The facility you operate out of has few intruders this time of year. While there could be a few errant backpackers or lost tourists stumbling upon your grounds in the fall, the blazing temperatures and absence of cloud cover during the summer months keep most unwanted interlopers in their homes. You appreciate the privacy this kind of weather brings, especially today of all days.
Four small fans rage against the heat within the stuffy monitoring room you spend most of your work hours within. You finish off the bottle of depressingly temperate water and let your eyes wander from screen to screen. The footage shows nothing but chain link fencing, the beaten dirt path that acts as a crude driveway, and some wildlife skirting the wall of massive pine trees that enclose the area.
The intercom crackles. Your heartbeat quickens as you pull up the vehicle coming in from the east gate on the main screen. The caller’s voice sounds small and tinny through the mess of static.
“Hello? This is, uhhh, Amanda Wellsworth from Gator Industries. I’m here to pick up the package we discussed earlier.”
Her voice is clearly forced a few octaves lower, like a child trying to sneak into an adult movie. You study her face the best you can through the remote camera’s smudged lens– a cute blue-eyed blonde with her hair done up in two fist-sized buns. Her hair style changed but there’s no mistaking her features. Considering how little effort she put into her disguise, she must not think this mission is particularly dangerous.
Saying nothing, you reach over to the panel on your right and flip up two heavy switches. The main gate buzzes harshly and the twelve-foot-tall grid of rusting iron bars slowly roll aside.
As you wait for her car to pull in, you mull over the coming confrontation. The true identity of the woman cruising up your driveway is Amelia Watson; she’s an accomplished private eye and something of an eccentric based on what you’ve researched about her past cases. You’re not privy as to why she needs the satellite guidance system you have locked up in storage, but her motivations don’t matter much. As long as that product has value to her, you’re right where you need to be.
You flick through the other security cameras. She’s definitely alone and backup would take over an hour to get here from the nearest major city were she to sound an alarm. The x-rays and metal detectors she unwittingly subjected herself to during the conversation at the gate didn’t pick up any weapons either. Still, you want to keep this from coming to blows; her capability in hand-to-hand combat remains unknown.
Ame’s tires crunch up the driveway over piles of dying pine needles and loose gravel. A few moments later, the heavy steel door at the entrance swings open and she confidently steps inside. Her attire raises your eyebrows.
Foregoing her usual wear, Ame is decked out in what you could only describe as the matrimony between an auto mechanic's work garbs and an astronaut suit from the 80’s. A full jumpsuit of cotton and other synthetic material covers everything from her neck all the way down to an off white pair of lace-up boots. Colorful cloth emblems of various mechanical and electrical conglomerates are sewn onto her chest and arms.
Most enticing, the heavy clothing fails to adequately conceal her underlying curves. Her fat tits and shelf of an ass push obscenely against the fabric and allude to the hourglass figure below. Though the effect is dampened from the folds of her outfit, she still seems incapable of taking a single step without something jiggling.
There’s also a faint aroma that follows her inside and slowly floods the air space. The source is immediately obvious since, in addition to the beads of sweat dripping off her face, you notice her outfit is stained with huge patches of dark gray sweat radiating from her under her arms and between her thighs. If you hadn’t just watched her drive in, you would have though she ran all the way up here with such a disheveled appearance. Even now she’s fanning herself and wiping her brow on the back of her sleeve.
Ame ignores your blatant stares and scans the small room’s dimly lit rows of metal shelving for her objective. The functional storage space of this unit is relatively small, so much of its inventory is packed together into a near solid wall of merchandise. She stops in front of shelf C22 and starts tugging on a certain gleaming cylinder. It comes free with a sharp screech that you feel in your teeth. Cradling the package with both arms, Ame gingerly sets it down on a table in the room's center. A single, hissing fluorescent light beams down on her work.
“Okay! I’ve gotta run a few checks on dis before I take it off your hands,” she says, palming the device’s exterior casing. Her voice remains as hilariously fake as the exchange on the intercom, though it’s dipped into a parody of a Boston accent now. She looks at you and twirls her finger in the air. “Ay, we got a fan or something in here? It’s frickin’ hot!”
You shake your head. The cords for the fans in your office run about two feet, and there’s no outlets near where she’s working. You prepare your follow-up explanation on how running any kind of air conditioning overloads the pitiful power grid your outpost has access to, but Ame only sighs and rubs her neck.
