Jennifer Love Hewitt Gives Unenthusiastic Titfucks

[HER_ABHORRED_SHEARS]

Jennifer Love Hewitt Gives Unenthusiastic Titfucks

AN: Hopefully we’re not flirting with non-consent: Jennifer Love Hewitt agrees to the sex acts in the story but I don’t think that flies in court when you’re clinically retarded.

Remember: the “Unenthusiastic Titfucks” series is supposed to be satirical, humorous, and stupid. It is purely fantasy, not an attack on (or even a serious depiction of) the real JayLeeHaitch. Don’t take it seriously. Or do; I don’t care what your deal is.

Previously:

Kate Upton Gives Unenthusiastic Titfucks

Sydney Sweeney Gives Unenthusiastic Titfucks

* * *



An obnoxious Valley Girl drawl brayed across the hospital hallway like the sound of Satan farting. Staff shuddered. Patients quailed. Mirrors didn’t shatter, but only because the budget didn’t allow them to be glass.

“I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m some dumb bimbo airhead!” Jennifer Love Hewitt flounced along, jugs almost bouncing out of her low-scooped neckline. “That’s sooo not true! My IQ is 140!”

“Is that so?” Peter Langowski, her agent, matched her stride.

“Yeah, I had it tested on a website called ‘Free-Online-IQ-Test dot biz’. I had to download an antivirus scanner before they showed me my score. Did you know computers can catch viruses? I thought that was only for people.”

“Good to know someone’s getting ahead of the problem.” Peter checked his watch, counting down the nanoseconds until he was free of the Ditzney Princess for another afternoon.

“It’s so unfair!” Jennifer said. “I’m actually super smart, but everyone misunderestimates me, just because I’m hot! I’m NOT a has-been! Like, hello? My career is on fire. Last year, I was in The Garfield Movie. And next year, I’ll be in the sequel to The Garfield Movie. I even got a part on Family Guy—it’s this show like The Simpsons, but it’s, like, way funnier.”

“A hot streak Brando would envy.”

“Who’s she? The point is, my career’s a rocket and that rocket’s exploding on the launch pad!” Jennifer proudly ticked off her professional accomplishments. “I have two Golden Raspberry noms. That’s one of the most presti-digious awards in Hollywood. And this ‘Harvey Weenersteen’ guy says I can have a starring role if I privately audition in his hotel room! Isn’t that cool?”

“And they say there are no nice guys left in Hollywood,” Peter said, checking his watch again.

I swear, he thought, Bud o’Clock takes longer to arrive every day.

“…And now I’m here, doing…” She tilted her head quizzically, like a dog trying to learn a difficult trick. “…what am doing?”

Peter ground his teeth. He’d already printed his client’s itinerary—for all the good it did, considering he was unsure Jennifer Love Hewitt could read—but repeated it from memory.

“You are working in a hospital, on behalf of the government program Touch of Love. They sponsor female celebrities to offer…relief to injured men.”

“What kind of relief?” Jennifer Love Hewitt, uncharacteristically sensing a trap, narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

A group of children were scampering past their ankles, forcing Peter to describe Touch of Love in G-rated terms.

“You are helping men perform a…bodily function.”

“You mean I’m wiping their butts?” She wrinkled up her nose in disgust. “No way! Gross!”

“No, it's a male bodily function. Look at it this way: their spirits are down, and you’re raising them.”

“Like I’m cheering them up with balloons?”

He glanced down into the cleavage exploding from her dress’s dangerously overloaded front. It seemed as deep as the Marianas Trench. The front of her strapless top could barely contain Jennifer’s enormous, wobbling jugs.

“Something like that, Jen.”



* * *

Peter Langowski followed his client’s fat butt as it waggled down the hall.

So, it comes to this.

He did not particularly want his client working for Touch of Love. This wasn’t what booking agents put at the top of their resumes. Or at the bottom. Or in the middle. But due to an unfortunate situation (wholly of her own creation) Jennifer Love Hewitt urgently needed cash.

For years, she’d paid her taxes by dumping old clothes in front of the IRS headquarters. “They can sell these on eBay!” she’d explained to her horrified accountant (who had taken an early retirement soon after). “I bought most of this stuff at list price! Some of it’s couture!”

In a shocking turn of events, the IRS did not regard boxes of used clothes as a valid form of tax remittance, and were now insisting that Jennifer pay seven years’ of back taxes using actual money. How inconvenient! Until the coveted Garfield 2 paycheck hit her account, Touch of Love was the only source of liquidity available to Ms Hewitt.

He prayed Jennifer wouldn’t find a way to fuck this up. She couldn’t afford to.

Literally couldn’t afford to.

Touch of Love had set up a temporary office at the orthopedics wing of the hospital. Jennifer checked in at the desk, and was told that she would have to complete an entrance exam. Because Jennifer Love Hewitt and exams went together like gerbils and high-speed blenders, Peter filled in the test while Jennifer got briefed in the next room by Touch of Love’s chief executive.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON PRESCRIPTION MEDICATION? Y/N HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ARRESTED, ARRAIGNED, OR PROSECUTED? Y/N DO YOU HAVE ANY FORM OF COGNITIVE IMPAIRMENT THAT WOULD MAKE YOU INELIGIBLE FOR THIS PROGRAM? Y/N

Peter dutifully went down the list, ticking the right answers. Which usually meant ticking the wrong answers.

“Um, you’re not allowed to do that,” the assessor said. “Ms Hewitt must complete the form herself.”

Peter smiled, ticked the final box, flawlessly forged JLH’s signature, folded up the test, and placed it in the assessor’s hand.

“I’m sure that if you look closely, you’ll find everything in order.”

The assessor unfolded the sheet of paper. A hundred dollar bill slid out into his fist.

