A/N: Commissioned by an anonymous patron of the arts.
There were benefits to being a genius artist. Those came in the form of needing no preparation prior to going up on stage or needing practice to maintain one's skill. Not when it came naturally. It was, for all intents and purposes, like knowing how to speak a language. And, in fact, it was not even knowing how to speak a language, but, rather, knowing the rules of a language by heart. Knowing them so well that there was no moment of pause, no struggle with picking the correct words to use.
It even transcended that. The lexicon of that known language was easily not enough to fit in all one would want to, or be able to, say. Then came the opportunity to simply take up the tool utilized in the expression of one's skill, and much like speaking, it came.
Sona had that going for her. She was an astounding musician, and creating music came to her as naturally as talking came to any other person. Unfortunately, there had been a cost for that, and she could not speak. Her inability to use her voice left her feeling as though she was totally foreign to the world. Outside of it, in a sense.
Whereas others would talk and laugh, and would express themselves effortlessly through words, she would only be able to utilize facial expressions, body language and, in the advent of being fortunate enough to be in the presence of a person who could be communicated with, sign language.
That, in and of itself, mounted upon her a great deal of proverbial weight. As though she was not a proper human being, as though she was some alien. No matter where she went, everyone greeted her, and, afterwards, everything, for her, was just listening. Her inability to interact with others was staggering, and it crushed her psyche, bringing her mental state to a new low every single time she found herself attending an event that was not specifically focused on her… After all, when she had to interact with someone else, things tended to not go well.
She was always an observer. A listener. Perhaps she could be seen as a person who would enjoy being spoken to, as she tended to be very animated, whenever in a discussion. She would nod, her face would contort in expressions of confusion, of curiosity, of shock, of joy, and her hands and shoulders would join in. Alas, though, it was simulation. Sona only pretended to be able to engage in these conversations, and, sometimes, she felt like an object that was simply present there.
An audio system, perhaps. A stereo. A pair of speakers that would wail, singing a beautiful, if fundamentally sad song, and then grow silent. Something with their make was wrong, and so they could only do that. They could not create any other sound, much less speech. However, in a world that required speech to function, one who was unable to utilize that tool was lost.
So it was, indeed, in her case, as well. Sona was never truly lost, as she could find her way, yet in a most sour and decrepit sense, she was somehow hidden, somehow obscured. Perhaps lost, to time, for those who had heard her music. For, after all, it was not she, her being, her personhood, that left a mark, but, rather, her songs.
She was simply the vessel through which her music found its way into the world, and people loved her for it. Or, rather, they loved her music. How could she be a person? She said nothing, she never spoke. That took away her ability to be anything more than just a picture in the eyes of those who observed her. It was, almost, as though she was a painting that moved, to some. After all, the vibrant colors of her hair, the fancy dresses that rarely looked as though anyone would wear them, for they lacked the root to reality that bound most outfits, and, fortunately, or not, her body, being so exaggerated that it was, as if, out of a fantasy.
That left her feeling even less human. After all, she looked so unreal, and the only circumstances under which people could observe her were those that had her appearing as such. She was on stage, or on a screen, somewhere far from the normal folk, from those who made up her livelihood. And that left her feeling as though she was not really a person to them… Though it was difficult to either accept or deny that supposition of hers.
Thankfully, it was not all doom and gloom. In Sona's life, there were two things. Everything else and then music. Whilst creating music, whilst playing the etwahl, she was content. No, she was not simply content, she was happy. Great, unbelievable mirth filled her being and made her feel as though she could fly, as though she could reach any place, she could set her mind to, as though she could do absolutely anything she wanted to - and, in truth, that was a very likely possibility.
Those moments, during which she created music, during which she breathed it into the world and made not only her life, but the lives of those listening, truly glimmer, as though they were stars in the night sky. While doing it, she felt it clearly, and knew with certainty, that this was her purpose in life, that this was the meaning of everything that had ever happened to her, and of anything that could and would happen to her.
It would all shape who she was, and, by extension of that, her music.
Yet, as the shows, inevitably, came to their conclusions, and she performed her courtesy, and as she left the stage while the audience roared in cheers and applause, the temporary high started wearing off.
It was not a dark pit, for there was light all around her. Be it in her future, her past, or her present, but it was not this vibrant wonder, this miraculous splendor of her performances. Her joy waned as time passed, and, right before her next show, it would reach an unbelievably great decline, only to be reignited by her music, by being who she was.
