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My name is Jeff. My wife Millie is the joy of my life. She’s sweet and giving and funny and loving and as devoted as she can be, and I can’t imagine life without her. The only thing that ever bothered me was that Millie didn’t realize how beautiful and sexy she is. That may not sound like a big problem, but it is. Or was… Millie is what you call a “big-titted plumper,” and a more gorgeous specimen of plumperhood you’re not likely to see. Imagine this: Shining brown hair in a short pixie cut, flawless skin like fresh cream, a sweet round baby face with cute dimples, huge blue eyes, full, kissable lips, and a cute little cleft in her chin. Add to that: Full, broad, curvy hips, a big, round, perfect, grabbable ass, plump and shapely arms and legs, pretty, chubby little hands and feet, a softly rounded but not fat belly, a relatively small waist giving her thar delicious “hourglass” look– And the biggest, most beautiful, and most outrageously sexy tits in the world. I mean that last. I’ve been looking at plump women, fat women, big-titted women, and so on, in magazines for 20+ years–and I’ve never seen a pair to equal Millie’s. Her tits are 58-HHHs, to start with. And no, you CAN’T imagine what that means. They’re beautiful, creamy-white, and just enormous. Without a bra, they sag a good bit, but that just makes them even more sensual and delicious. Any big tit lover knows exactly what I mean. They’re huge and heavy and full and long and pointed, like pale, blue-veined, soft, oversized footballs. Plus, Millie’s incredible nipples look like big, fluffy, pink funnels; her aureolae are five inches across and cone-shaped, with fat, rubbery tips more than an inch long. Those big knobs of hers are tender and delicate, with dark-blue veins visible beneath the pale-pink skin–and when she gets excited, they don’t crinkle up and get hard. They SWELL, and turn a darker pink, and her nipple veins throb. When Millie’s hot, her knobs look like a teenager’s “puffies,” but as big as your fist–and her titty-tips stick out a full inch and a half, all stiff and twangy like Vienna sausages. I get a hard-on just thinking about them. She has to wear industrial-strength bras, of course, but even then you can sometimes tell through her clothes when her nipples are erect. When she’s braless, you can see them from across the street even when they’re not. Millie’s clothes were the biggest part of the problem. She was always so convinced she was “fat and ugly”–or “fatandugly,” as she used to say it, as if it were one word–she never wore anything but frumpy, shapeless old-lady dresses, muumuus and caftans and dumpy-looking housedresses. All her nightgowns were flannel and floor-length, and boring as hell. I was grateful she liked to make love naked with the lights on. At first, that was about the only time I got to see her that way, then and when we showered together…Um. Sorry. I just started thinking about how Millie shivers and squeals when I soap up those big nipples, and my mind drifted for a minute. We always end up fucking on the floor of our big shower stall, with her squatting over me with her slippery, squeezy pussy tube milking my dick and her amazing tits bouncing and swinging in my face…Um. Drifting again. Jeez, this is going to take me a long time to write. Anyway. I had always told Millie how I adored her body just like it was, how perfect and sexy and HOT she was, how I wouldn’t trade her for any bony, skinny supermodel in the world, and so on; but she never quite believed me. She always thought I was just being kind, and she never quite figured out why I married her in the first place. She told me more than once she knew I thought she was “disgusting,” and no matter how I argued with her or reassured her or sang her praises, she stayed convinced that she was “fatandugly.” Millie’s dad used to put her down and call her names (the bastard), and she just never got over it.It took some planning and a ankara travesti little trickery, but now she gets it. Here’s the story. It started with a card game…Card games mean a lot to us. We’re pretty much stay-at-home types–partly because Millie is so self-conscious about her size, but mostly because we just prefer each other’s company and like to be alone together. And one of our favorite activities is poker. Many couples have problems when it comes to dividing the chores, but we never do. We play poker for them. Not this nutty new “Texas Hold ‘Em” stuff, but plain old draw and stud poker. It’s fun; “I’ll see your vacuuming the house, and I’ll raise you washing the windows,” and like that. (That was a big bet, and Millie won, too. Ace high flush. Pissed me off. I had a straight to the queen.) We started doing it early in our marriage after a big fight over whose turn it was to change the cat’s litter box. We both liked to play, like I said, and it was dull to play for matches or chips anyway; so playing for chores quickly became a routine. We don’t just play for chores. We also play for “forfeits,” having to do stupid or embarrassing or sexy stunts for each other’s amusement. Doing my chores wearing one of her dresses, Millie peeling grapes and feeding them to me, getting the mail (out at the street) in our underwear, and like that. The forfeits were often, even