“Mr Langowski…” he said as he pocketed the money, “Ms Hewitt has passed the entrance test with flying colors! On behalf of us all, please welcome her to the Touch of Love program.”

* * *

“Our organization is founded on a growing body of very legitimate, very real research,” Colin Drake, acting president of Touch of Love, explained to Jennifer Love Hewitt in an empty classroom.

She stared at him in polite confusion as he spoke.

“Men have a biological imperative to ejaculate, and if they cannot do so due to injury, the resulting semen buildup can have severe consequences. We’re talking spermal impaction, epididymal hypertension, the whole nine yards…Miss Hewitt? Excuse me? Are you listening?”

“Yes.” She was now playing Candy Crush on her phone.

He grimaced, then resumed his pre-rehearsed spiel. “You’re probably thinking ‘so why do you need me?’ Don’t we have some crusty Nurse Ratched type with a rubber glove? Well, at Touch of Love, we believe in making dreams come true! Hospitals should be places of magic as well as medicine! So why not crack open the public pocketbook, take out a lousy few million dollars that I bet no-one’s using anything, and hire some attractive actresses? Lots of your peers are doing it, Jennifer. It’s an easy payday. Your identity will be protected. All the men have signed NDAs and are disease free. Nobody will ever know. With me so far?”

Jennifer gazed vacantly into space.

Peter Langowski had just arrived, and restated matters in language Jennifer understood.

“They’ll give you money if you titfuck some dudes.”

“Titfuck them?” She screwed up her face. “Ewww! What if I get pregnant?”

“You aren’t having sex with them,” Colin explained. “You’re only using your…chest to masturbate their penises.”

“But…can’t I get pregnant from that?” Jennifer Love Hewitt looked at him with fearstruck eyes.

Colin’s jaw fell. His expression could be described as existentially confused. He seemed to be wondering if he’d wandered into some unethical Truman Show-esque social experiment designed to break his sanity.

"Is that a serious question you just asked? Jennifer, *h**ow the goddamn hell would a cock between your breasts get you pregnant?"*

Jennifer smacked the table and huffed.

“You are so rude!” she yelled. “Like, geez! Babies drink milk from nipples, so maybe cum can leak through as well and, like, get inside my body. Don’t ask me how it works! I’m not a doctor!”

The Touch of Love chief executive clenched the edge of his lecture stand. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though praying for patience. Welcome to my life, Peter thought with a stab of sympathy.

“Jennifer. Love. Hewitt,” Colin’s knuckles whitening on the oak wood. “This is a question I never imagined myself answering, but no, you cannot get pregnant from a cock between your breasts. We are a hundred percent certain of this. It is medically impossible.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jennifer looked like she’d just had a revelation from the skies above. “Wow, I wasted so much money on birth control in high school!”

* * *

Colin handed an itemized list of names to Peter, wished them well, and shoved them both out into the hallway.

“Okay,” Peter lifted the clipboard. “So let’s work down the list. The first man is—”

“FOUND ONEEEEE!” Jennifer squealed and ran forward, clapping her hands.

She bull-rushed a man seated in the hallway. His arm was in a brace-sling, and his eyes filled with terror as she jiggled toward him like an unusually buxom zombie.

Grinning, she kneeled in front of him, almost shoving her boobs in his face.

“Hi, duuuude!” she hollered at blow-out-your-eardrums decibelage. “I’m super famous actress Jennifer Love Hewitt! And I’ll be fucking you with my tits today!”

“Huh…?” the man recoiled from her Valspeak assault.

“Jen, stop!” Peter said, frantically shuffling papers. “I need to make sure this guy’s on the list—!”

But Jennifer was already pulling off her top. Her plus size maternity bra was full to overflowing. She undid her bra, and slung it on the ground. The big cups rocked back and forth like halved coconuts.

“Er…” the man’s face drained of color as the busty loud actress unbuttoned his jeans, and yanked them down. He glanced around the room, clearly looking for the reality TV camera.

Jennifer hefted her big white naked fuck-tanks, and piled them in the man’s lap. His eyes bugged as Jennifer sculpted her heavy but pliant boobs into a heap around his dick, She hawked and spat into her cleavage until their massive slopes glistened with saliva.

“Now listen!” She screwed up her face,. “I don’t actually want to do this! Even though you are kind of cute! It’s so you don’t die of sperming hyper-hydrosis, or whatever!”

Without further ado, she began titfucking the dazed-looking man.

Lifting up her enormous mammaries in both hands, she hauled them to her chin and flung them down into his lap. An obscene avalanche of white breastflesh exploded around his cock and balls.

smack! plap! slosh!

Her big jugs distorted as they hit his lap, ballooning against his legs. They flattened out like pancakes, before rebounding back into her hands. Catching her flying tits on the upswing, she plapped them back down on his dick again.

And again.

And then once more.

“Jen, just wait a second…!” Peter scrambled with papers over the din of obscenely slapping flesh. “We still don’t know that this man is in the program!”

“How could he not be? His arm is broken!” Jen said, grinding overripe handfuls of boobmeat against his pink cock. “Jeez, and people call me stupid!”

“That doesn’t mean he’s enrolled! If he’s not, he also won’t have signed any kind of NDA! He can tell the press about you doing this! He can—!”

“SHUT UP!” she yelled, turning her head to face him mid-breaststroke. “Gawd, I’m trying to concentrate here! A man’s life could be at stake, and all I hear is blah-blah-blah!”

Peter sighed in defeat. I give up. Jennifer Love Hewitt might have been a bit dim, but once she decided on a path of action, she pursued it with the singleminded conviction of a mediocre America’s Got Sob Stories contestant armed with a shitty sense of pitch and a dream.

slap! plop! clap!

