40-Love [f/f][futa][age difference][milf][anal][oral]

^﴾Content: ^18+, ^age ^difference, ^anal ^sex, ^big ^ass, ^big ^breasts, ^big ^dick, ^boobjob/pazuri, ^creampie/cum ^in ^vagina, ^cum ^in ^ass, ^cum ^in ^mouth, ^excessive ^cum, ^futanari/intersex/girls ^with ^dicks, ^interracial, ^locker ^room, ^milf, ^multiple ^orgasms, ^older ^woman, ^oral ^sex ^[fellatio], ^shower ^sex, ^vaginal ^sex, ^virgin﴿

### Part One

“Here we are!”

Justine awoke with a start at her mother’s announcement, half-lidded eyes rolling around to the blurry figure in the driver’s seat.

“Hwuh?” She mumbled, rubbing the imprint that the seat belt had left on her cheek as she slept against it.

“Here you go, sleeping cutie…” Her mom laughed, pulling Justine’s glasses down from the sunglasses holder, “I took your glasses off when you fell asleep so they wouldn’t smush into your face.”

She slipped them onto her half-conscious face. With a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, Justine’s mom hopped out of the car and began to rifle through the trunk. By the time Justine finally got out of the car, she had already closed it and approached her sleepy daughter with gym bags in either hand.

“Here’s yoouuuurs⁓♪” With a sing-song voice and a big smile, she put the bag in Justine’s hands with characteristic insistence, “Now let’s get inside and get changed. We don’t want to be laaaaa-aaaaate⁓♪”

Justine yawned and reached down to scratch herself as her body walked behind her mother on auto-pilot. The slap of her flip-flops soon quieted as they transitioned from the sidewalk to the soft carpet. The cool whoosh of an air-conditioned room signaled their entrance, which beckoned Justine’s eyelids to open.

_“Ahem.”_

A rather insistent voice drew Justine’s attention to a rail-thin woman in her mid-50s. She looked down the end of her long nose, her pale and powdered cheeks stretching in an opaquely insincere smile.

“Oh… c-can I h—uh… I mean… what can I d—” Justine

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave, ma’am,” the smiling woman interrupted.

“Wh—” Justine’s eyes shot open as she suddenly felt very awake. As she clutched her bag in front of her chest, the young woman glanced around the room. She found nothing but the stares of the many older patrons, their breakfast interrupted by the intrusion.

“I’m afraid that your… attire…” Her beady eyes rolled down her long nose and back, scanning Justine condescendingly, “…does not meet our dress code.”

Justine looked down over her bag in horror as she realized that she was still in her pajamas—and not cute ones either. No, she was wearing a T-shirt that was a couple of sizes too big, a pair of very loose boxer shorts, and flip-flops. The half-chub that remained of her morning wood made a rather obscene arch down one side towards her leg, millimeters from breaching containment.

Nervous sweat began to bead on her forehead as she realized how well-dressed the average person in this room was, as well as the stunningly expensive-looking décor that surrounded her. With a mouth that felt like it was stuffed with peanut butter, she struggled to explain herself. Nervousness progressed into full-on panic as she realized that she had no idea what she was doing here—or even where ‘here’ was.

“Excuse me, is something the matter?”

Noticing that Justine had been stopped, her mother turned back with a sense of urgency that made her curls bounce as she approached. She stood beside her daughter, a bag over one arm and two brand-new tennis rackets tucked under the other.

“Oh, this young lady wandered in, and I was—”

“Wandered in? Good god, some things never change.”

“Is there a problem here?” A suited man entered the conversation from behind them, and he positioned himself alongside the doorwoman.

“Indeed there is. This woman has been very rude to my daughter—”

“This club is for members only, ma’am.”

With that, her mother’s expression darkened to the new man as it had with the long-nosed woman.

“Mom… People are staring…” Justine whispered, shrinking with embarrassment.