And it would repeat itself endlessly. She would play, be charged with wonder, and then, slowly, she would lose it, only to perform once more, and on and on it went, a cycle that left her feeling anything but satisfied.
It meant one thing, that state of affairs, and it was very disheartening. She, Sona, was not actually a person, but, rather, a means of spreading her music to others. Her sheer existence, her only reason for being alive, was her music. If she was not performing, she was fading away into Lethe.
And, so, was she truly a person, she would sometimes wonder, as she lay in bed, as she soaked in the bath, as she ate her meal, as she looked out into the horizon from her home… And the answer to that would elude her. After all, a person was a complex thing, an interesting connection of infinite possibilities and opportunities that had ended up in one way, and it was characterized by a billion million little things that made one exclusively themselves.
Sona was her music. She played music. That was who she was. That was what she was. A music player. She was neither a person, nor music itself, no, she was a player of music. It appeared, to her, at least, that she lacked any agency in the way her life was being lived, for this unbelievable sorrow that hung over her like a blackened storm cloud made it clear that, were she to stop performing, she would truly die, in more than one sense.
Everything revolved around music. Even when she wielded some agency, when she dealt with doing her paperwork herself - for, that was one of the positives of not needing to practice - one had more free time. She enjoyed it, in a strange, unusual manner. It was not something that made her life worth living, it was not something that she could do all day long, but it was, definitely, something that slightly uplifted her, something that momentarily stopped her from thinking of the nature of her existence and its uncanny situation.
She wrote letters. E-mails, to be precise, sending them to all concert halls on the continent, be they as answers to their offers to host a performance of hers, be it as inquiries of her own. She received letters, be they from other musicians or agents, she received letters from royalties and all kinds of people, and, as they all asked things of her, or made suggestions, she found herself wielding the power to say what would happen. To say something, whatever may it be, and that amused her.
Even with all this agency, rooted in writing, she still lacked some things that others would have. It was all just a tad too inconvenient, and things took a lot longer than they would otherwise. No matter who one is, their letters need to first be written, then sent, then received, and, finally, read. If a busy company receives a hundred letters per day, it was very unlikely that all one hundred of them would be read by the same individual, and, so, there was a chance that it would need to be forwarded to the proper person, who would know what to do, or how to answer it.
It was all a mess of bureaucracy and hierarchies, things Sona had never needed to bother herself with, nor had she any reason to truly consider worthwhile. Alas, due to the fact that it was so, money tended to slip between her fingers, and not of her own fault… Maybe not entirely. Her circumstances were one thing, and then her personal disposition towards dealing with people was another.
Could it be that it was her want to believe that others were good? Perhaps. Could it be that it was her lack of desire to deal with such matters? Definitely. Oftentimes, she would not collect the money she ought to have earned from her performances. Other instances would have her getting a lot less. Others, still, were purely bad financial decisions. Why would she need a tub that could house eight people, when she was the only person in her home? That was a question she had not asked herself before making the purchase.
All these things slammed into each other, forming an amalgamation of difficulties on different levels, which had led into a downright dreadful situation. Sona lacked the funds to pay for the concert hall she had selected for her next performance.
That would have brought her far greater stress on any other day, but on this one, which had her feeling particularly dour, as a result of her existential quandaries, she had received a letter. It was, supposedly, a business offer, and, as she had read it initially, she had found herself totally perplexed, even slightly repulsed.
However, after taking a look through her other letters, and noting that the date by which she had to submit the payment for the concert hall, she had tried to wire the amount required, only to find out she was missing a decent portion of the total sum. After a short burst of panic, she had calmed herself enough to consider her options. Naturally, the most vibrant one seemed to be that business offer, for it had been so strikingly outlandish it had left an impression on her mind.
And then she read the letter again:
To the esteemed Sona Buvelle,
Greetings! I would like to remain anonymous, if that is permissible by You,
for the type of offer I would like to make is one that most people, including myself, would want to keep off the record.
I have been a great fan of Yours, lady Buvelle, for as long as I can remember. As soon as I heard of Your performances, I knew I had to attend one and see for myself, as I like to consider myself a patron of the arts. Naturally, I was hooked from the first strumming of the strings. You, lady Buvelle, are an astounding musician, and that much You needn't be reminded.
However, I could not help but take note of another truly incredible feature of Yours, lady Buvelle. Even though I am a cultured individual, as I like to believe, and one who abstains from vulgar activities, as soon as I laid eyes upon You, lady Buvelle, I was stricken.