Her tits pounded out loud rhythmic slaps against his thighs as they were shaped and flung by her hands. She dribbled them like basketballs. His penis hardened into a hard flagpole slicing between her bouncing cleavage.

slap! plop! plappp!

She lunged further in, her microbladed brows arched in concentration. Her wobbling breasts drummed and plapped over his pulsing prick, crushing his hardness with softness, swallowing the shaft, batting it back and forth, releasing it with sticky SHLUCK sounds as her boobs whiplashed upwards again. Random smears of pre-cum were now plastered across her cleavage.

“Uh! Uh! Uh!!!” Clenches and spasms gripped the man’s face as big fat tits pounded into his crotch. He looked like a man strapped to an electric chair, with JLH behind the switchboard. His moans—and the slaps of her moist boobs impacting against his inner thighs—overwhelmed the room.

WHAPWHAPWHAP!

Jennifer was fucking locked. Her eyes were slitted in terrible focus. Her titfucking gained speed and intensity. His cock was disappearing and reappearing around the heaving slabs of her breasts so fast that it was visible only as brief flashes of pink.

Peter stared despondently at his boss’s thick ass. Her butt was parked heavily on the heels of her shoes as she grimly leaned into her work, jacking the man off to climax. Sheets of jiggling white flesh coruscated like congealed milk as she hammered his dick into submission. She relentlessly drove him to the edge, then over it.

“AHH! I’m about to—!”

The man screamed as he burst. HIs hips catapulted off the chair, throwing Jennifer Love Hewitt’s boobs up into her face. She squawked indignantly. Trapped in her cleavage, his cock spiked through breast-dough, the tip stabbing against her throat as it spurted. The first pulse of sperm inscribing a long sticky smear over her chin. More blasts followed.

BLURT! SQUIRT! SPLAT!

“Oof!” He ejaculated messily against Jennifer Love Hewitt’s neck. Ten or eleven gooey white streams fired from his cock, riding the curve of her chin and neck in a twisting rollercoaster ride of spunk, arcing back around, and falling back into her cannonballing cleavage, where they gathered in a clotted white mass.

Panting with exhaustion, Jennifer slid her ponderous, cum-splattered tits out of his lap. They drooped and sagged, oozing sperm. The man groaned, and sagged backward the other direction. His cock was still wildly jerking out cum between his legs, and over his shoes.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice!” she yelled, flapping her cum-splattered hands in disgust. “Not as though I didn’t just SAVE YOUR LIFE or anything, dude! Ick! There’s so much white stuff!”

The man wheezed as his dick went flaccid. He seemed unable to understand. To think.

“See, Peter!” Jennifer beamed with a thousand watts, wiping off her breasts with a scarf she’d found lying next to the man’s feet. “This isn’t so bad! Stop stressing over lists and graphs and shit!”

Peter’s face darkened stormily. He waved the document in Jennifer’s face.

“This man you just titfucked isn’t on the client list.” He spat out in rage. “You don’t have any men scheduled in this ward of the hospital!”

“But that doesn’t make sense…” Jennifer jammed her hands into her hips, and scowled in confusion. “If he wasn’t in the program, he shouldn’t have gotten a titfuck….”

“YES! EXACTLY!”

She focused intensely. Something wasn’t adding up.

“…So why did I titfuck him then?”

“THAT’S MY ENTIRE POINT!” Peter screamed into her face. “YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO!”

“Well, you could have at least warned me!” Jennifer squawked, flinging the jizz-ruined scarf on the floor with a splat. “Jeepers, dude! What do I pay you for?”

An anguished female scream hit them like a whip.

“MY HUSBAND!” The voice was followed by fast-approaching footsteps, coming down the hall. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY HUSBAND, YOU SLUT! AND WITH AUNT EUNICE’S HEIRLOOM SCARF!”

“RUN!” Peter slapped Jennifer’s back.

She nodded, and snatched up her bra and top.

They fled for their lives.

* * *



* * *

Peter kept his client on an extremely short leash after that. And for a time, things proceeded well.

They went from ward after ward, smiling, flirting, vamping, working down the list efficiently.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Love Hewitt, and I’ll be fucking your tits today…!”

Jennifer titwanked a man with two dislocated shoulders in the arthroscopic surgery room. He exploded after just thirty seconds.

Then another man in intensive care. He made it an entire minute.

Upstairs, a third and fourth man succumbed to her awesome boobs in swift order, erupting like Vesuvius and Etna between her globes.

Peter was impressed. If nothing else, JLH was proving to be a machine at giving titfucks.

He was beaming with pride.

“Outstanding, Private Pyle! We’ve finally found something you do well!”

“Gee, thanks!” Not getting the joke, of course. He rolled his eyes, thinking If this ends with me getting gunned down in a Fort Bragg toilet, I’ll be incredibly ready to go.

A fifth man—who’d broken both his wrists in a steel milling machine—was titfucked in the ward over. As the hospital wing had run out of private rooms, and the bathrooms were all occupied, Jennifer Love Hewitt and her client did the deed in a dirty, grimy storage cupboard.

She swung open the door, and found a chair for the man to sit in. Peter laid down strips of cardboard for her kneel on, not to protect her —like most actresses of a certain talent level, she had extremely tough knees for some reason—but because the floor was littered with rat droppings. A single fluttering lightbulb swung from the ceiling, sending shadows scything back and forth as her torso rocked up and down on his cock.

Splatt! Plopp! Squish!

Over and over, the shadow of his penis burst between the shadow of the boobs piled on his lap, like some fucked up shadowpuppet play. She wanked her tits industriuosly, ignoring the pipes leaking rusty water over them both, riding the sound of the man’s ascending whines.