“You should be used to it, dear. Eyes tend to follow the glow,” Minerva pulled out her phone, angrily tapped the screen a few times—taking care to turn up her fingernails to avoid the screen—and put it to her ear. She glanced at either of the two employees in turn, “That’ll be all from the both of you, thanks.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to lea—”

“Annie? It’s Minnie. Hi, I’m sorry to call you like this, but it seems we’ve arrived a little early, and—… Yes. Exactly. This under-stuffed screech owl and her frat boy fling are being very rude to me and Justine—… Thank you, honey. Hugs and kisses. See you in a few.”

Minerva tapped the end call button with a bit of flourish to her motion, spreading her fingers out to show off her immaculately-styled nails again. She turned from the two as if they had vanished from her sight and proceeded inside, grabbing Justine’s arm to pull her along. They started to pursue in protest, but both of them ground to a halt as their pockets started vibrating.

“Mom… I could’ve just gotten changed in the car if you’d—”

“They have a changing room for a reason, dear. So we’ll change there.”

“But the dress code—” Justine began to protest.

“Trust me, dear—if you were a white girl with straight hair, they wouldn’t have given a shit about their dress code.”

“But I’m barely dres—”

“Then they should be grateful they don’t have to pay for the privilege. Ah! Here we are!”

Minerva led Justine through the entryway, the fancy dining room, the bar area, and the locker rooms before they finally arrived at a private changing room with a small reserved sign on it.

“Mom… we were going to go get the rest of my stuff. From the dorm…?” Justine grumbled—shaken, but now thoroughly awake.

“Oh _of course_ we are, College Queen! Annie called while you were sleeping—she’s my girl from way back in my college days—and she invited us to play a game or two with her and her daughter Elaine. I haven’t seen Annie in so long, so I just **couldn’t** refuse!” She held her phone up next to the knob, causing the red LED above it to turn green.

“Mom, I didn’t pack any clothes to play tennis. I don’t have anything but flip-flops and hiking boots.”

“Oh, I know dear. That’s why I stopped off and bought us some equipment for the occasion! What did you think was in that bag you’re carrying? Silly…”

“Great…” Justine mumbled, her mood still thoroughly soured from the rude awakening at the entryway.

“What was that, honey?”

“Oh… it was nothing. Sorry. I’m just really tired, is all…”

“I’ll grab you a coffee while you’re getting changed, then,” Minerva held the door open and waved her daughter inside.

Justine hesitated for a moment but proceeded inside regardless. She didn’t want anything to do with this, but given all the equipment her mother had bought, she would feel pretty bad turning her down. Then again, knowing her mother, there was a pretty good chance that was part of the plan.

“Mom… I don’t really want to play…” Justine rubbed the back of her neck in the uncomfortable silence, “I mean, I haven’t practiced in a long time. So I bet I’m gonna be super rusty. I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, sweetie; this is just for fun! Just a friendly game between old friends and their beautiful, talented daughters,” She patted Justine on the shoulder with a broad smile, “The stakes couldn’t be lower, dear!”

Somehow Justine still had doubts. Her mother was the woman that shame forgot. Her face was never without a veneer of infectious confidence. She was a star athlete, a part-time model, one of the most accomplished trial attorneys on the east coast, and an incredibly shrewd investor besides.

Justine, on the other hand? She often joked that she must’ve been adopted. She inherited none of her mother’s natural charisma or confidence, and certainly none of her outgoing personality. Justine was a bookish, awkward, kissless virgin at the age of 22.

That’s not to say she lacked friends—she had plenty of those that she cared for very deeply. But the moment of complete exposure and vulnerability that came with expressing romantic or sexual feelings towards another person seemed like an insurmountable anxiety.

One thing she did inherit from her mother was her natural talent on the tennis court. However, love of the sport was not something they shared—much to her mother’s chagrin, Minerva had been trying to convince her daughter to pick up the racket again ever since she left for college to no avail.

Then again, Minerva had done her more favors than she could count during her college years. As she had a few minutes prior, Justine’s mother always had her daughter’s back, and Justine doubted that she’d ever have made it through the roughest parts of exam season without her. So she tried not to make too big of a stink about the mild subterfuge used to get her here. Just a couple of games? She could do that. Besides, there was no arguing with her mother anyway, as many an unprepared prosecutor had figured out the hard way.