Thus, I have decided to do this foolish thing that I am now doing. I would like to make a proposition to You, lady Buvelle, and its nature makes me ask of You to forgive me.
I simply need to see them. To feel them, to touch them… Maybe even taste them. And by them, I beg thy forgiveness, I mean Your breasts, lady Buvelle.
You have such an immaculate figure, Your frame is like that of a Goddess of fertility and beauty all together!
I would like to offer You a business adventure, lady Buvelle. In a place of Your choosing, under conditions of Your own choosing, I would like to pay You as great a sum of money as I can legally pass off as a gift, in exchange for the opportunity to fondle Your breasts.
I await Your answer with a bated breath,
Your most floundered admirer!
After reading the letter for a second time, things happened relatively quickly for Sona. Unusually so, in fact. Whether it was because of the unusual nature of this business offering, whether it was because of the words used by the individual on the other side, whether it was because of her dire need for funds, whether it was because of her perceived state of being, equivalent to that of an object fit only for doing one thing, and that kind of offer, to do something entirely different was something absolutely scintillating, or, perhaps, due to the fact she had never truly participated in such an event… She sent a letter back to that most floundered admirer of hers.
And his reply came quickly. The details of it all were quite compelling for Sona. The amount of money, which would have been more than enough to cover the entire cost of booking the concert hall, was a factor. The fact that she would get to pick how it all happened, and he would cover any expenses, was also a factor. Additionally, the fact that he insisted she came up with some kind of safety mechanism, where she would feel comfortable enough doing that kind of thing, really had her considering it.
Such great thought she put into it, that, by the time she was done thinking, her svelte finger was already pressing the Return key on her keyboard… And the letter was sent. The one confirming her agreement to do this thing.
Everything was set in motion. It would happen on the following day, in an incredibly high-quality hotel. He would book the room as soon as he received her email, send her the key via express courier, after which she would go to the chamber in question at a certain hour, during which she had the opportunity to set up her failsafe system. He would arrive an hour later. They would perform their business deal, and he would make his payment to her in person. Afterwards, she would leave first, after an escort driver was called for her, and she would go back home.
The plan seemed solid enough. The opportunity to be recognized, and to then have gossip spread throughout the media, would be low. In fact, she had a big, burly coat just for that kind of situation - whenever she wanted to go places without getting recognized.
That evening, as she took her bath, she looked at herself in the mirror in a different manner. She looked at her body, at this 'immaculate' frame, and wondered what was it that had made him say that?
Her feet were not very big, and it was possible to call them petite, although that would be being generous. The closer to her torso her legs were, the thicker they became. Was it that thickness? It was something that ladies were proud to have, and she, herself, did not find it abrasive, although it did make it difficult to pick out clothing. When keeping her legs together, it had a very pleasant shape, and, even from the front, it was easy to tell that she was plump in that area. Her hips were broad, and her waist thinned out at a rapid pace, as a pair of pursed lips shyly lingered beneath a patch of cerulean pubic hair, which, had she not the habit of trimming, would have reached up to her navel.
Sona's navel would be considered really elegant, but she could not part from the fact that it was just a scar. That made it difficult for her to perceive it as beautiful, but, fortunately for her, it was not that challenging to abstract herself from it, as the objects of her famished fan's adoration hung heavily over her front, and, if she were to slightly bend forward, they easily hid her navel.
Her breasts were massive. The pale flesh of her body seemed to be gentlest and finest there, and as she wrapped her hands around the humongous teats, she noted that the svelte fingers sank into them as though they were handling dough. Each was bigger than her head, and weighed, probably, as much. They were soft and sensitive, and, had she a voice, they would have elicited a moan from her. It was quite something, her bust, as, without even touching her nipples, she could make herself feel all kinds of ways.
The aforementioned spots of darker pink were truly exquisite. She had seen the breasts of other women before, and she had seen their nipples. None looked like hers, which could have been owed up to the sheer mass of her bosom. The cherry-like nubs that would have protruded from her breasts were, instead, sunken into them, resembling slight crevices. Her fingers brushed against her nipples, and she thought to herself just how unusual that aspect of her was. The sensitivity of her bust was beyond any other part of her, safe for the area between her legs, and it was such a prominent feature of hers, that she pondered how it was that only now someone had reached out to her in relation to that.