usually, sexual in nature, and the more we played, the more that was true. Before long, sex was pretty much all we played for. I’d have to walk around the house all day with my bare dick hanging out–no small matter, if I do say so; when I’m hard, I have about nine inches of meat that’s almost five inches around–or jack off in front of her till I came. Or Millie would have to watch TV without moving with her vibrator up her pussy, or go to the Mall wearing a wool sweater over a bra with the nipples cut out of it. (The prickly, itchy fabric rubbing her huge. bare, sensitive knobs drove Millie crazy, and when we got home we fucked like bunnies on amphetamines.) Millie hated it when I made her show herself off, but it was part of the game and she insisted on paying off her bets. Once I made her push two peanuts across the living-room floor with her enormous nipples, crawling on her hands and knees in nothing but her panties. She bitched and moaned and fumed and complained, but by the time she was done we were both laughing–and fiercely turned on. (Bunnies on speed again.) Dragging her fat faucets on the carpet had done it. Those big knobs of hers are not only incredible to look at and play with and suck on, they’re also like starter buttons for her pussy. Sex was never a problem in our marriage; we both loved it. It was just the way Millie dressed and felt about herself. Anyway, the rules of our poker games are simple: after who is doing what chores is settled in the first dozen or so hands–sometimes just two or three, if the hands are good and the betting is hot–we start playing for forfeits. With each round of betting, the bets get more outrageous. If you stay in and lose, you have to do the last one you bet against, and if you fold you do the last one before that. The ante, or opening bet for both of us, is always the same; oral sex. If Millie drops out after the deal, she owes me a blowjob, to be performed on command. If I fold first thing, I have to eat her pussy. That happens often enough in every game, and we usually start the week owing each other six or seven cocksucking and muffdiving sessions each. Here’s an example from a few weeks before the fun really began, and an important one, as you’ll see. It was a stud game, five-card; one down, four up, no draw, with a round of betting on each card after the first two are dealt. At one time, before “Texas Hold ‘Em” became fashionable, it was THE big-money game for professionals. No draw, no wild cards, just straight-up poker. On the night I’m thinking of, in the first hand ankara travestileri after the chores were assigned. I dealt myself a Queen down and a Jack up; Millie had an ace showing, which meant it was her bet. She opened with her usual first bet after the ante: “You have to eat me ‘no-hands.'” (That meant with my hands behind my back. A challenge, but hardly a painful loss.)I countered with my own usual first bet: “Blow me naked and blindfolded.” “I call,” Millie said. That meant the round was over, and those were the stakes so far. I dealt two more cards. Millie got a ten, and I drew a Queen to match my hole card. She was still high. “Jack off till you shoot while I watch,” was her bet. She loved to watch me do that. “Dance naked while I do it,” I said. If I lost at this point, Millie would remain fully dressed and just watch me masturbate, probably with a bowl of popcorn like it was a movie. If she lost, I’d have some suitable entertainment while I did it. She’d be embarrassed and resentful, but she’d do it anyway. These were pretty common bets for us. “Do it on the back patio,” she said. She was raising me. I wondered if she had another ten, or worse, an ace, as her down card. I doubted it was an ace, or she’d have bet more heavily in the first round. A pair of tens, then. I was holding a pair of Queens. Lookin’ good.”Ditto,” I said. Millie’s big blue eyes got even bigger; dancing naked outside would be hard for her. “Call,” she finally said. Another card. A lousy four for me, no help for my Queens. Millie grinned at her card–another ten. This could be trouble. “Air blowjob,” she said. “One hour.”That would be sweet torture. She’d kneel in front of me and just tease my dick, acting like she was about to suck me–blowing on it, kissing the air and flicking her tongue a millimeter away without actually touching it, opening her mouth and actually putting it over my dickhead, warming it with her hot breath, then pulling away before she actually made contact. I was forbidden to touch myself, and Millie could keep it up for ages. What made it hellish–besides looking at her beautiful round face, her heavenly lips and sparkling, teasing eyes–was that every now and then, with no warning, she’d actually lick me or suck on my dickhead for a split second, or plant a big, sloppy wet kiss on it–and them go back to teasing. And worse, sometimes she’d keep her mouth on me and slurp and suck and work on my bare dickhead till I came–and then she’d either keep sucking and slurping on it while I spurted in her delicious mouth, or she’d cruelly pull back at the very second I started to cum and leave me helplessly shooting my wad in the air as she giggled and watched. The uncertainty and the anticipation we’re what made it torture. The sexual tension was unbelievable, and I’d get so