Minerva closed the door behind them as Justine sat the bag on the bench facing a row of lockers and started to undress.

“Oh, that reminds me—when was the last time you masturbated, dear?”

Justine was caught so off guard by the question that she nearly fell over while stepping out of her shorts.

“Mom!” Justine hissed, instinctively looking around the empty room to make sure no one heard.

“You have a condition, sweetie,” Minerva explained with a patience seen only by her daughter, “Asakura Syndrome isn’t a joke, and I know we’ve been stuck in the car for the past couple of days. Maybe you should consider… _loosening your strings_… before we hit the court?”

Asakura Syndrome, for the unaware, is a genetic disorder that affects girls with dicks. In short, the condition is caused by a chronic hormonal imbalance, which can itself have a wide range of potential causes. Common symptoms include hyperspermia, hypergonadism, and aggressive sexual urges—each of which will steadily increase in severity without treatment. In extreme cases, this can result in a compulsive pursuit of sexual release. Thankfully, patients with this condition usually respond well to simple medication and manual stimulation therapy, so such cases are extremely rare.

“I’ll be fine,” Justine assured her, “I can handle it.”

“I know you can, Justine. You can do anything. Whether or not you **will** is more my concern,” Minerva crossed her arms, eyebrow raised.

“My new meds keep it under control, Mom. So just let me do my own thing, please?” Justine scoffed.

“You do your **own thing** ten to fifteen times a _day_, Justine. I’m just asking you to do it _once_ before we head out to the court. You know you embarrass easily, so…”

“Mom, I’m not jacking off in a country club locker room. E—… **end of discussion!**” Justine’s voice got a little shaky at the end, but she stuck to it nonetheless.

“Sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with having a strong sex drive—especially for someone with your condition,” Minerva glanced down only briefly, and Justine’s gaze followed hers.

Justine’s face turned pink as she discovered the very visible tent in her pajama pants. She averted her eyes with an indignant scoff—intent on further protest but found her tongue frozen with embarrassment. Closing her legs a little tighter, she pulled the bag onto her lap to hide it from view.

“Now I’m going to go get us some coffee,” Minerva announced, walking toward the door, “I’ll be gone for _twenty minutes_.”

Minerva stressed the last couple of words, giving her daughter a pointed stare. The implication was clear.

“Okay…” Justine grumbled.

“I’ll knock when I come back, okay?” Minerva told her, already halfway out the door.

“Fine.”

“Okay!” Her mother smiled and closed the door behind her.

Justine rolled her eyes with a sigh as she turned the shower on and began to disrobe, neatly folding her PJs into a pile next to the bag. She briefly considered taking her mother’s advice. On any other day, she probably would have. But the incident at the door along with her mother’s embarrassing (though not necessarily untrue) remarks had left her feeling somewhat obstinate.

She huffed with the kind of frustration that comes with being told what you don’t want to hear. Still stewing, she ransacked her bag for her pills and bitterly struggled with the cap. After a few frustrated grunts, both the cap and the bottle popped free of her grasp. Justine could do naught but watch in horror as a half-dozen pills shot across the room and began to dissolve on the damp shower floor.

“Fuck!” Justine cursed in a scramble to pick up at least one, but they had all been reduced to foamy splotches on the tile before she could reach them.

Hesitantly, she looked into the bottle to confirm what she already knew. She cursed again, finding it empty. Taking a deep breath, Justine tried to stay positive. The next week wouldn’t be pleasant, but she would survive. She just had to get through today. With a sigh, she stepped into the falling water and turned the knob until the water began to run out cold.

### Part Two

“Mom… are you sure about this outfit?”

Justine glanced down at herself, feeling a little self-conscious. The shorts that Minerva had bought barely reached her thighs, and it had left her feeling more than a little exposed. Stuffing her ample endowment into them was quite the task, and she found herself repeatedly checking to make sure nothing had slipped. If she managed to keep it soft, she was sure she would be fine…but that was a very big _if_.

“You promised not to be a stick in the mud…” Minerva whispered, well out of earshot of the approaching duo. Giving her daughter no time to respond, she waved her old friend over excitedly, “Annie! Over here!”