Her voice sounds much more natural the next time she speaks. “Fine, whatever. I need to air myself out anyway…” Her gloved hand finds the zipper nestled below her collar and, after a sharp tug, starts unzipping the entire front face of her jumpsuit. Your eyes follow the small piece of metal the entire way down, watching it veer dramatically when it has to climb up and down the imposing summit of her massive rack.
You find yourself without words as her curvaceous body slowly unpacks itself. Ame’s enormous sweaty melons seem to burst from behind the zipper, immediately flopping free and held back only by the tight wrappings of a deep black tube top that looks two sizes too small for her measurements and much too risque to be viewed outside the intimacy of her bedroom. The flimsy garment offers next to no support for the several pounds of titflesh weighing it down and leaves Ame’s heavy breasts sagging and jiggling against her ribcage. With the right lighting, even the shallow bumps of her nipples can be read clearly against the sheer material.
The zipper continues its journey down her body. When it slides down the rest of her torso and reaches her belly button, she’s able to sway her shoulders and wiggle her arms free of the long heavy sleeves. As her clothing falls to her sides, the entirety of her shoulders, chest, and tummy are bared. Every inch of exposed skin is slick with sweat, and faint clouds of steamy musk drift off her body, especially dense around her armpits. You can only imagine how long that scent has built up under there.
“Whew! There we go.” She smiles and raises her arms above her head in a luxurious stretch. You watch the twin mounds of fat on her chest rise as well, and her breasts nearly break free from her top.
Then it hits you. A sudden wall of musk, thicker than the humid summer air simmering outside, punches into your nostrils. You exhale sharply and cover your mouth– an automatic response to such a strong odor– then tentatively breathe back in. The aroma that Ame’s been fermenting under that jumpsuit packs a wallop, dense with the sour tones of sweat and body odor, though there are the lightest hints of coconut shampoo and vanilla body wash. The last two were likely remnants from her last bathing experience…however long ago that was. You sample the air again and find yourself unable to stop. In a word, it’s intoxicating.
Meanwhile, Ame is busy re-examining the casing. She pauses. Attached to the side is an electronic lock with a small LED screen and keyboard, prompting sixteen alphanumeric characters. The amateurish fit suggests the lock was attached manually a short time ago; this was definitely not part of the original manufacturing. Ame turns to you with dawning comprehension.
You don’t need to say anything to establish the new rules of engagement. In one hand you display a copy of Ame’s official detective license and ID, the other holds a folded up piece of loose leaf paper strategically revealing a few characters of the passcode. Ame’s eyes flit between the two articles and an unspoken understanding passes through the room.
She brushes her sweaty bangs behind her ear and clicks her tongue. “Alright, alright, you got me. I’m not just a mechanic, I’m a detective!” She’s dropped the vocal charade entirely now. “Nice investigative work for a grunt. Let’s cut to the chase; how much do ya want?”
She starts rummaging through her hip pocket, presumably looking for a wad of cash or a checkbook, but you hold up your hand. Money was never your objective. Money was not why you spent eight months of your life tracking Ame’s dealings, trading with info brokers, and securing the critical piece of equipment she’d need to finish her project from a black market dealer in eastern Europe.
You tuck both articles back into your pockets and explain your terms, reciting them as you had many times in the silence of your living quarters in the dozens of weeks leading up to today. As your “modest” list of demands draws to a close you watch Ame’s face meander through surprise, disgust, and quiet disdain. At the end of it all, however, she looks almost relieved. Considering the leverage you hold, she might have been prepared for much worse.
Ame lets your requests hang in the air, continuing to regard you as she would a sickly rat that stumbled from the sewers, then slumps her shoulders. For a terrifying moment, you hallucinate a flash of gunmetal in her right hand and brace for the cold shock of a bullet slamming into your chest…but your fears are unfounded. She accepts your terms.
“Okay, deal. All I have to do is, uhhh, “drain you dry”, right? Easy! But hurry up, I‘m on a tight schedule, you know?”
With no hesitation, she raises her left arm. You only managed a glimpse before, but her compliance gives you free reign to stare deeply into her sweaty, steamy pits. You're able to make out the finer details of her armpit– the subtle intersections of fat, muscle, and skin. A bit of stubble does its best to trap her perspiration, but there’s way too much built up at this point to be effective.