Sona shuddered as she thought of the future. The next night, someone would be doing this instead of her. She slid her arms down her sides, allowing her breasts to hang down. It was lewd… Or was it? She was not doing anything lewd at the moment, she was simply observing herself. Would it be lewd for her to simply stand there, albeit in the nude? No, actions could have lewdity attributed to them.
Undoing her hair clasps, she allowed her cerulean blue locks to freely descend, flowing down her back. Their golden tips were always fascinating to behold, even to her. For that to be naturally such… It was so unusual. Thinking of it always left her wondering how come she was so unusual, and, comparatively, so unique? Perhaps, though, she was wrong in the assumption that she was that unique, or, maybe, other people were about as unique as her, though in different ways.
She licked her lips and observed her face. A sharper frame that could almost appear threatening, were it not for the elegance that it radiated, in conjunction with her fine features. Big, sapphire-like eyes peeked from under her bangs in a naturally coquettish way, and her nose served as a fine, symmetrical separation of them.
As Sona bathed, she could not stop herself from pondering why, it was, that she had agreed to this… And why, it was, that she found herself excited.
She whisked by the reception, huddling closer into the collar of the large, uninspiring coat. In its pocket jingled the key to the door, its sounds drowned out by the furious beating of her heart. It felt as though it was about to burst from her chest, and the only thing keeping it there was the weight of her breasts, holding it down.
Sona was going through with it. She had been unable to think of anything else. Her entire day had been consumed by the concept of what she was about to do. Of what she was about to allow someone else to do. Someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a total stranger to her.
The failsafe was thought up, and she was ready to set it up. Initially, her plan involved taking her etwahl with her, as it was the best means of preventing anything that she did not want to experience from happening, but, well, it was a large, incredibly conspicuous instrument. Even if she were to put it in a crate and lug it around, it would still be very suspicious.
Thus, she had left it in her home. Even though it would always find its way to her, she knew that there was a period of time that she could spend without it. A day, maybe two… Which was more than enough to go to the hotel, do what she was about to do, and be back home, as if nothing had happened.
But would it truly be nothing that was about to happen? Would it truly have no impact on her life, she pondered as she started climbing the stairs. Sona did not even think about taking the elevator, she just started walking, one step at a time, and it felt far easier than it had ever felt. So lost was she in her mind, that it was almost as if she was floating through a vaguely perceivable realm.
Was she engaging in prostitution? Was she about to do that kind of thing? Could she be described as a common whore, a harlot? Or, maybe, a companion, at this point? Would she like it, or was it going to be the most unpleasant experience of her life? Would she be blackmailed, as a result of doing it, or would she simply forget about it?
She felt as though something inside her was stirring. It was not easily discernible, but it definitely had something to do with her femininity. It was not just her heart that was beating, that was violently pulsating. Seemingly, her blood was flowing far faster, and was far hotter, than it would normally be. In addition to that, there was a strange bit of discomfort in between her legs.
Sona reached the door and pulled out the key. So engrossed was she, that she did not even bother looking around herself, to take note of any potential onlookers. Fortunately for her, there were none who could see her. Her hands were shaking as she battled the lock, finally managing to slide the key into the mechanism and turning it. With a click that appeared unreasonably loud, she barreled into the room and closed the door.
Her breathing was labored. She felt sweat dripping down her body. She took a moment, trying to calm herself down. A large bit of the most frightening part was… Only just beginning. Looking around herself, thinking that getting acquainted with her surroundings was going to help her lessen the stress currently forcing itself upon her, Sona realized that this was one of the most extravagant suites she had laid eyes on.
The floor was covered in carpets of the highest quality, bearing the symbols of Shurima, the walls and ceiling were framed by Demacian Petricite, weaved in the most elegant shapes imaginable, while paintings, created by masters of their crafts, hailing from all corners of the world, gave the already ravishing place a dash of color.
The furniture, and, overall, the feel of this suite was marble and gold. The furniture was colossal and looked as if it could be worth as much as the sum of all profit from a performance of hers. Everything was almost overbearingly kitsch, but it did not cross over that thin line between philistinism and elegance, instead having an astoundingly chic appearance.
Sona was, momentarily, lost in this fantastic sight, only to then be brought back to reality by the collar of the coat. She took it off, figuring that there was no longer a point of keeping it on, and hung it off a golden rack. Her dress, underneath, was almost untouched by the gravity of the situation, and so all the corrections that needed to be made involved patting it slightly, so as to smoothen some chinks out, and pulling at her decolletage, so as to prevent her breasts from spilling out over it… Though, a quiet whisper in her mind told her that this was going to happen, no matter what she did.
