The Trophy Rack Read Online Free

her
chest supported enough of her weight to keep her boobs from taking
all her weight, the extra loops the rigger had run around them
still put a lot of pressure on the ballooning mounds. She gasped as
the dull throbbing amplified into a drumbeat through the distended
flesh. Her womb contracted and a wave of pleasure rolled through
her pussy. Her moans drowned the sound of artificial camera
shutters clicking, and the got louder when she pulled her heels
back and up toward her ass, making herself sway to intensifying
every sensation.
    A hand closed on her bottom and pushed,
sending her into a slow spin. She forced her eyes open and saw
Brice’s face, his eyes wide, his wide grin only adding more
credibility to the adolescent analogy.
    The huge bulge in the front of his pants
bounced the second his hand made stinging contact with her left ass
cheek, checking her spin but making her swing more. Biting back a
smile, she feigned a startled cry when he spanked her again. Then
she closed her eyes again to concentrate on the intense pounding in
her breasts.
    By the fifth smack, her bottom was settling
into a satisfying burn and her pussy was tingling. She doubted
she’d be able to come without help, but that didn’t stop her from
trying. Several stinging slaps later, she was rocking back and
forth in her own quiet world, close, but just not quite there. When
his hand popped hard across the side of her left breast, the pain
cut straight to her clit. Three stinging swats later, he proved her
very wrong.
     
    ~~~
     
    Just short of an hour later, all three does
were each tied face up and spread-eagle by her wrists and ankles,
bent backward over what could best be described as padded barrels.
Special tables, much like clear TV trays, had been strapped across
their bellies, and thin, clear tubes ran from bota bags attached to
the barrels up the outer curves of their right breasts where they’d
been zip-tied up the length of their nipples. The acrylic belly
tables were set with silver forks, white-speckled black
ceramic-coated camp plates, cloth napkins, and small, crystal salt
and pepper shakers.
    While the cook pulled steaming foil packets
from the coals of the big communal fire, Brice tried to shake the
image of his orgasming trophy from his head. Watching her hanging
on the end of a rope by her purple breasts had been hot enough, but
seeing her writhe when she came, swinging back and forth by her
tits while he slapped them had given him a perpetual boner that was
actually starting to hurt.
    It wasn’t that he really wanted to forget the
scene so much as it was distracting him from everything else.
Writing the erection off as a constant for the rest of the evening,
he decided that imagining what was about to happen might at least
bring him back to the here and now. That said, Brice’s gaze fell
back to her breasts.
    Her rope-marked tits were big enough that
they flattened out across the center and her thick nipples and wide
areolas sunk in just a bit. One of them would be more than ample
enough to hold half a burger and some vegetables. Brice planned to
use the free one for just that. Since pouring the bubbling, greasy
contents of the foil packet directly onto the fat mound would have
slipped into the cruel and unusual, he’d let the meal cool a bit
first.
    As he thought about how he was going to
incorporate his trophy’s breasts into his dining experience, the
entertainment made its way to the campfire. Two men and a woman,
all dressed like gypsies, started playing a tune. The men strummed
stringed instruments, the woman tapped out a fast beat on some kind
of bongo-like drum. Three other, nearly nude women started writhing
their way between the “tables.” They were dressed in gauzy hip
wraps that more than teased at what was beneath. Each of them wore
thin belts decorated with bells that jingled as their hips gyrated
to the swelling tempo. Also jingling were the bells that dangled
from the pierced nipples at the tips of their