As you close in, you realize the smell pouring from her armpits is much stronger now. It's almost intimidating.
Ame taps her foot. “Yeah, yeah, what did you expect? I’ve been driving for hours in the sun and the car I rented didn’t have working A/C! I didn't even bother with deodorant cuz it wouldn’t do anything in this heat.”
You plunge face first into her pit, pressing your nose deep into the center. With a strong inhalation from the chest, you pull in every molecule of the detective's stench. The smell rushing up your sinuses is insane, nearly taking you off your feet with the sour, salty concoction of feminine musk borne from all the hours of her travels. Those lingering hints of fruity or flowery aromas are obliterated now that you’re nose-deep in the source of her eye-watering pheromones. You breathe deep once again, huffing her heady stink like a respirator while fat pearls of sweat fall down her under arm and patter against your face.
While you navigate your nose across the slick surface of her armpit, Ame stays professionally composed. Though small laughs or grunts of discomfort occasionally sneak by her lips when you slide across a particularly ticklish area.
Your tongue joins the assault shortly after. Flattening against her sweat-drenched pit, you laboriously drag your wet muscle up and down, tongue-bathing her like a human squeegee and relishing the subtle texture of her stubble running across your taste buds. Glistening sheets of sweat collect on your tongue with each pass and you can feel Ame shiver uncontrollably as you work into every inch of her balmy unwashed crevice. Your saliva glands work overtime to counteract the bevy of natural salts smothering your tongue and sliding down your throat.
“Really, tongue and everything?” Ame says both impressed and grossed out by your dedication. “I mean… I haven’t taken a shower this week, so I guess this’ll have to do...”
Only when her armpit is completely licked clean courtesy of your eager tongue do you back up and take a full breath of air. Her armpit is lightly gleaming with your spit, but otherwise probably the cleanest spot on her body. Ame doesn’t bother to hide her irritation when your eyes meet again.
Recalling your next request, Ame drops to her knees, turns around, and positions her right armpit next to your crotch. You note how her incredible rack bounces on the way down and lose a few seconds staring down her cleavage, wondering how much sweat must have built up in there. There would be time for that later.
You unbuckle your pants and let your heavy, rapidly hardening cock flop out to rest on her shoulder. Ame faces away but says nothing. With a few quick pumps (and a few rubs against her soft cheek) you're up to full mast and you slowly force yourself between her upper arm and torso, plunging deep into the warm, sweaty pocket of her armpit. The head of your dick peeks out the other side and Ame responds by nervously shuffling her arm. You had your doubts about how this strange method of penetration would feel, but this is already surpassing your expectations.
Ame’s voice wavers when she finally speaks up. “S-so do you just leave it there or-?”
You interrupt her questioning by pulling your hips back and thrusting back in. The sound of your shaft squelching through her sweaty armpit is surprisingly obscene, and Ame seems taken aback by the sensation. You steadily up the pace, gripping Ame’s shoulder for support while you piston in and out of the blonde’s musky, unwashed pitpussy in earnest. While you can’t properly appreciate the smell from up here, it’s more than worth the trade from the sensation of your cock sliding within her pit’s tight embrace. Her upper body swings with yours as you recklessly plow forward, slathering your shaft with more of her sweat and making an increasingly sloppy show of her underarm.
Ame’s stupidly fat tits are so big that, depending on the angle of your thrust, the head of your cock will occasionally smack into her sideboob on the follow through. Sweat droplets dance on her cleavage as you rapidly saw your cock under her arm like you’re trying to start a fire. After a couple dozen pumps, your frantic armpit fucking has loosened her tube top enough to show off the faint pinkish color of her areola. The additional visual stimuli combined with Ame’s frustrated growls is enough to force you over the edge.
“Hey, watch the merchandise!” Ame shouts, noticing the twitching of your cock. Understandably, she doesn’t want any jizz to end up on the delicate satellite components. “Don’t just blast it all over the place!”