She found a mirror to regard herself within. She was… She looked pretty. Looking at herself from the side, she could feel a sense of confidence, an appreciation for her own appearance. The dark blue base of the dress, framed by the tresses of her hair, adorned with segments of sky-blue and gold, screamed grace and style. The red lipstick she had applied looked good on her, it made her lips stick out, it made them appear more... Sensual.
Again, she adjusted her decolletage. Her breasts were incredibly pronounced by this dress, and the deep cleavage on display was, no doubt, going to be truly scintillating for that adoring fan of hers.
She rummaged through the pockets of the coat, procuring what she had brought as means of introducing a failsafe. A panic button, which featured an emitter that would broadcast her location to law enforcement, a video camera of the most discreet variety, and her phone, which had a built-in camera.
First, she checked the status of the panic button. Everything seemed to be in order. She slid it between her sleeve and forearm, obscuring it to an extent that satisfied her. Then, she made her way into the bedroom, where she reasoned the event would occur. Looking at the great, king size bed, she imagined herself splayed on it, in the nude, waiting for something… Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she shuddered at the thought.
There were plenty of suitable places where she could situate the video camera, and so she did. Turning it on, she tried walking around the room, pondering whether or not she could establish if it would be easily discernible for a person who did not know where it was, or that it was even present. It was hard to make out, so she concluded that was ready, too.
Everything was ready. With that observation, she sat down on the edge of the bed, placed her hands in her lap, and started waiting. Naturally, however, as one has nothing to do, while they are waiting, they are prone to start thinking. Sona was no exception - if anything, she had a predisposition to think about things.
Who would her admirer be? Was he even a man? She doubted it would be a woman, frankly, and, with the way he had expressed himself in his letters, it was certainly a male individual. However, what did he look like? How would he approach this situation, now that it was, supposedly, ensured to be going down?
She imagined all kinds of scenarios. An older, affluent man, who walked through the door, or a younger, slightly cocky and brash individual clad in muscles. Or, perhaps, a person who seemed to be nothing outside of the ordinary? It seemed to be possible for that admirer of hers to be anyone. It could even be a vastaya!
The door creaked open, and her heart skipped a beat. He was here. Already?
She grabbed her phone and took a look at the time. No, it was not an 'already', but, rather, a 'finally'. He was more than ten minutes late, and yet she had lost her grasp of time so totally that it seemed as though she had been allowed not a moment longer than she needed to prepare herself physically. Mentally, she felt as though she would prefer jumping out of the window, which was a very inappropriate reaction to a situation which she had agreed to and, purportedly, had full control over.
The man walked in, and she did not really care for his appearance, no matter how paradoxical that turned out to be. He was a shorter fellow, facially uninteresting, past his prime in years, and sporting a bit of a tummy. His flesh was tanned, and that made him look dirty, although his outfit was anything but. It was clear that this fan of hers was a rich man indeed.
"Oh, lady Buvelle, I am simply aghast to see you from so up close!" he exclaimed as he walked into the bedroom, his eyes alight with joy and excitement. He added, "you are absolutely breathtaking, my lady!"
She felt the onset of a blush and fought back the urge to shrivel up and hide herself. It was not just embarrassing, it also made her feel uneasy, queasy even… And yet there was that flush washing over her face, that sensation of amusement, of faint pleasure, as she took in his honeyed words.
He stood there, observing her for a moment longer. His eyes were lecherous, indeed, as he ate her up with just his gaze. She felt him staring at her, or, rather, at her chest. His transfixed contemplation of her cleavage was queer, at least, and downright creepy, at worst. Yet, to his credit, he simply observed.
"You are truly divine, lady Buvelle…" he muttered to himself. "May I call you Sona?"
That was a little surprising, for sure, but she nodded, signaling her agreement. They had defined that she would nod her head, if she were in agreement with whatever offer he was making, or to give a positive answer to a 'yes or no' question, and that she would shake her head to signify disagreement, or to give a negative answer to a 'yes or no' question. Thus, communication could exist, in a sense.
"Thank you, Sona, you are too kind!" His words were filled with glee, as though he was, truly, experiencing the greatest moment of his life… Or, rather, as though he was about to experience the greatest moment of his life. "So, shall we proceed with your safety measures?"
