Story – Tiffany’s Dreams: Beat The Mitt – Part 3
Tiffany’s Dreams – Beat the Mitt
Part 3 by FurCreamer
“And we’re back!” Brandy announced. “Marvin is all ready to go, but that should be obvious!” she said, sweeping her hand out as the camera quickly paned over to the retried mechanic from Spokane and the ten inch pole of flesh that stood completely erect between his legs. “Let’s put 20 seconds on the clock, please.”
Morgan Goodchild’s right hand sported a fresh chinchilla mitt, though the spunk stains from Drake’s fountain shots still clung to the cuff of her huge blue fox coat.
“Alrighty Marv, are you ready to…”
“BEAT”
“THE”
“MITT!”
The clock started for contestant number 2. The helmet of Marvin’s ten-and-a-half inch battering ram vanished into the cupped surface of Morgan Goodchild’s fresh chinchilla mitt. His entire body stiffened at contact, fingers sinking into the sable covered armrests. Marvin let out a deep breath.
“ONE!”
Morgan started a steady stroke, a different pattern than the one she used on Drake. This one was slightly faster, with a twisting motion near the base to keep things interesting.
“TWO!”
Marvin’s big schlong throbbed. The red veins that traced patterns over the shaft were visible but not highly raised, providing little additional friction to the yielding fur. Brandy could tell his sac was swollen just at a glance. Maybe Drake wasn’t a shoe-in.
“THREE!”
Morgan’s pattern continued, Brandy could tell she squeezed harder and harder on the down stroke each time, pressing the softest fur in existence to the most sensitive part of the male anatomy with exquisite precision. Though well-endowed, the big fur mitt was able to accommodate the man’s impressive girth.
“FOUR!”
The audiences shouts were increasing with each passing second. Marvin gasped, sweat pouring down his temples in clear lines while he very transparently tried to control his breathing. His cheeks puffed with each gulp of air.
“FIVE!”
Hollywood star Morgan Goodchild’s brow knit only momentarily in confusion before her stage presence took over and an impressed smile returned. Five seconds was longer than anyone she’d pumped had ever lasted, from her original try-outs to this moment.
“SIX!”
Brandy’s lower voice cut in over the crowd’s count, “Don’t forget folks, the DVD of Morgan’s try-out stroking is available at the Beat the Mitt website!”
“SEVEN!”
Marvin’s head shook back and forth, fingers digging into the armrest as his breath expelled in deep huffs. Morgan’s expression changed to one of determination. Marvin’s success at staving off his orgasm had just become personal.
“EIGHT”
Morgan clenched the big ten-and-a-half-incher in a vice grip and jerked down, then released, and returned again, this time slowly, repeating the motion.
“NINE!”
The crowd was in a frenzy, as passing nine seconds was something rather rare in Beat the Mitt history. The “Ten Second Club” was something many aspired to but few achieved. Morgan knew this as well, and she twisted the palm of the chinchilla mitt directly on top of Marvin’s flared glans, then drew it down the base.
“TEN”
“FUUUUUCCCK!” Marvin screamed.
The countdown froze and the shot clock began. The crowd’s frenzied cheering washed over the platform, missing the first few spurts in the hysteria of having been part of a rare moment in the show’s history. As they shouted, Marvin’s big cock sprayed a milky fluid in jets that splattered from the lower cuff of the mitt, up the palm, and to the rounded top edge.
Marvin’s load wasn’t as thick, but the shots sprayed like a shower nozzle, spreading little dots and bubbles of cum out from the central flow. The front of the mitt took the blast perfectly, Morgan handling the wild, powerful sprays of sperm like a champ, making sure as much as possible soaked the big soft chinchilla fur mitt, and what did not ended up squarely overshooting to on her cuff.
Marvin rocked back and forth in the chair, almost convulsing with the force of his spurts. The flurry of semen kept up as the shot clock dinged past seven. The crowd’s cheers hadn’t let up, the sound of some trying to keep up was mixed with the general passionate cries of adulation. Many were too exited over the 10 second time to count along with the shot clock.
Streams of fluid shot past nine and then finally ten before his last half spurt looped out. Morgan caught it just on the edge of her wrist between the mitt and her blue fox cuff. Marvin just sagged in the chair, nearly passed out from the force of his orgasm.
Brandy smirked. “Wow, folks, made the 10 Second Club… but nobody… nobody beats the mitt!”
Morgan again held up the second mitt, this one appeared soaked more evenly, with a broad, rich splatter pattern that darkened the entire inner surface of the oversized mitt from top to bottom, coupled with brighter white lines visible only in the middle. Spots and dots of the wider splatter pattern occupied the edges, as they did the the blue fox cuff below it.
The basket arrived from above the stage and Morgan slid the mitt off her hand and into it.
“Show us what’s on the board!” Brandy called out, throwing her hand out to the ounce indicator, which suddenly flashed: 10.91OZ.
“Oh, Marv, so close! You had the spurts but they were a little thin. From the looks of that mitt, you don’t regret trying!” Brandy turned from Marvin and addressed the camera directly, “Our final contestant is up after these messages… What’s his secret weapon? Find out when we cum back!”
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