The man gasped in orgasm, driving his hips forward. His cock sheared free from her bulging mammaries, and hosed her front with a half-dozen powerful cumshots, which slid down her neck in a slow, bubbling tide.

Topless and spunked, Jennifer Love Hewitt grabbed a sodden towel—from the rusty bucket—and used it to wipe her dangling chest.

“This smells disgusting!” she yelled, smearing cum over her soiled breasts with an off-color rag. “Why does sperm smell so bad! Like, EWWWW!”

A powerful odor hit Peter’s nostrils. They flared at the smell. That man had incredibly bad-smelling cum. Too much meat in his diet? Who the fuck knew.

“Come on,” he grabbed her hand. “You’re on the home stretch. One group of men left, and you’re titfucking them as a group. The sooner they’re done, the sooner you’re done. Let’s rock.”

As she was dragged out of the storage closet, she dragged the bucket with her.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, glancing inside the bucket. It was full of wet, weird-smelling rags.

“Some kinda detergent solution,” she said. “I can use the rags to clean myself.”

“Fine. Take it with you.”

* * *



Jennifer insisted on a smoke break in the outpatient room—she was blatantly topless as she chain-smoked Newports, because taking her shirt and bra on and off had grown tiresome—but it didn’t matter.

Her final group of clients came to her.

A door swung open. Peter turned to see five young men approaching.

They walked gingerly. Identical neck cones that restrained their movements.

“Allo,” the lead one said in an unplaceable European accent. “Ve are here for ze tee-tee-fooking.”

Peter didn’t know what to make of them.

They were all the same age—late teens, early twenties—and seemed like clones created from a test tube. Same blue eyes, same buzzcut blond hair, same lean athletic builds, same neck cones. They wore white shorts, exposing calves exploding with muscle. Something about their stances said professional athlete.

“Who are you guys?” He asked. I thought the Hitler Youth hadn’t been a thing since the 1940s.

They chorused their names back like echoes.

Luke. Seb. Tobias. Matt. Florian.

He looked at the list the Touch of Love guy had provided for him.

* Lukas Bauer * Matthias Gruber * Sebastian “Seb” Vogl * Tobias Hofer * Florian Steiner

Well, they were on the list, at least.

“Okay,” Peter said. “So which of you wants to go first—HEY!”

The five young men had rudely shoved him aside, making a beeline for Jennifer’s naked tits.

As one, they unclipped the neck cones, and let them fall to the tiles. Suddenly, there was no hint of injury or illness about them. They moved with alacrity, circling Jennifer Love Hewitt like hungry wolves, pulling down their shorts.

Five large, blood-engorged penises jutted toward her. The smallest was eight inches long. Veins twisted along the lewd, pulsing male lengths, which twitched as they came near her, as though sensing her and responding.

A quintet of cocks, eager to fuck some Hollywood D-lister boobflesh.

Jennifer had terrible situational awareness, but even she looked faintly alarmed as their erections pointed her way like the guns of a firing squad.

“Um…hi?” Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Their ginormous bulks squeezed out obscenely around her skinny forearms, barely covered at all.

“You vill give us your tee-tees,” the lead one said with a smirk.

Jennifer shrugged, straightened her torso, and let her arms drop. “Fine. But there’s only two of them. Some of you will have to wait.”

Her huge hanging breasts swung and bobbled back and forth, dangling thrillingly in the chemically-sanitized air. Peter watched the lead man—Lukas?—guide his prick into her cleavage, and aggressively plunge himself inside. A throaty gasp left him. He shook her shoulders, making her breasts wobble around his cock.

“YESSS…!” he humped forward, burying himself in her chest.

SCHLUP!

His huge dick burst through her cleavage, slicing through her tits from the front, hitting her sternum, and then curving up out of her boobs like a banana. It throbbed against her neck, looking angry and red against her white skin, leaking pre-cum onto the mountainous tops of her breasts.

“TAKE IT, FRAULEIN HUH! HUH! HUH!”

Lukas began railing her huge boobs with wild, savage thrusts. His bare muscular glutes rippled as pounded his cock through her cleavage, riding a slippery path of prostatic fluid from his balls. He scooped up the edges of her tits, and pressed them inward, applying dizzying pressure. Creating dizzying pleasure.

WHUP! WHUP! WHUP! his hips scythed relentlessly.

Peter watched as Jennifer’s tits oscillated around his pummeling shaft like they formed a cunt, sloshing like overfilled waterballoons as his shaft punched into her neck.

“AHHH! HUHHH! TAKE MEIN COCK!”

Then one of the other men whispered to his friends.

“Ich kann nicht glauben, dass diese idiotischen Amerikaner darauf hereinfallen…”

They all sniggered.

Peter frowned, and begun surreptitiously sneaking toward the Touch of Love office. He’d been an exchange student once—Dusseldorf—and still knew a little German.

He was pretty sure the man had just said I can’t believe these idiot Americans are falling for it…

* * *

“So, where are you guys from?” Jennifer gasped as the the tallest of the blond men grasped her shoulders, burying his pumping shaft in her squelching tit-channel.

“Ve are from Austria.” The man smirked as his musky cock throbbed inside the cock-smuggling depths. The piss head of his cock emerged, yawning obscenely as it dribbling on her breasts, as though it was speaking, not him. “Ve are Five-A-Side Fußballliga players.”

“Wow, Austria!” she squealed excitedly as swift stabs of his cock sent her abundant boobflesh swilling against his eager hands. “That’s so cool! I love the animals you guys have there—koalas and kangaroos and stuff! OW! Not so rough!”

He threw his hips into her tits with brutal force, tossing her back into a wall.

“You have such grosse titten,” he breathed lustfully, sliding a hand across one huge jiggling surface, slapping it sideways.