She clenches down hard with her right arm to make her point. You pull back just in time, keeping the head of your cock buried deep in her sweaty armpit as a powerful orgasm bloats your urethra and drowns the stuffy interior of Ame’s armpit in your semen. The sheer volume instantly spurts out from the front and back of her pit, though not with enough force to travel more than a few inches away from her body. Ame clenches again, trying to keep your cumshots in check, and inadvertently milks another load from your spasming member. You stand on shaky knees as the final shot surges through your cock, basting Ame’s already overstuffed armpit with your seed. The warm gooey loads bathe the head of your trapped cock and slowly ooze down her ribcage and underarm.
After you catch your breath and your body finally relaxes, Ame huffs and slowly raises her arm.
The aftermath of your unconventional coitus catches you off guard. Ame’s armpit is caked with thick layers of pearly, slimy cum, half of the loads still lazily dripping down her torso in sticky clumps. Some of it managed to splash near her tits and more still was clinging to the underside of her right arm, forming thick bands of spunk between the two surfaces like hot glue. Ame shivers and plugs her nose as the uncompromising smell of fresh semen hits her senses.
Not bad for an opening act. You take a few steps back and sit down on a small metal bench, making sure to keep your thighs wide open and your crotch easily accessible. Ame, valiantly struggling not to wipe your cooling jizz off her body, reluctantly shuffles forwards on her knees until her generous chest is pressing up against your package.
The deal was to go until your lust was satisfied, so, in practical terms, that meant until your stubborn erection died down for good. It’s starting to set in for Ame that such a win condition would not be easily met.
“Hmph. So you managed to hold out for round two. Not bad, I guess~. Let’s see how you handle these!” Using both hands, Ame hefts up her enormous milk tanks, dripping in sweat, and hovers them over your painfully hard erection. She teases the head with the underside of her breasts, lowering them one centimeter at a time into her firm pillowy cleavage. “You were staring at my chest since I walked in, huh? Coulda made it a little less obvious…”
She pulls her hands away and lets gravity take care of the rest. Her heavy melons slap down into your lap, fully encasing your erection in an avalanche of sweaty titflesh. You can’t even see the tip of your cock beneath her mountainous funbags. Her undersized tube top is doing an excellent job of forcing her tits together, creating the perfect slick crevice to sandwich your member. But she’s just getting started. Ame presses her breasts together with her arms, grinding them over one another and leaving your twitching shaft caught helplessly in the crossfire. From her smug, domineering expression, you sense a shift in the dynamic.
“Heh, what’s the matter?” she asks, now recruiting both arms to steadily lift and drop her tits into your lap. “Sad you’re gonna blow already? You sounded so tough and confident earlier~.” The steady plap of her heavy tits slapping into your thighs makes it hard to think. She looks up at you with those teasing eyes, the hint of pink in her irises glowing brighter as the domination of your manhood ramps up. She leans forward, adding more weight to the wet, messy titjob and soon her entire upper body is working to mercilessly beat your meat.
“Come on!” Ame goads, a wide smile taking over her expression while a spray of boob sweat and precum squirts out below her chin. “Just give up already, you little bitch!”
Your body tenses up. The warmth sliding up and down your cock is too much. Gritting your teeth, your dick twitches and splurts out another impressive geyser of cum on the detective's unguarded body. The first shot smacks against the bottom of Ame’s chin and flies across her face, all the way up to the hair bun on her right side. The rest of your loads only leap as high as her neck, the splatter back down into a deep puddle of cum collecting in her canyon of cleavage.
With some effort, Ame pulls her tits up and frees your dick from their suffocating, cum-soaked embrace. A thick strand of jizz connects your cock head to the underside of her breasts.
“Geh…well that’s over with,” she says, adjusting the bottom of her tube top while a good deal of your seed continues tumbling down her bare stomach. A good amount of cum has started to pool in her belly button. “For future business deals like that, you should specify a minimum time instead.” Ame flashes you a triumphant toothy grin…that immediately fades when she sees your impossibly hard erection staring back at her with the same intensity as before.
“What the heck-uh~! How is this stupid thing still going?” she asks, suddenly seizing your meat with her dainty hand.
You smile. Unbeknownst to her you’d been abstaining for months, foregoing all forms of sexual gratification until the day the world’s greatest detective appeared to relieve your painfully backed up balls. Monks from across the globe would have exalted your dedication to the task. The way your body is now, you anticipate at least another five rounds with the rest of her body before your seed is well and truly spent. Speaking of, a gloved handjob followed by grabbing her messy hair buns and bobbing her precocious head on your cock was starting to sound like an enticing next step.