She nodded and stood up, holding her phone in one hand, turning on its camera. Her fan, as adoring and doting as he might have appeared at that moment, could easily do something that would be against her wishes - after all, her situation felt as though it was very compromising - though the fact he was so open to her ensuring her safety was uplifting.
He procured his ID and held it up, next to his face. Sona took a few photos, noting that he was smiling in person, while, in the photo on the document, he looked rather glum. Was this really such a happy occasion, she wondered, and could not shake the feeling that this was somehow wrong, yet that slow dawning of the great joy she was bringing this person made her inclined to consider this act of hers more on the neutral side of things. Neither wrong nor right.
"If that's enough, Sona, may we get to the… Financial side of things? I admit, I am a tad impatient," the old man said, procuring his own phone with his other hand. Sona nodded to him, feeling that heat within her growing more and more potent. Incredibly, she, too, was somewhat excited, and impatient. Be it to get it done with, be it to get paid, or maybe… Just maybe… To do it.
She watched as he navigated to the application of his banking service and could not help but focus on his fingers. Even though they had that strange skin tone to them, tanned old man color, and that made them appear dirty, they were, actually, anything but that. His manicure was absolutely immaculate, and his hands appeared gentle - at least, as he handled his phone, they did. The thoughts of what they would feel as they grasped onto her breasts filled her head, and it was very hard to try and distance herself from them - if only for a moment. After all, this was the business part of it.
"There… Unfortunately, if I were to give you even a penny more than that, I would have to declare this transaction, and you would need to pay tax on it, which would be… Most unfortunate for us, right?" his voice had a lilt to it, and his words seemed to be making it past his lips with difficulty. She took a look at her screen - and, indeed, she received a notification of the sudden influx of funds into her bank account.
That made her, for the Nth time today, recognize the gravity of her situation, with the exception that this was the last. He licked his lips and put his phone and ID in his pockets, looking up at her. Even though she was not all that tall, he was just that much shorter than average, yet she could tell he was probably glad that was the case. His eyes were at the same level as her breasts. She gulped.
"May I… May I proceed?" his fingers twitched slightly as he inquired. Sona was sweating profusely - at least, so it felt. His hands were ready to grab at her bosom, as soon as she gave the sign. He had done his part of the deal, he had given her a really large amount of money, and he was patiently waiting for her permission. If the conditions were not as they were, she could easily have considered him a gentleman, but the context was very important.
Biting her lower lip, she nodded, tensing up as soon as she did so. Her admirer did not waste a single second, making a step toward her and reaching out.
His hands laid down onto the fabric of her dress, and he pushed them against her bosom. It was truly an alien feeling, as, no matter how hard she might have tried to replicate the sensation of being touched, it was always mixed with her touching her own self, of her body knowing those were her hands, her fingers, sinking into her fat tits.
But now, well, now was different. He let out a sigh of relief that would have been better fitting for a person, who had been carrying a ton worth of logs, up a mountain, and had just let go of them having concluded his work. It was so filled with pleasure, so rich in bliss, that Sona felt a pang of jealousy - if only she could sigh like that, she would.
His fingers moved very, very slowly, only pushing the dress' decolletage and, by extension, her breasts, forcing her cleavage to bulge out obscenely, threatening to truly burst. Her nipples were rubbing against the fabric, whilst his palms were moving over them, as though he knew where her sunken nubs were. She raised her hand and placed it over her mouth, and, had she a voice, she, too, would have gasped.
It was nothing short of amazing. Truly, it was astounding. A sensation so unlike anything else she had ever felt before, mayhap due to the situation, maybe due to the fact that her psyche was in such a state, but no matter how she put it, it was amazing. He slightly pushed his fingers, as though he were closing his grip around something, and Sona exhaled loudly.
He appeared to have not heard that, or he completely disregarded it. His fingers were almost pinching her swollen areolae, and she grit her teeth, squeezing her left hand into a fist, as she looked down, observing her bountiful mounds of flesh move in unison with his own motions.
How could it feel that way? How could this be the sensation derived from being groped? Sona breathed heavily, trying to remain as silent as possible, yet failing miserably, while he grasped at her teats with a mixture of gentleness and assertive power. He started kneading them, as though they were dough, pushing them together and rubbing them against one another. It was impressive that her dress' neckline had not given up on keeping the massive mounds of flesh bound.