“What language is that?” she said. “Japanese, right? I used to be really good at it. My boyfriend taught me all these words. Hentai…lolicon…paizuri….OUCH!”

The man gripped his cock like a club, and slapped it on the side of one tit. WHAP! It actually made a shallow dent in the prodigous mound of breastflesh, which slowly faded.

“Diese Frau ist dumm,” One of the men waiting on the sidelines said. The others laughed.

“Ja,” Lukas replied between humps. “Sexy, aber dumm.”

Above the weltering carnage of the stabbing cock in her cleavage, Jennifer’s eyes became confused as a conversation broke out.

“Um, hello? What are you boys saying?”

With his friend still hunched over and ramming her jugs, the shortest one stepped forward from the side.

With Lukas still jackhammering her tits, he lifted up her chin, forcing her eyeline up to his.

Squelch. Plap. Plop.

“Well-bodiced American fraulein,” he said with all the dignity he could with his erect cock prodding her armpit. “I cannot wait for ze tee-tee fook. You must give me blowjob.”

“A blowjob?!” Jennifer squealed. “That wasn’t part of the deal!”

She glanced to where Peter had been, only to discover that he’d disappeared.

“Zere was miz-communication,” Matt explained patiently as his friend’s shaft flung her pink tits back and forth. “Tee-tee fooks and blowjobs are ze same word in German.”

“Gosh, dude!” she shrugged. “Well, I guess that can’t be helped. You should learn Japanese. They have a word for everything sexual! Can you get it in my mouth from the side?”

The answer was yes, with difficulty.

She ended up with her neck twisted around, almost Exorcist far, while the short man stood at ninety degrees from the first one and fed his cock past her plump lips. A logistically complicated system developed. Jennifer Love Hewitt sat on her heels while the tallest player humped her boobs, simultaneously sucking the shortest one’s dick from the side.

SHLURP! SUCKKK! SULLLCHHH!

Her fat mounds of chestflesh pillowed back and forth, rippling from the nine inches of man-meat sawing through it.

Simultaneously, her cheeks bulged with the shorter man’s cock. It cut at nearly ninety degrees, the cocktip jagging out and pushing out the side of her cheek.

The titfucking gained intensity and fury. She felt her boobs flying up around her shoulders in blurs as he threw his hips into them. Her lips scraped back and forth messily like carwash brooms as a slippery cock rammed in and out, spasming out salty pre-cum. Both men were clearly about to orgasm.

Lukas’s cock throbbed first. An explosion of thick cum rushed up from his balls, spitting out of the penis’s gaping slit.

She squeezed her eyes shut just as it spat into her face. The white rope volleyed out of her cleavage with stunning velocity, belting her across the left side of her temple and cheek. Two more followed it. Cum pooled in her exposed eye socket. Then Lukas yanked his cumming cock out of her chest with a berserk roar, beating off his cock over her, shooting out his remaining ropes.

Moments later cum was spurting down her throat from the cock in her mouth. Matthias’s dick gave a tremendous leap, jamming against her esopagus, sending the next jolt of cum in the wrong direction. She gagged, and nearly gave the dude an accidental circumcision with her teeth as sperm flooded the wrong way.

“OMMFFFFGUHHH!”

Getting gunned down by two cocks, being bukkaked and throatpied simultaneously, Jennifer Love Hewitt’s vision swam as sperm ribboned out in gleaming ropes over her huge-titted torso. Gunk clung to her like party streamers. She spat out a wad of sperm, adding to the mess of jizz and saliva drenching her upper body.

Then Lukas and Matthias stepped aside, their soft cocks leaking on the floor.

Gasping for breath, Jennifer saw two hard cocks took their place.

* * *

Peter Langowski dramatically barged into the office of Colin, like an eager liberal do-gooder on West Wing.

“Colin, we have to stop this! The government is being defrauded!”

Colin sighed in exasperation. “Explain.”

“My client is titfucking German men who aren’t injured at all!” he yelled. “They’re wearing neck braces, but they’re just for show! They took them right off! It’s a trick!”

“Mr Langowski, please lower your voice—”

“And that’s not all! I speak German, and they were talking about how—”

“Shut up, Mr Langowski. I already know.”

Peter’s mouth hung open.

Colin steepled his hands on his desk. “I am not a fool. I am well aware that the five Austrians are not injured. Come. Look.”

He tapped on his computer, and brought up an email.

Hi, Col. How’s the golf swing?

I have a problem that sounds like it’s up your alley, so to speak.

The third-ranked Austrian five-a-side football team—competing for Salzburg Fußballliga—were partying in America recently when their bus hit a pothole. All five sustained debilitating whiplash in the accident. With their career aspirations in jeopardy, they are threatening to sue the United States for personal distress and loss of income unless we compensate them in some form.

After reviewing our options, we think Touch of Love would be a perfect fit. Perhaps some actress can show them the business? Diora Baird is popular in Austria. Jennifer Love Hewitt, too.

I’d be very grateful for co-operation—and discretion—in this matter.

* * *

Colin made a disgusted handwave.

“I knew it was bullshit from the jump. What are the chances that a bus accident would injure five men in exactly the same way? They’re trying to pull a fast one on the government. I mean, why wouldn’t they? They’re the third-ranked five-a-side-football team from fucking Austria. What ‘career aspirations’ do they have? The chance to practice on a mountainside pasture with slightly fewer goats? A sexier group of yodeling cheerleaders? This is crap.”

“So tell them no,” Peter said. “Let them sue. That’s not your concern.”

Colin laced his fingers and eased back into his Corinthian leather chair. “It’s not that simple, Mr Langowski. Let me explain the mess my organization is in…”

Touch of Love was facing a problem.

It wasn’t that men didn’t enjoy the service. On the contrary, they gave it rave reviews.