Justine waved nervously, trying to stifle her embarrassment as her mother hopped up and down like a child in the middle of the court. Her friend for her part waved warmly. Unable to contain her excitement, Minerva ran to meet them halfway, nearly tackling them to the ground.

“Oh hello, Minnie!” Anabel gasped, warmly returning the embrace as soon as she had regained her footing, “It’s been far too long, dear.”

“Couldn’t agree more, girl… couldn’t agree more,” Minerva laughed.

After a short exchange outside Justine’s range of hearing, she threw an arm around each of their shoulders and walked them back toward the court.

“Justine, this is my best friend from college: Anabel Descoteaux…”

Anabel wasn’t entirely a stranger; She was a constant presence in Minerva’s stories and photo albums, and they maintained almost daily contact via Facebook and text messages. This was the first time that Justine had met her in person, however. She was an active woman in her mid-40s, much like Minerva. However, where Justine’s mother was energetic and approachable, Anabel had the presence of royalty. Justine found herself feeling very small and under-dressed in her presence.

Justine extended her hand, only to be pulled into a tight hug instead. The girl’s mind briefly left her body as a multitude of sensations hit at once: the softness of her skin, the warmth of her embrace, the sweet smell of her perfume, and the caress of her womanly curves. Justine absentmindedly wrapped her arms around Ms. Descoteaux’s back as Anne nuzzled her cheek into her shoulder.

“Sorry, dear,” Anabel chuckled as they parted, “I hope your mother warned you. I’m very much a hugger.”

Her eyes darted downward for just a split second, and then rose back to meet Justine’s. Her expression was unchanged, but Justine instinctively checked herself to make sure that she hadn’t fallen out of her shorts. Thankfully, all was well.

“Nah… no worries! I uh… I like hugs!” Justine laughed nervously.

“…And this is her daughter, Elaine!” Minerva concluded, gesturing to the hooded girl with her nose buried in her phone.

As if unsettled by the sound of her name, Elaine raised her head with a start, nearly dropping her phone in the process. She looked from Minerva to Anabel, and finally to Justine. They exchanged an awkward glance. Elaine went for a handshake. Justine went for a hug. Both laughed nervously and stalled, feeling foolish as they tried to correct their incompatible greetings. Justine went for a handshake. Elaine went for a hug.

They silently agreed to cut their losses and settled on an awkward wave in lieu of embarrassing themselves further.

“Nice to meet you,” Justine smiled as genuinely as she could manage.

“Y—yes!” Elaine nodded, before adding, “Me uh… me too…”

Justine turned and took her place down the court. She took a few practice swings in hopes that her body would remember the proper motions. Anabel bounced the ball a few times as she prepared to serve from the opposite side of the net.

“Best of three, dear?” Anabel called across the court to Minerva.

“Sounds good!” She responded with a sweet smile, “You just pick how many games you want to lose, Annie!”

The pleasantries quickly faded as Anabel readied up her serve. She cast a final, confident glance at Justine and tossed the ball skyward.

“_Haaaaa—**UNGH!**_” With an unrestrained grunt of exertion, she fired the serve from her racket, clearing the net with practiced form. A smile crossed her lips…

The return was a sharp contrast. Justine hit the ball back with a criminally precise slice, giving the ball barely any bounce as it unceremoniously rapped twice against the clay court before Anabel could even begin to approach it. Wide-eyed, her gaze darted to Justine, then to Minerva, and then back.

Minerva burst into laughter.

“I guess it’s our serve now—right, Annie?” She yelled to her dumbfounded friend.

Anabel grumbled, retrieved the ball that now rolled lazily across the court, and tossed it back to Justine with a scalding glare. Justine laughed nervously under her breath and attempted to avoid eye contact with her gloating mother.

_“The stakes couldn’t be lower,” she said._

_“Just for fun,” she said. _

Justine did not want any part of her mother’s ravenous competitive appetite, but she knew that if she intentionally threw the game, the ride home would be torturous. And Minerva would know—she always knew. Justine took a deep breath and tossed the ball up to serve.