hard it hurt–an hour of that treatment would have me begging for release–but sometimes it was so good I’d almost pass out. I never knew what Millie was going to do. I loved it and hated it, both. She smiled wickedly. “Why does that bet always make you sweat?” she whispered, then licked her lips seductively and blew me a kiss. I grinned back at her. “You know why, you big-titted bitch.” She laughed and shook them for me. I had recently at least convinced her that her huge milkers weren’t “disgusting,” and she had grown to enjoy teasing me with them. “So, Jeff; call, raise, or fold?” she asked with a confident smirk. I still liked my pair of Queens. In five-card stud, it was a very good hand. “Call,”I said. Another card. A six for Millie, and the jackpot for me: another Queen. Now I was high, with a pair of Queens showing and a third one in the hole. I made a big show of thinking hard. I finally said, “Dance naked on the patio in nothing but oil–and with your pussy shaved bare.” Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me. This was a very big bet. I had bet her a pussy shave before, but I had never won one. It usually travesti ankara made her fold. Millie looked at my cards suspiciously. “You’re bluffing,” she finally said. “Those Queens are all you got, cowboy, and they ain’t good enough. Air blowjob for two hours–and I do it topless.” she sat back with a smug expression on her cute baby face.She had the three tens, then. Good. I was glad I was going to win; what she had just bet would have been agony for me. “Call,” I said. It’s a good strategy in poker to be known as a bluffer. Then, when you really have the goods, your sucker (so to speak, heh heh) will stay in. Last card. Nothing of consequence; a nine for Millie, a seven for me. My bet again. “Everything you’ve already bet,” I said, “plus you keep your pussy shaved bare for a whole year.” I was wearing my best poker face; I looked like I was trying not to show that I was bluffing. She fell for it like a ton of tits. “Hah! You keep trying, but I’m not buying,” she laughed. “Call.” She flipped over the third ten. “Tough shit, Jeff.” I flipped over my third Queen. Her big eyes bugged out, and then she glared at me. “DAMN it!” she fumed. “I was SURE you had another Jack under there!”. That would have given me two pair–a good hand, but not good enough. I grinned. “Another hand?” I asked insinuatingly. “I think I’m far enough in the hole already,” she said, still glaring. “In the hole? But that’s where I’M going to be,” I said. We looked at each other for a moment–and then she burst out laughing, and I did too. One of the things I love about my Millie is her sense of humor. She can always laugh–even when she’s embarrassed, resentful, and pissed off, like then. I stood up. “C’mon, Big Tits. Time to pay off that bet.” I beckoned with one finger, and Millie rose and walked ahead of me into the bedroom. I noticed her pretty hands were quivering as she undressed. I knew her well enough to know exactly what she was feeling; embarrassment and doubt about how she looked naked, and a fierce excitement that maybe, somehow, for some reason she didn’t understand, I’d still get hot and horny looking at her. It thrilled her, but she still didn’t get it. We had only been married a few months–she was 20 and I was 24–and life together was still new for both of us. When she was naked, I had her lie down on a towel I’d spread on the bed and pull her knees back and wide open. We both knew I’d have to be the one to shave her pussy. Her tits were so huge she had trouble even seeing it without a mirror. I looked at her and grinned as she looked up at me over those huge tits, her face pink. Such a beautiful sight, my sweet, fat Millie, buck naked and spread wide open. In a few minutes she would look even better. My cock was already hard, but I got harder thinking about it. “Well? Let’s get this over with,” she said. I went into our bathroom and got my own electric shaver. I flipped open the trimmer and sat down between her legs, grinning. This was going to be fun. As Millie waited patiently, I clipped her pussy hair–already thin and sparse–to a short stubble. Then I used the regular shaving head to remove that. I shaved her plump, pale mound baby-smooth, then pulled and stretched her skin to clean up all the stray hairs around it and especially between her soft, chubby outer lips. When I was done, her sweet, plump, pale crotch was as bare and white as a peeled egg. I sat back and admired my work. My Millie was barer and more beautiful now than I had ever seen her.She looked up at me, her face pink, her eyes half-closed and smoky-hot. Her big nipples were swollen to softball size and glowed a hot pink, with tips that stood out stiffly, bigger than her thumbs. I grasped them in my fingers and tugged lightly, twisting. She was already breathing hard, and at my touch she gasped and bit her lip, eyes closed. “Oh, Jeff–“I clenched my fists on her huge, swollen aureolae, crushing them in my fingers like I was squeezing oranges. She gasped and hissed and rolled her pussy up at me. I twisted them back and forth, and she groaned, “Oh, God, Jeff–Oh, God, milk me off–” That was what we called it when I abused her tender knobs till she came from that alone.
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