And it wasn’t that it was founded on a bulwark of bullshit fraudulent pseudoscience. That’s actually almost a requirement when trying to secure federal funding these days.

The problem was PR.

Recent contracts with Sydney Sweeney and Kate Upton had turned into expensive media clusterfucks involving lawsuits, settlements, arrests, extraditions, and—in the case of a troubled exec and his wife—a murder-suicide. Since that episode, the entire program was on the chopping block. In the opinions of many Beltway insiders, Touch of Love was simply causing more drama and scandal than it was worth.

“…I need one month without a media shitstorm,” A vein pulsed in Colin’s neck. Words came through gritted teeth. “One goddamn month. And now this lands on my desk. What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop it!” Peter said. “My client is down there getting her tits fucked to pulp by five completely undeserving men!”

“If I create an international incident with goddamn Austria, there goes my government pension. It doesn’t matter whether these athletes are hurt or not. I am not going to rock the boat. Or allow someone else to rock it. Get it?”

Peter was nonplussed. “You’re letting these assholes get away with fraud. That’s disgusting.”

Colin closed the document with a fast, vicious here-then-gone smile. “In politics, we call it ‘Tuesday morning.’ Thanks for the lovely chat, Mr Langowski. I’ll deny we ever had it.”

Peter sulked away. He was beginning to think there was something a bit shady about this whole Touch of Love organization.

* * *



Anarchy reigned in the outpatient wing.

slap! plop!

“AHHH! AHHHH! ZE GROSSETITTEN!”

Another cock slashed apart her quivering flesh, hewing through her boobs with fierce strokes. It whipped cum into froth as it pounded through her cleavage-channel.

“BLUHHH!” Jennifer’s aroused nipples shook and quivered as her tits vibrated beneath his fast chainsawing thrusts.

Meanwhile, another dick was flopping and jerking inside her desperately sucking mouth, spraying enough jizz to drown her. “UGHHH!”

The man in her breasts orgasmed with a grunt. More cum splattered against her neck. As he creampied her tits, Jennifer struggled not to drown. Bubbles blew from her nostrils, and ropes of cum dangled into her boobs like snot.

Then it was over. The cocks slid away, leaving her utterly bukkaked.

Four men had ejaculated. One man remained.

“So, just you left, huh?” she said, coughing on cum.

“You must allow me to fuck you,” a sharp-eyed man with a long-ago broken nose said.

“Fuck me?” Jennifer Love Hewitt tilted her head to one side. “No way! Titfucks and blowjobs are one thing, but…fucking? Are you sure?”

“I will die if I do not fuck you,” he said. “A doctor tells me I have ze…how do you say it…blue balls.”

The other four giggled and shushed each other.

“Blue balls? Hey, wait a second!” She put her hands on her hips. “My agent says that’s not a real thing!”

He shook his head. “Is real. The doctor said I must fuck pussy, or I will die of blue balls on your fallow American soil.”

She reached for his cock. “Look, I’ll blow you instead.”

“No!” he slapped her hand away. “I defecate on your pitiful blowjobs! I must fuck you, fraulein! I am under ze medical advision!”

She scoffed. “How dumb do you think I am? I know blue balls are fake.”

“Fine,” he sulked. “Cruel, cold hearted fraulein. I vill never return to the alpine mountains of my home. I vill never see my vife and my vourteen orphans. All zey will know is zat I went to America and never came back.” He sighed, and straightened his back with steely Teutonic fatalism. “I zuppose zis is how it must be…”

Jen’s stare softened as the man pled his case. He seemed piteous. Fragile.

“Okay,” she said. “You can fuck me. Man, all my boyfriends told me about blue balls, but I never thought it was life threatening!”

She got down on her hands and knees, and turned so that her ass faced him. “I’m only doing it for your fourteen orphans. Keep that in mind!”

She pulled down her Calvins, exposing her thick, cellulite-studded rump. Taut bands of flesh and muscle formed two big asscheeks, which gleamed with sweat. Her shaven pussy gaped beneath her asshole. the flaps hairless and puffy with aruosal.

“Get in,” she kicked her feet out wider on the tiles, curving her back in an appealing doggystyle arch. The man’s eyes gleamed. His lips curved back to expose his teeth. He advanced on the compromised woman, gripping his thick erect cock in his fist. He drummed it against her plump butt, making pre-cum spatter into her lower back.

“As you insist…”

Suddenly, he yanked back on Jennifer’s hair like it was a handle. “Ow!” her brunette locks jerked straight against her scalp as he swung his hips onto her ass, and drove his cock straight into her waiting cunt.

SQULOORRRPP!

There was a soft but filthy squish sound as he filled her wet cunt with his huge hot dick. One thrust sheathed him to the balls. Sweat broke out on her brow.

“UHHH!” head tilted back, she whined out in a hard throaty moan of pleasure. The rumble vibrated back through her quivering haunches like a cat’s purr as eight and a half inches of dick twisted into her.

Gripping her tits like safety balloons, he adjusted his angle of entry and began pumping. His rhythm was slow and steady. His big Austrian erection slid in over and over, splitting her folds, glistening with her released juices as it slid free.

Thwop! Thwop! Thwop!

Each thrust clubbed against her fat fleshy ass as he sheathed it inside her roiling pussy. Her cum-splattered breasts drooped heavily inside his grasping hands. They were the only parts of her fleshy body not jiggling as he dumped massive amounts of kinetic force into her broad feminine hips, pounding their genitals together with obscene brutal need.

PLAPP! PLAPP! PLAPP!

Jennifer’s back arched. A shudder whiplashed up her spine. She wondered if she was about to cum.

PLAPP! PLAPP! PLAPP!

Ten seconds later, she didn’t have to wonder anymore.

