listen, I'm not really sure what just happened but I know it was the best thing I've ever felt. Can I leave you my number?"
She sighed again. "Sorry, dude," she said. "I need to find someone who can handle all this." She squeezed her tits and immediately my head began to swim again. "And sorry to say, that just ain't you."
I nodded and took my leave, knowing she was right, but also knowing that I'd never live to feel as good as I just had again.
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