Anabel tensed as Justine’s backswing reached its full extension, and she darted forward as soon as the lanky girl’s racket made contact, intending to intercept the low bounce as she had failed to do seconds earlier.

Justine tilted her racket at the last second, sending a moonball bouncing fast and high over Anabel’s head—far beyond her reach.

The older woman jumped with a growl of equal parts exertion and frustration. She swung her racket high overhead, hitting naught but air as the ball sailed past and lodged itself in the chain link fence. Clearly rattled but unbroken, Anabel straightened her visor and took her place back on the court; a determined look fixed on her face.

“Love-15!” Minerva cackled.

“M—Mom?” Elaine piped up, finally getting her mother’s attention.

“What is it, Elaine?” Anabel responded, trying her best to hide her embarrassment.

“W—…would you like me… to um—… Should I return the serve?” Elaine asked somewhat apprehensively—clearly concerned about further bruising her mother’s ego, “She’s… _pretty good_…”

“Thank you, dear, but no,” Anabel flashed Elaine a smile, “I simply underestimated little Justine, that’s all. My mistake. Knowing her mother, I should’ve been more prepared…”

“You’re doing great, sweetie!” Minerva waved to her daughter from across their side of the court, “She’s got them old lady reactions though, so don’t go too hard on her!”

“D—don’t be like that, Mom…” Justine smiled nervously, refusing to make eye contact with Minerva, “It’s just like… a parlor trick. Everyone falls for it once…”

Elaine’s expression mirrored Justine’s. Though Anabel wore a warm smile, the look in her eyes was downright wrathful, and that made both daughters very nervous. Their mothers were clearly taking this far more seriously than they were. What’s more, Minerva’s antagonizing remarks were clearly finding purchase, adding extra powder to this already overfilled keg.

“Justine, dear?” Anabel called across the court.

“Y-Yes, Ms. Descoteaux?” Justine called back.

“_Doctor_,” Anabel corrected.

“**D-Doctor** Descoteaux, my bad…” Justine apologized, “Wh—… I mean… what did you—”

“I have a suspicion, dear. That you’re planning to ‘accidentally’ give me a sub-par serve. To take it easy on me, as it were…” Anabel loosened her white-knuckled grip on her racket, exhaling softly to re-center herself. The look on her face hadn’t lost an ounce of its original intensity, however, “That would frustrate me. Quite a bit. You understand, dear?”

Justine swallowed hard and nodded. They used different words, and their outward personalities couldn’t be further from each other… but suddenly Justine completely understood why Anabel and her mother had been so close for so long. Because the look on Anabel’s face was very familiar. It told Justine that she would accept no handicap.

“You heard her! She asked for it, J!” Minerva cheered, “Serve this old bat up a few more aces. The sooner we’re done using her tennis balls, the sooner she can put them on her walker where they belong.”

“Still ever the joker, Minnie…” Anabel laughed with a shake of her head and looked to Justine, “Come now, girl. We haven’t all day.”

• • •

Anabel dived for the return, merely grazing the ball with her racket. The fuzzy little ball flew up and bounced off of the empty umpire’s chair, landing squarely back in their court. Set point—McVie.

After she failed to return Justine’s initial serves, the set had more or less devolved into an awkwardly paced singles match. Anabel wished to prove that she could consistently return Justine’s surgically precise serves, and as such had given Elaine a rather wilting look every time she had tried to assist.

To her credit, Anabel had managed to return a fair few… but she simply didn’t have the speed to both react and put herself in a position to return much of the time. The individual games were never blowouts, but before long, the McVies had captured set point before the Descoteauxs had managed to capture even a single game.

Justine wanted to be swallowed up by the Earth. The tension on the court could’ve been cut with a knife. That probably had something to do with the fact that her mother hadn’t stopped her snide jabs for even a second, and continued cackling at her exhausted rival’s unsuccessful effort.

Anabel picked herself up off of the court. She rolled over onto her backside and leaned back on her arms, gazing up at the clouds while she tried to catch her breath. Sweat poured down her neck and ample chest as it rose and fell, her white tank top already soaked and sticking to her body. She pulled off her visor and fanned herself with it in an attempt to cool down.