* * *



Peter appeared at the doorway, and saw his client being doggystyle-pounded into a screaming, squirting heap on the floor.

Her mouth fell open, and she howled in climax. He saw her tongue vibrating as it vocalized utter delight.

“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” A tsunami of rage swept over him. “JENNIFER, IT’S A TRICK!”

Her mewls of pleasure increased in volume.

Four men—the ones not currently balls-deep in Jennifer Love Hewitt, turned and snickered at him. He realized they weren’t just watching. They were waiting for their turn.

He rolled up his sleeves, and began marching forward in determination, fists raised. “Get off her, or by God, I’m going to…”

“Going to do vat, exactly?” the one called Lukas said.

All four stepped forward to intercept him.

No limps. Their eyes bristled with menace. Peter’s own step lost confidence. He was a fifty year old man, these were professional athletes, and there were four of them.

“Um.” Peter said. “I’ll file a complaint!”

“You are silly little man.” Lukas crossed his arms over his chest, and spat in Peter’s face. “Put zat in your complaint.”

Peter almost backed down. Then he saw Jennifer’s back arch in ecstasy as a cock filled her, and red swamped his vision.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” he roared, charging forward.

He swung a punch into Lukas’s chest. It was like hitting corrugated iron sheeting. Lukas pounded a fist into his stomach. He doubled over, the world blurring. “Ooof!”

Seb and Tobias and Matthias fell on him, kicking and punching him down to his knees and then to the ground. The hospital spun in dizzying convlusions.

Jennifer, in the head-spinning throes of an extended chain orgasm, did not even notice her agent getting the shit beaten out of him just a few feet away. She whined, a bitch in heat, humping back against the massively long dick filling her slurping pussy.

Her eyelids fluttered in rapture. Pussy juice was rolling down both thighs. Her spine arched again. Endless volcanic surges of absolute pleasure were obliterating her senses from the waist down and rising.

“Oooohahhhhhhahhhhh!”

Peter was hauled up to his knees. Jennifer finally noticed him. Her eyes went wide with fascination…if not exactly sympathy.

“Wow! UGH! You guys know karate! I knew you were Japanese! OOHH! OMMMFFF!”

Her fat bubbly asscheeks seemed to billow forward as the man pounded his dick into her again and again. His ballsack swung beneath their copulating bodies, ready to ejaculate a monstrous payload of cum.

She climaxed yet again, screaming, thrashing and kicking like she was demonically possessed. A foot lashed out, nearly kicking Peter’s head off. “OOOHHH! SAWWWWWRYYY PEEEEEEEETEEEERRRRRR!”

Then the man inside her twat gripped her hips and rowed deep inside her luscious thick body. Her pussy clenched, and he abruptly lost his load. His balls rose and blasted thick torrents of cum inside her gripping twat, hosing her down.

He tugged out his sloppy dick, and sperm flowed out of her gaping pussy. His white cum splattered onto the floor.

And with that, all five men had gotten off.

They circled her, either erect or rapidly becoming re-erect, eager for a second round with this dimwitted but eager American actress and her prizewinning fuck-orbs.

And Peter lay on the floor, humiliated and defeated, unable to stop it.

He couldn’t fight them, Touch of Love wouldn’t lift a finger to help, and Miss I Don’t Know What You Did Last Summer (Or Any Other Fact) was of no use at all.

Florian had a nasty idea. He whispered it to the others, and they sniggered cruelly.

Peter was groaning on the floor, clutching his stomach.

“In Austria…” Seb explained. “Ve haff helpful boy to sanitize ze jockstrap.”

They dragged him forward, facing his cum-bedraggled client.

“You vill do us a service,” Lukas told him. “Clean off her grossetitten so we may use them again.”

“Clean them with what?” Peter held up his empty hands. “My tongue?”

Fuck. Don’t give them ideas.

“Don’t worry Peter,” Jennifer said, refusing titfucking position. “You can use that bucket of sanitizing solution.”

Sanitizing solution? Did they fuck her so hard her two remaining brain cells fell out of her nose? The hell is she talking about now?

Then he remembered the rusty bucket they’d taken out of the supply closet. He look inside it. It was full of damp rags.

And his eyes narrowed on something on the side that he hadn’t seen before.

“Fine,” he grumbled, shrugging. “Whatever. I’ll clean her boobs off. Least degrading part of my day so far.”

He reached into the bucket, grasped a sodden dripping rag that stank like metallic piss, and began wiping wipe glistening streaks over Jennifer’s chest.

“Ooooh!” she tittered. “That’s cold! And it stinks!”

Her big dangling knockers wobbled from side to side as he wiped them clean. Snail-trails of weird-smelling chemical solution glazed her heavy fuck-tanks and erect nipples. The same disgusting smell that they’d attributed to the man’s sperm earlier filled the air. It was the liquid.

Then he flung the rag back into the bucket with a splash. “It’s done. Do whatever you want.”

“Zank you,” one of the Austrian footballers said smugly, and booted him aside. “Ve vill fuck ze fraulein’s tee tees.”

He landed on the floor, head ringing.

The nostrils of the football players flared. “Vat is ziss smell?”

“I dunno!” Jennifer said.

“You smell as filthy as the rest of your shitty country,” Lukas said.

“Hey, that’s so fucking rude!” she squawked. “My country does NOT smell!”

“Raise your arms above your head,” he intoned, stroking his prick.

Jennifer sat back up on her heels, staring up in curiousity. She lifted up her arms. Her wet shiny rack bobbled up and down once.

They surrounded her in a ring, avidly staring at her moist, dangling jugs.

Lukas sneered, gripping his cock, and drummed out a fierce lewd rhythm on the waterbarrel-sized tops of her cleavage.

SMACK! THWAPP! THUDD!

