It wasn't in her habits to be trusting, but Jessica agree to meet Jacques Lejus-Dugland at his gallery as soon as her show was over. When she offered him her hand to seal the deal, he covered it with heartfelt kisses of joy, without even attempting to move his lips up her arm or to bump his head against her massive juggs. She was so unused to be treated with passion but without lust that she completely forgot to inquire about what it was exactly that Jacques expected of her as the "pièce de résistance" of his exposition...
That night, she offered a flawless performance on the stage of the Ink & Paint Club. She strutted to and fro, shook her body in the ways men wanted to see it shaken, sang with such a sultry voice nobody could have guessed she hoped dearly this night would be the last one she'd earn her living by pretending she just loved to be mentally undressed by dozens of horny onlookers.
As soon as she was done, she left the building by a side door, where there wouldn't be any ambushed admirers to slow her down. In a few minutes, she reached the address written on the little man's business card: it lead her to a small door, bearing a sign that read "deliveries only", on the side of an old, but not quite decrepit building. Feeling a bit nonplussed, Jessica peeked around the corner: there she saw a much better looking door, obviously the main entrance, brightly lit, with a neon sign that read "Lejus-Dugland, Toon Art Gallery and Museum". Her heart nearly jumped out of her generous chest: it was true! She was about to enter the prestigious world of fine arts! Thrilled and a little scared all at once, Jessica retreated silently to the little side door and knocked three times.
Almost immediately, the door flung open. Jacques looked at her with eyes so bright she almost mistook him for a toon.
"I feared you wouldn't come ! Please, please, enter!"
No longer apprehensive, Jessica followed him through a dimly lit series of stock rooms filled with boxes and crates.
"I apologize for not giving you a proper tour, Miss, but the gallery is opening in just five minutes, and... ah, here, here we are."
The room they entered now was much more spacious. Displays of toon objects were scattered throughout the area: in a glance, Jessica saw an oversized mallet, anvils ranging in size from minuscule to gigantic, a poultry leg big enough to feed an army... Jacques pointed to the back of the room.
"This is where you will wait for your big reveal!"
A purple curtain was drawn in a half-circle along the wall. Jacques and Jessica slipped behind it. She was surprised to find nothing there but a panel of dry wall standing upright, with two holes barely an inch in diameter bored into it. Jacques invited her to step behind the panel.
"There! So, I must go and let in my guests now, they will wander around, they will take in all the toon beauty this exposition has to offer... Then, as they think nothing can surprise them anymore, tada! I will pull on that curtain and reveal you, in a triumphant finale!"
"I see. So I must remain hidden for now?"
"Exactly! You don't want to ruin the surprise!"
Jessica's cheeks reddened in pride and anticipation. What a glorious-
"Oh, it is so late already! Quick, introduce yourself through the holes while I let in my guests"
"In... introduce..."
"Yes, through the holes! Make sure to push them in all the way, else the illusion will be broken. Let them hang heavy, hang free! Now excuse me, I really must go... The big reveal is in thirty minutes!"
And as simply as that, Jessica was left alone behind the drywall panel hidden by the purple curtain. The two small holes were level with her chest. What Jacques wanted of her was now crystal clear. Jessica was flabbergasted.
Her tits! Her boobs! Her breasts! It always came back to her huge knockers! Her first date with Roger? Jugg-fucking in his car! Jugg-fucking in the restaurant's restrooms! Jugg-fucking at the theater! And more jugg-fucking in his car on the way back! Her first gig at the Ink & Paint? It cost her a tit-wanking for the manager! A tit-wanking for that stupid gorilla bouncer! A tit-wanking for... hell, for every god damned male employee of the joint! Her voluminous fan mail? More like an endless stream of glorified pornographic novels, each starring her massive juggs being fondled, squeezed, stretched, pulled, crushed, twisted, slapped, punched, trampled, milked, fucked, creamed, used and abused in every way possible! Tits! Boobs! Breasts! Juggs! Knockers! Funbags! Meatbags! Milk factories! Was she nothing more than a walking pair of gigantic tits?!
Voices filled the room. The guests were in. |