Justine could feel it happening. The crackling tingle in her tummy happily sizzled like a lit fuse as it slowly traveled south, making its way to her chemically-restrained testes. Her medicine was wearing off… and now she had second thoughts regarding what she’d like to be swallowed up by.

“It’s my turn to serve now, isn’t it?”

Elaine called across the net for the first time, which took everyone by surprise. Her mother nodded from the ground. Elaine held her hand out for a ball—jaw clenched tight, eyes narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed.

Justine jumped a little as Elaine’s icy stare turned to her, as she scrambled to fish a fresh tennis ball out of the canister. After she dropped it a few times, further embarrassing herself, Justine finally managed to pass it across the net.

“Thank you,” Elaine responded with a robotic, warmth-less pleasantry.

Justine’s shoulders fell. This was the reason she didn’t play anymore. She didn’t care if she won or lost. It was a game to her. It always had been. She didn’t even practice beyond the amount that she was forced to tolerate for her mother’s sake.

And that was fine… until she played against someone who it wasn’t just a game for. Someone who practiced constantly and put their heart and soul into it. For someone like that, losing to her was just a never-ending cycle of confusion and frustration… and Justine couldn’t help but acknowledge that it felt more than a little unfair, in a cosmic sense.

In short, playing didn’t make Justine happy… and it made a lot of others very unhappy. So she quit.

Elaine set her racket and the new ball down on the ground and grabbed the hem of her baggy shirt with both hands. Justine’s eyes were sucked to her midsection like a magnet as each tiny motion of her body made her abdominals ripple through her sun-tanned skin. Her lower body pulled a similar trick as she bent over to kick off her shorts, leaving her only in her leggings and a bright-orange sports bra.

The tingling had turned into a rumble, and Justine pinched her legs together in anticipation of the imminent failure of her tuck work. She could feel her heart beating faster by the second. Her medicine was fighting a losing battle. She could already feel her panties stretching uncomfortably.

Elaine picked up her equipment and shook her hair out of her face, sending a pleasant shiver down Justine’s spine. Though she’d never been particularly religious, she found herself praying that Elaine wouldn’t flash her that cold stare again. Her libido was rapidly becoming more and more of a problem by the second, and there was a non-zero chance that she might cream her shorts if Elaine stared her down again.

As Elaine tossed the ball skyward to serve, Justine was snapped from her daydream by the horrible realization that she couldn’t move—not without flashing her leaky half-chub to a dozen sentient polo shirts, anyway. She tried to get her mother’s attention, but Minerva was already poised to react and return.

_“Nnn**YAAAAAAHHrr!**”_

Elaine’s serve sounded like a gunshot, and the ball fired off her racket with comparable speed. Minerva moved just a little too late, and the serve bounced at the edge of her box and into the fence.

Minerva did a bit of a double take between young Elaine and the ball, eyes widened, equal parts surprised and impressed. Elaine flashed her a toothy grin, her braces shining in the bright sun.

• • •

With Anabel still catching her breath and Justine desperately fending off her libido, the match once again devolved into a mostly one-on-one affair. However, Minerva and Elaine played a much more athletic contest than their inverse pair had. While there were few aces to be found, Elaine dashed and leaped around the court with the speed of a pronghorn, and had the endurance to match.

Minerva’s rally was powerful and precise, but she, unfortunately, possessed the mortal weakness of finite stamina. Elaine seemed to share no such weakness. She was a brace-faced terminator—utterly relentless. Minerva may as well have been playing against a brick wall for all the hope she had of getting the ball past her.

The second set ended in much the same way as the first—one player exhausted, another barely breaking a sweat, and their respective doubles partners standing around awkwardly like racket-wielding trees had sprung up from the court. Set Point—Descoteaux.

Minerva paced around her box, malding at the rather decisive loss she had just suffered. Justine finally managed to catch her eye and shot her mother a pleading look.

### Part Three

“Time out, Annie!”

“Hm? Don’t you even consider ending this on a tie, Minnie,” Anabel yelled, “I know where you live!”