But Ame has other plans.
Quick as lightning, her hand flicks to your pocket. Before you can even process her actions, she’s on the other side of the room, waving the password-scrawled paper you’d teased her with between her fingers. Her other hand is busy giving you the bird. She unfurls the paper and reads through the previously obscured digits while semen drips off the underside of her breasts:
3 8 A 4 2 X G 5 7 2 K _ _ _ _ _
You take a moment to savor another victory over the busty detective as her mood instantly curdles. Getting to your feet, you explain to her that, unfortunately, the final five characters are ones you memorized beforehand. They exist nowhere on Earth except inside your head. You welcome her to try brute forcing the remaining inputs, provided she has the time to go through eleven billion combinations.
Ame crumples the piece of paper in her fist. There’s a different look about her, a look unable to process the shame of being jerked around by someone as incidental as you during what should have been the easiest leg of her long running project. She strides forward and shoves you against the wall, displaying unexpected strength for someone a full head shorter than you. Multiple orgasms have left your body weak and malleable, and any physical coercion she wants to pull would be plenty difficult to counter in this state.
Instead, Ame only turns around. She bends over, peeling down the bottom half of her outfit (struggling momentarily to get the belts and waistband past her extra wide hips) until her incredibly thick ass and supple, creamy thighs come into view. The high cut panties she’s wearing are nearly swallowed by her butt and are little more than a G-string flossing between her enormous cheeks. She gives them a quick tug down to join the puddle of clothing at her feet. Now bent over and naked from the waist down, Ame looks back over her shoulder. Behind the slick curtain of blonde bangs is a sharp look of irritation. And determination.
“Listen punk, I don't have time to sit here and check off all your weirdo fetishes, okay? We’re doing this my way!”
As though possessed, your clammy hands grab Ame’s hips and drag them back until the head of your cock presses against her plump lower lips. The sweat and precum slathered over your dick should make sliding inside a cinch, but she’s still so damn tight!
“Hurry up-uh!” Ame chides as she slams her hips back and plunges your dick ten inches deep in her warm, wet sex. Her fat ass crashes against your pelvis and wobbles briefly as your cock finds its new home. God, it feels like 50% of her body weight is in her ass. And, amazingly, you’re still not fully inserted because her dumptruck has so much extra cushioning packed onto it. You try to pull back to spread her cheeks, but she’s pinned you firmly against the wall; there’s no room to retreat and Ame is unquestionably in the driver’s seat.
Looking back with a sly grin, sweat cascading down her shoulder blades and lower back, Ame grinds her butt into your lap. The tightness squeezing on your cock is heavenly and she’s barely gotten started. Ame places her hands on the table in front of her for leverage and slowly unsheathes a good half of your cock.
Her next words are high-pitched and mocking.“ ‘Oh no, Ame, please don’t crush me with your big fat butt! I’ll give you whatever you want!’ ” She laughs and drives her ass back, once again slamming the two of you against the wall. She expertly rides the recoil to bounce right off your lap and you watch her cheeks jiggle in slow motion as her ass fat rolls forward. Before a moan can leave your mouth, she sits back to swallow your dick whole.
The wet meaty slaps of her bare skin against yours ricochets off the dank concrete walls, filling the cramped room with the brazen sounds of animalistic mating. The detective's moans reach your ears as well, unable to restrain the pleasure coursing through her.
“Nngh…Shit…you’re lucky my handgun was in the shop when I came over,” Ame pants, her hefty tits flopping out from her tube top and slapping against her chest. “I woulda… ahhn... kneecapped you for trying to pull somethin’ like this!”
Ame’s massive, heavy ass rides you like a wall-mounted dildo. Glistening beads of sweat fly off her huge slappable butt cheeks as they ripple and crash against you. Your dick is squeezed mercilessly inside her, plowing and spearing and reshaping her tight shortstack pussy as she slams her buttocks into your lap for what feels like the hundredth time. You try to regain control of the situation by regripping her hips but you’re only pulled along for the ride. Ultimately, all you can do is follow her lead and hope you don’t die of dehydration before she’s finished with you.