"This is incredible, Sona!" He exclaimed, slowing down and looking up at her face. The sudden cessation which followed left the blue-haired dame confused. The feeling had been pleasant, and, unreasonably, she wanted it to continue. That flame burning within her truly did require more sustenance, and that sensation appeared to be what could feed it.
He squeezed tightly, and suddenly, forcing the fabric to bunch up. She threw her head back and exhaled loudly, closing her eyes and stumbling into a seated position on the edge of the bed. The movement forced his hands to let go of her breasts, and, as she landed, her bust bounced up and down. One of her nipples peeked over her decolletage.
"I'm terribly sorry, I'm simply too excited!" Exclaimed the man, raising his hands as if to represent his innocence. He then added, "If you so desire, I will stop at once!"
Sona, whose arms had extended outwards so as to prevent her from falling on her back on the bed, raised one and put it over her face, as if to hide herself. This was definitely something unexpected, but, well… It was not his fault that she reacted so strongly to his ministrations. He had paid her handsomely, and he seemed to be enjoying it so much… On top of that, she, herself, was not really hating it.
She raised her hands up to her bosom and placed them over them, covering up her one exposed nipple. It was so sensitive, she could feel its warmth, she could feel her heartbeat through it… She dug her fingers into her neckline and, while shaking her head, pulled it down, allowing her massive teats to spill out. His eyes were alight with wonder as soon as she did that.
"Sona! Oh, oh dear me, Sona!" He wailed as he made a step forward and placed his hands on the sides of her breasts. They were warm, although rough in a very worldly manner. It was not that they were rough, due to the fact that they were simply unpleasant to the touch, but, rather, because he had, seemingly, worked long and hard.
She turned her face to the side, feeling overwhelming shame, yet the pleasure she was deriving from this was totally unreasonable. How could she have done this, exposed herself in such a provocative manner to him? The feeling of her breasts being forced against one another, being played with by another person, was so scintillating, it evidently made her prone to doing things that were not meant to be done… Or so it seemed.
"What supple breasts you have, Sona! Their volume, their weight, how soft they are…" muttered, whether to her, or to himself, the old man, as he moved his palms over her flesh pillows. He seemed entranced by them, and kept talking, "and your nipples, oh, your nipples! Simply divine…"
She might have been facing away, but her eyes were looking directly at her chest, at his hands grasping at her massive teats, and she simply could not tear herself away from that sight. The feeling of his gentle, if a tad coarse fingers, wrapping about her puffy areolas, was making her press her legs tightly against one another.
"They're so shy… Yet so beautiful…" he kept blabbering, his fingertips wiggling their way into the folds of flesh, finding her nipples proper. He poked at them, eliciting even greater, sharper pangs of pleasure, Sona figured, making her grit her teeth in effort to not moan out loud, even though that was an impossibility for her.
She was breathing heavily, feeling as though this was actually not happening, for there was no way anything, other than performing her music, could be making her feel that way. All the emotions rattling about within her simply made her feel as though she was about to collapse, mewling and shuddering in pleasure.
He, too, was breathing heavily. His mouth was ajar, and his hands were shaking. He looked at her breasts, he kneaded them, he played with them, gingerly, enthusiastically, and all the while his eyes glowed like stars. Then, he stopped.
"Sona, I simply can't resist. Please, I will double, no, triple my payment, if only…" He stopped himself, inhaling heavily. He made a step back and licked his lips, looking at her voluptuous body. There was want in his eyes, and he told her, clearly, "Let me fuck your tits."
The tone in his words was vulgar. Vulgar, but not violent, it was simply truly drenched with desire, with lust, with this uncouth wanting. His slightly shaking hands, his wide eyes, the joy in them, but also a great sorrow that was barely noticeable. He was sad that he was asking her to do this, she figured, but Sona…
She was not opposed.
After all, this was… Sex. Or, rather, it was what led into sex. It was foreplay, and she had enjoyed it tremendously, far more than anything else, safe for her performances. That whole topic, for her, was simply difficult. Speech was important, so, so important for a relationship, and even more-so for that type of activity.
Yet, there she was, being asked to allow him… A total stranger… To fuck her tits. That was lewd. That was vulgar, and, simultaneously with that, it was overwhelmingly arousing. The obscenity of it, the fact that she was getting offered payment to do it, the fact that he was begging her… It was all a combination of things that was rarely something that she experienced.