Though Minerva couldn’t resist flashing a momentary _“I told you so”_ smile in her daughter’s direction, she didn’t labor the point otherwise. She marched over to Justine and snatched her racket from her hand. After a brief inspection, she shook her head.

“I told you to loosen your strings for this court, Justine,” Minerva performatively scolded.

“What? No, you di—” Justine suddenly realized her meaning as she desperately kept her legs pinned together, “Oh, right! I—… I forgot…”

“Well, hurry up!” Minerva shooed her daughter away from the court, “You remember how to do it, right?”

“Yes!” Justine blurted out, already making a beeline back to the locker room, “I’ll be right back!”

…

“Fuck…” Justine cursed through her teeth, a condom wrapper held between them as she worked at freeing her cock from the uncomfortable-bordering-on-painful confines of her shorts. They didn’t even make it to the ground before her hand gripped the base of her cock and rolled the rubber over.

Justine began to stroke furiously. For a few seconds, she didn’t even open her eyes. Familiar fantasies and favorite porn scenes flashed through her mind, the salacious sights and sensations spurring her on. That’s when she felt it. A surge traveled through her body like she had put a finger in a light socket—down her chest, through her tummy, and finally came to rest in her aching balls.

Her medicine had worn off completely… and the feeling of pop rocks crackling inside her testes told her that her problem was about to get a lot bigger.

Her conscious restraint began to fade as she started to massage her lightly swelling nuts in time with her strokes, slowly making her way onto her back as she kicked off her shorts. As the warm water from the shower flowed over her, the true culprits of this overflow of lust began to invade her usual mental movies.

“You didn’t take your medicine!? Oh, god… that looks painful!” Elaine gasped in her head and revealed a duet of hypnotic handfuls from the concealment of her top, “Will this help? I mean… if you like looking…”

Another tingly explosion inside her nuts made her hips buck as the milky skin of Elaine’s untanned pussy flashed into her mind.

“H—how about this? You… _do_ like girls, right?” The fantasy Elaine blushed, spreading her pussy as she leaned back against the wall for balance, “I spend a lot of time practicing… outdoors you know… so I’ve got some tan lines. Please don’t laugh, okay?”

Justine’s tongue fell out of her head as she nodded, enticing this fantasy Elaine to continue.

“M—maybe… I don’t know if it’ll fit, but… you can try to put it in—Ohhh gooddd~”

Justine slammed her hips up into her grip as she fantasized about slamming balls deep into Elaine’s tight hole. Elaine arched her back as she moaned, accentuating the tiny bump just below her belly button. Another surge of lust came at the sight of her cock poking a bump into Elaine’s perfectly toned stomach. She thrust into her hands, stroking like mad as her fantasy cock fucked the shy athlete in every way she could imagine—and Justine grew very creative at times such as these.

Her nuts churned a final time and began to ascend.

“I—…it’s _probably_ safe, so—”

Even in Justine’s lascivious fantasy, Elaine didn’t have the chance to finish her sentence. Justine pushed her cock all the way in and shot it full.

Her release bloated the rubber like a latex balloon with thick, distending spurts as Justine smashed her pelvis against her fist. Only her shoulders and the tips of her toes touched the ground, her back arched in a rapturous, spasming climax. Moans echoed through the empty locker room—her restraint and shame eroded to the point of nonresistance by surging, overwhelming lust.

Justine covered her face with her off-hand, sighing heavily as she milked the last bit of runoff from her under-vein and into the dangerously bloated condom. She shook her head with an embarrassed squint in her eyes as her post-nut clarity turned her fantasy from a sizzling hot daydream into an embarrassingly indulgent bit of sleaze.

She couldn’t even get through a single set without eye-fucking her opponent until she literally couldn’t control herself. Justine covered her face with her other hand, fuming. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t a big deal; it wasn’t like she had hurt anyone.

Even still, her condition made her feel like such a sex pest. It was why she had been such a shut-in for most of her teenage and young adult life. No matter how careful she was, it would always break through. Whether she forgot a dose, or just had an unexpectedly intense flare-up, she would always find herself trapped in a conversation with someone that she could not stop undressing in her mind—no matter how hard she tried.