She’s still laughing like a gremlin when your orgasm hits. Your heavy balls clench up and push out every last ounce of pent up spunk in the detective's S-class pussy, filling her to the brim in seconds and backfilling over your shaft in ropey white streams. Hunched over, you grab a strong handful of her fat ass cheeks and desperately thrust into her one last time to completely empty your balls inside.
The room is silent aside from your labored breaths and the fans whining incessantly from your monitoring room.
All energy leaves your body, leaving you panting, sore, and slick with sweat. Ame grinds her ass in your lap to make sure everything's properly milked out, then steps away, letting your flaccid cock flop out and allowing a stream of overfilled cum to spill from her cunt.
Your knees give out and you slump to the floor. Ame, seeing your sorry state, lords over you with her hands on her hips. Despite being naked from the waist down, despite the messy smelly deposits of lumpy semen splattering her armpit, oozing down her stomach, and leaking from her recently pounded snatch, Ame wears an unmistakable look of triumph. “And that’s another case closed. Sorry, but you never stood a chance!” She places one of her bare feet atop your testicles. The faintest bit of pressure makes you wince horribly. “Now, about those numbers…”
Panicking, you blurt out the final digits.
“Thaaank you~!” Ame smiles and skips over to the device. Watching her curves from behind gives a slight rise to your cock, though you’re in no shape to act on it. The electronic lock flashes green and clicks open. She carefully removes it from the casing to give it a quick once-over.
You take a moment to close your eyes and try to regain your strength. At the very least you need to get to your feet. While the “business deal” was concluded and both parties got what was promised, you have no designs to remain in such a helpless position in her presence.
From behind the darkness of your eyelids, something stiff and coarse wraps around your wrists. Ame hums to herself as she finishes tying a sturdy overhand knot to bind your hands behind your back. She does the same to your ankles, taking joy in watching you limply struggle against her work.
“C’mon, I wasn’t just going to let you go,” she says, pulling back on the knot and giving you some solid rope burn. “I’m a good guy, remember? And selling black market goods like this is definitely illegal. I’ll keep you nice and tied up here until the local law enforcement arrives. Shouldn’t be too long.”
Is this not entrapment?, you think to yourself.
The finer details of law enforcement are evidently lost on Ame. After informing the authorities of your location, she walks over to her suit, swiftly stepping into the leg holes and pulling the bottom half up over her still leaking creampie. Then, with a little hesitation, she brings the zipper up to her neck. The drying, crusty load from the earlier armpit fucking and titjob are now fully sealed in against her balmy skin.
“Ech…it’s so warm and slimy~,” she complains while wiggling her arms. “Next time you try to extort someone like this, get a place with some damn A/C and a shower!”
You barely register her complaints as your attention is focused on finding a way out of this bondage. Various options float through your brain. While this rust heap is mostly full of outdated tech, there is a voice controlled emergency line in the monitoring room. With enough volume, you should be able to dial a few amicable suppliers in the area that can pull you out before the cops arrive.
A curious smell pulls your focus downwards, breaking up your escape fantasies. Ame’s holding her panties below your nose, the same ones that spent God knows how long suffering between her fat ass cheeks soaking up every drop of her sweat on the drive down. You start slowly shaking your head as she balls them up and brings them closer to your mouth.
“Open up! Can’t have you screamin’ and cryin’ for help before I’m far enough away~.”
She pinches your nose and, after a bit of useless posturing, you open your mouth. She crams the damp wad of musk-soaked panties in your mouth and watches your eyes wince. The tangy flavors of sweat and pussy juice melt and seep onto your taste buds, informing you that Ame had the foresight to turn her underwear inside out before shoving them in your mouth. You try to wiggle your tongue out of the way but there’s simply no room. The taste is so intense you might as well be shoving your tongue directly between her sweaty unwashed muff.
Satisfied that you’re appropriately gagged (and close to gagging), Ame hoists the device in her arms and heads outside. She was nice enough to leave the lights on on the way out.
As her boots fade into the distance and her car door slams, you rest your head against the wall and breathe precariously through your nose, hoping you won’t end up choking to death on the blonde bombshell’s well worn panties. The cops would be here in about an hour. They probably won’t even bother with getting a search warrant knowing how sketchy this joint looks. Your inventory would be seized and jail time was pretty much a guarantee.
You think back to the events that transpired since Ame opened the door and realize, despite the reckoning of squad cars racing up towards your outpost, you didn’t have any regrets.