Ripples exploded across her big fucktanks. His hard cock drooled out a worm of pre-cum. It slid with a moist plop into her enormous cleavage.

“I vant my dick between these.”

They surrounded her, squeezing her big, fleshy orbs. They dragged their erect cocks over her boobs, finding grooves and channels of fat flesh to fuck.

Lukas went first. He began to slap his hips up against her underboob, pounding his shaft in and out of the sheathe of flesh.

He humped Jennifer Love Hewitt’s breasts vigorously, while two others held her pinned. Two remaining two men found her armpits, and started fucking them. Jennifer’s white flesh poured out of the gaps between their fingers as they humped and thrust and rapaciously exploited every single inch of her chest they could get at. They jabbed erections into her nipples, humping in at her breasts like they were pillows.

“Ohhh! Ohh! Ohhhhh!” grunts and curses in German erupted into the air as their cocks were swallowed by her bulging mass of titflesh.

It was nearly impossible for all five of them to fuck her at once, but they tried, and finally found a solution.

Two fucking her pits from the front. Two fucking her pits from behind. One railing her slippery cleavage.

Then they rotated players, moving with the balletic coordination of footballers executing plays, so that everyone got a chance with her breasts.

And Peter just sat and watched with great interest.

“You like zat?” One of the players sneered at him as he slammed his cock straight into Jennifer’s nipple, causing her boob to collapse inward. “Ziss the type of stuff you into, huh? What kind of pervert is you, man?”

Peter didn’t respond as his client as she was gangbanged by the entire football team. His bruised face seemed introspective. Thoughtful. As though waiting for something to happen.

After a final handful of strokes between Jennifer Love Hewitt’s mountainous tits, Seb howled a long cry of pleasure and started to cum between her cleavage.

“AHH! I’M CUMMING! I’M CUMMING IN YOUR BOOBS!”

One by one, the others roared in disgusting, dirty completion. They pulled their cocks out and jerked them off, spurting cum all over Jennifer’s’s hair, the sides of her face, and her shoulders. Several dozen thick wads of cum blasted over her, drenching her yet again in male seed.

“YEAHHHH! I’M CUMMING!” “Uhh…Uhhhhh…YEAH!” “GROSSE TITTEN!”

Jennifer Love Hewitt was utterly plastered. Overlapping crisscross strands were blown over her face, her hair, her neck, her chest.

The giggled cruelly, cockslapped her a few more times, then pulled up their pants.

The five players strutted away, giggling and joking in German, one of them making a point of stepping on Peter.

“Just wait…” he murmured. “Just wait…”

And after a few moments, their swagger had changed.

It was now more of a stagger…

“Irgendwas stimmt nicht!” Mathias Gruber wiped a hand over a sweaty face. “Mir ist schlecht!”

Lukas was about to call his goalkeeper a pussy, but suddenly, he feel entirely well himself.

The room was blurring. Sudden heat and chills rushed over him in interleaving patterns. Sharp pains knifed out from his prick and testicles.

Then Tobias Hofer keeled over, clutching his stomach as it heaved.

“Ich muss mich gleich übergeben!” he bawled.

And seconds later, he made good on his threat, spewing his lunch all over the freshly swabbed floor.

Just then, a nurse hurried into into the outpatient room.

Jennifer squawked, looking around for something to cover her sperm-splattered nakedness.

“Peter, can you clean me off with those wet rags?”

“I don’t think that’s an altogether good idea…” he murmured…

The nurse wasn’t even looking at the cum-covered actress, or the five Austrian men puking in the hallway. She only had eyes for the bucket.

“There is is! I’m so glad I found those toxin-soaked bandages!”

She lifted up the bucket, to reveal the three interlocking yellow discs. The symbol for medical waste.

“If someone had gotten it inside their body, the consequences would be too terrible to contemplate!”

She glared at Peter. “Nobody did though, right?”

“Not that I know of,” he said, as an Austrian footballer retched in the background.

* * *



The five Austrian players ended up in hospital.

This time, it wasn’t an act.

They each suffered severe anaphylactic reactions to a toxic metallic compound that had entered their bodies somehow. It was unknown exactly how it had gotten inside them. If they knew, they refused to say.

The X-ray technician who scanned them noticed odd buildups of metal sludge in the tissue around their penile glands, subdermal to the urethra.

If he drew any conclusions from this, he kept them to himself.

The five athletes painfully convalesced over several weeks. Finally, they were discharged, and decided to take the first plane home.

“Da fook?” Lukas Bauer blanched at the number of zeroes on the hospital bill.

“Welcome to America.”

* * *

Otherwise, things ended well for everybody.

Jennifer got to pay her tax debt. The Touch of Love foundation got to exist for another day. The Austrian government agreed to let bygones be bygones in exchange for a mere multibillion dollar nuclear arms treaty exclusion from NATO. Peter’s retirement drew one day closer—to him, this was the best outcome of all.

“I can’t believe you wiped toxic sludge on my boobs!” Jennifer whined after the Touch of Love check cleared.

“Buckets of hospital waste!” He laughed, cracking open a beer. “What can’t they solve?”

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand…” Jennifer said.

I’m sure we can find one or two more things, if we look hard enough.

“…Why didn’t I get sick?” Miss I Know What You Ditz Last Summer was in an uncharacteristically reflective mood. “It got on me, just the same as them.”

“Because, unlike them, it didn’t get inside your body. Your boobs protected you, ironically enough. I’m just glad none of them tried to put their dicks in your pussy or anything. I’m not sure how I would have stopped that. That stuff was nasty.”

“Yikes!” her eyes were Bambi-wide. “Do you think it would have killed the sperm on my breasts?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m still not convinced that being titfucked can’t get you pregnant.”

END