Truthfully, she usually handled these situations rather well, all things considered, but her anxiety wouldn’t allow her to see it that way. No, in her mind, they could see it. In her eyes. In her body language. In her suspiciously clenched thighs. Her utterly concupiscent mental pictures may as well have been projected onto her rapidly perspiring face. They could see Justine turning them into obscene caricatures of themselves to properly suit whatever fetish suited her ravenous libido’s desires.

Then she would make up an excuse to leave. When they would call or text her, she would be too mortified to answer. Eventually, they would stop calling.

Trying to recover from her spiral, Justine posed to herself that it could’ve been worse. After all, Elaine was the type of girl that could drive most woman-loving libidos insane. She wasn’t being weird about it or anything. They were the same age, Elaine was exactly her type, and they had gotten along…relatively well in their short interaction. Add in her condition, and it sort of made sense.

And it wasn’t surprising, looking at Elaine’s mother. She had to be in her mid-forties at least, but Anabel was like royalty in every sense of the word. The shift in her figure past motherhood put the extra weight in all the right places. Her breasts were comfortably the size of small melons, and she no doubt had a very expensive sports bra to keep them compressed and supported enough to play.

Justine’s eyes shot open as she felt another ticklish crackle bubbling down in the dregs of her stewing cum tanks. Desperately, she tried to think of something—anything to take her mind away… but to no avail.

“Oh? What size are they?” Anabel put a finger to the cute dimple on her cheek, grinning sweetly as she looked to the sky to consider, “Hmm… how about you guess, dear?”

Anabel’s eyes lidded as she bit her perfect, crimson lip and rolled her sticky, sweaty t-shirt up to her chest. Stopping only for a moment to hook her perfectly manicured nails under the elastic of her bra, she lifted… and lifted… and lifted…

Justine pinched the base of her cock as she felt it surge to life, desperately trying to banish the sporty MILFs glistening, voluminous underboob from her mind’s eye. She curled her toes and sat up, resisting climax with every muscle in her body as her nuts churned and boiled with a freshly-cooked load that threatened to burst forth at any second.

The elastic had finally stretched too thin to contain the tsunami of sun-kissed, milk-swollen, pillow-soft breasts that spilled through. The tumultuous flesh rippled lewdly as Anabel’s oh-so-suckable nipples and sweet pink areolas flowed from containment and took their rightful place at the lead of her gargantuan milkers.

Justine’s nuts rapidly grew another centimeter in diameter just before her scrotum clenched them so tight against her body as to cause a jolt of pain. Her grip loosened for only an instant, but that was all it took. Justine screamed, at first in shock and discomfort. The rolled band shot up her shaft as a veritable deluge of thick, viscous spooge distended the rest of the overwhelmed latex barrier, the relentless jet of her release creating a swirling, sloshing current within. Justine briefly panicked, but it was too late. A hole became a tear, one tear became many, and the poor little condom was shortly obliterated by the twisting whirlpool of opaque white jism. The fat gob it had formerly contained splashed down onto the shower floor, coating Justine’s legs and tummy. She covered her mouth to stifle herself, inadvertently slathering her face with her own cum.

Justine’s eyes rolled back as the salty, slimy facial crawled around on her tastebuds, the heavy scent overwhelming her nostrils, provoking her mind to remix the lewd fantasy.

“Look at this mess! Young lady, you clean this up right now!” Anabel scolded, Justine’s sizable cock barely peeking out from between the MILF’s titanic breasts. Rope after rope of salty milk shot into Justine’s face from her throbbing cock as Anabel directed the business end of it toward her. Anabel had held her head in place until it was clear that Justine wouldn’t dare disobey, dutifully accepting the self-facial with an open mouth and eager tongue.

Another explosion ripped forth as Justine’s eyelids began to fall, a thick rope of cum striping the shower wall just before she fell onto her back—deep, satiated breaths reaching her ears in the darkness behind her closed eyelids…

>Story continues at the link in the comments, or on my profile page. Character limit, sorry (´。＿。｀)

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/zmfndt/40love_fffutaage_differencemilfanaloral