This agency, this pleasure, this control - they merged into a sensation of excitement, of lascivious curiosity. She glanced at her adoring fan, and her eyes lowered… There was a very, very noticeable bulge in his pants. Similarly to how he had licked his own lips, so, too, did she. It had been incredibly nice to have her boobs fondled. Maybe, having her boobs fucked would be even more pleasant?
She nodded.
For a moment, it looked as though he was processing what had just happened. Her lips curled into a smile as she saw his own joyful grin.
"Really? Oh, oh thank you so much!" He exclaimed and shoved his hands underneath his gut, wrestling with his belt. Whilst doing so, he urged, "please, could you kneel on the ground? That would be the most convenient way for us to do this!"
Sona's smile remained on her face, and the flush that framed it only grew more pronounced. Her heartbeat was making her feel slightly faint, and her eyes, so drawn to his crotch, were starting to slightly sting from the intensity of her ogling. She did, however, do as he had asked, and knelt on the ground, in front of the bed.
He pulled his pants down and revealed his cock, which was exceptionally thick and also quite long. Overall, it was a really big cock, or, at least, it looked as though it was, considering how short he was. It had that same color as his skin, though even darker, giving it an even more nasty appearance, and, beneath it, sagged a pair of wrinkly testicles, each as big as an apricot.
He made a step toward her, and she noticed that his cock was painfully erect. It was twitching violently, and it was so long it curved along the curve of his gut, reaching up to where his navel would probably be. She did not know all that much about penises, but that was a very… Impressive member.
Its tip was uncovered, and the slit at the very peak of the taut flesh was oozing translucent liquid. The smell was also quite unlike anything she had sensed before, though, considering her situation, that made sense. After all, that was her first time dealing with such a thing.
"If- If you want me to stop, push me away, Sona, for I doubt I'll be able to hold myself back," informed her fiending fan and grasped her breasts with his hands. It felt different, this time. There was a jitteriness, a sense of urgency, as though he simply could not wait. As if, if he were to tarry, his chance would disappear.
She inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath as he pulled her breasts apart, and then thrust his hips forwards, sliding his cock in between her flesh mounds. He moaned ghoulishly as his hot shaft found itself enveloped by her fat tits, and Sona's eyes widened even further. His cock was so big it peeked out from within her bosom, and that slick liquid oozing from the tip started splattering over her breasts.
"Heaven!" he exclaimed, pushing her massive boobs together, with more force than he had applied before, whilst beginning a frenzied plunging and pulling out of her cleavage. The warmth of his cock, the well-defined texture of it, owed up to the multitude of bulging veins, coupled with the softness of its flesh, finalized by the incredible stiffness created an experience that was outstanding.
His moans and grunts were loud and present, and he was giving it his all. His heavy ball sack slapped against her tits, creating a sound that, while normally disturbing, made her heart skip beats. The flame that roared within her had burned so greatly; it was making her melt. The sweat dripping down her porcelain flesh, the wetness between her legs, the saliva pooling in her mouth - that was sex, or at least a form of it.
Sona liked it. Sona loved it, actually. The closeness with another person, their obvious pleasure and bliss at partaking in this activity, the satisfaction she, herself, derived from it… This was definitely something she was going to want to do again.
His cock was poking out from between her massive tits, now slathered with that slightly sticky, viscous pre-cum, and, if she were a tad braver, she could crane her neck and nod her head down, at which point she would be able to give it a kiss. However, that course of action would have taken her more time than what her fawning fan could give her.
He cried out in pleasure, plunging his cock as deep into her bosom as he could. She thought that it had gotten bigger, for she felt it swelling up. A moment of confusion was washed away by a torrent of thick, creamy, pale-yellow liquid that shot out of his urethra. It splurted out from between her breasts and flew up into the air, only to then fall back onto her tits with a lewd splattering sound.
He moaned and groaned as his whole body shook and he released more and more cum, drenching her massive juggs with his seed. It was hot, and it smelled rank, but that kind of smell, while making her head spin, made her womanhood quiver.
Whether or not she, herself, reached her orgasm, she could not tell. She was drenched so thoroughly by her adoring fan that she needed to take a shower, no matter what, and that meant she had to spend a bit longer than she had anticipated, but, fortunately, the more cordial behavior of this surprisingly fat phallused man returned, and there were no other incidents.
On the way back home, whilst observing the city fly past the vehicle she was riding in, Sona thought to herself that this was something interesting. Something new. Something worth pursuing.