Story – Tiffany’s Dreams: Beat The Mitt – Part 4
Tiffany’s Dreams – Beat the Mitt
Part 4 by FurCreamer
“Welcome back!”
Richard sat atop the sable chair at the top of the platform, a particularly smug look on his face while Brandy stood beside him, her microphone hovering over her big jugs. The long hairs of the fuchsia dyed fox bolero jacket fluttered visibly from the rush of the studio’s air conditioning, keeping the set nice and cool for the ladies.
“Well, Dick… time to reveal your ’secret weapon’ so everyone at home can find out how you plan to resist the advances of the lovely and talented Miss Goodchild and her fresh, new chinchilla mitt.” Morgan held up the fresh mitt to a few cheers. Someone in the audience shouted, “We love you Morgan!”
Brandy tilted the mic down towards Richard, who looked directly into the camera as he spoke. “I’ve been against the fur industry all my life, you fur whore! Fur is disgusting to me, and I guarantee your mitt doesn’t interest me in the least!”
The crowd booed. Brandy rolled her eyes to the camera, then she bent down next to Richard. “Now, Dick… I’m certainly not going to argue with you about the fur whore thing, that was pretty insightful of you…” she said with an amused smile on her lips. Brandy then tilted forward, moving those same lips closer to Richard’s cheek. “You may not have seen this show before, but you aren’t the first to roll in here with that kind of attitude.” Brandy extended her arm, the big round cuff of her soft fox bolero jacket brushing across Richard’s chest. Her big tits came to sit atop the armrest, the massive globes of perfectly sculpted flesh parked just inches above his torso and framed by the fluffy fox jacket on either side.
Richard shook his head, “Doesn’t matter, I’m going to win your dirty money and donate it all to the anti-fur mo- movement.” The hesitant stutter came as Brandy’s slow motions over his chest with her fox cuff edged slightly lower, and she shifted her position to bring the dark, deep depths of her amazing cleavage closer to Richard.
“Really… Dick? That would be so very disappointing…” Brandy purred, eyes flicking lower to where the committed animal right’s activist’s cock, flaccid to this point, began to grow. “Do you want to disappoint me… Dick?”
“Ye- yes- I’m afraid s- so.”
Brandy picked up Richard’s left hand and placed it on her right tit, just over the partially visible areola where her tube top cut a pink line across her giant bust. Richard gasped.
“Doesn’t this whore look so pretty in my soft… soft… fur coat, Dick?”
“Ye- I mean- no- No, of course n- not.”
Richard was fully erect now, his foot long cock towering between his thighs, which quivered along with the rest of his body at Brandy’s touch. Brandy never touched it, as that was against the rules of the game. The rest of him, though, was fair game for the huge round barrel muff sized cuffs of her fuchsia dyed fox bolero jacket.
The crowd remained completely silent as this transpired. Brandy pulled back slightly as the long hairs of fox nearly brushed the huge tower of flesh. Her expression communicated how she thought it rather unkind of the universe to bless a douchebag like this with such an impressive piece of fur fucking equipment.
“Dick… Dick… Dick… don’t you know? You’re never gonna-”
“BEAT”
“THE”
“MITT!”
The audience and Morgan Goodchild were both on cue. The chinchilla mitt descended directly down the underside of Richard’s foot long shaft as the countdown clock flashed in the background.
“ONE-”
“HOLY FUCK!”
The first syllable of the audience’s customary count and the additional ones uttered from Richard’s gasping throat coincided with a thick spurt of jism flashing from the uncut glans and streaming directly into the cuff of Morgan Goodchild’s blue fox coat.
Morgan, caught off guard and expecting another challenge, gamely adjusted, tilting the huge spurting dick back into the mitt where it continued to furiously blast hard white streaks of cum. The fat shaft throbbed as it delivered a second nasty, sticky wad of cum directly into the palm of the chinchilla fur mitt, then another, and another.
“FOUR”
The audience was also catching up as the shot clock flashed.
“FIVE”
Richard’s head craned back almost to a ninety degree angle, folding his neck as far as he could, both from the pleasure and the humiliation carried out to millions upon million of viewers of the world’s most popular game show.
“SIX”
Richard’s next burst went wild, a huge streamer of dickpaste that curved across the top of the mitt, around the huge round blue fox cuff of Morgan Goodchild’s blue fox, then climbed the sleeve, carving a big white line up the arm of the coat nearly to the collar.
“SEVEN”
Richard’s body contracted back then thrust forward, desperately wanting to slam the chinchilla muff harder and harder as his next jet wetly slapped another big, juicy white line up the sleeve of the tall blonde’s blue fox coat, this one wrapping around the huge collar near Morgan’s ear.
“EIGHT”
The following spurt finally showed some weakness, this one looping a wide creamy line across the edge of the chinchilla mitt, part of it oozing inside and gumming up Morgan’s wrist and palm.
“NINE”
Another blast to the mitt, which was a white, soggy mess by this point, the gray colors of the fur on the palm indistinguishable under a thick white shell of glutinous sexual effluent.
“TEN”
That thick shell only got thicker another mucilaginous wad landed atop the rest while Richard’s heaving body calmed itself.
“ELEVEN”
The shot clock froze as the final loop of ooze made its way into thoroughly destroyed chinchilla mitt and Richard collapsed back into the sable chair, gulping air in great deep breaths.
Morgan held up the mitt, and turned a bit show the additional stains on the arm of the bulky blue fox coat. They traversed from the muff-sized cuff right up to the collar, just inches from her world famous features. Brandy, who had remained in close proximity to the now-wayward AR activist rose to her full platform assisted height, making a show of clapping with the crowd.
The basket appeared for the final time, and Morgan dropped the latest mitt casualty into it.
“This is it, folks, can our lapsed AR friend beat Drake’s score? Bring the ounces, baby!” Brandy called out, throwing her arm towards the readout. It flashed: 13.04OZ.
“We have a winner!”
The crowd went wild with cheers. Richard appeared passed out in the chair, oblivious to it all. “I’m sure Richard will be pleased when he wakes up, especially when we remind him that the winning 1 million dollar gift certificate to the Beat the Mitt fur vault has no cash value!”
Brandy walked over to Morgan Goodchild and ran her finger under one of Richard’s long white spunk stains. “Then again, Dick might not be all that disappointed after all.”
Brandy took up a position very close to Morgan, their fox coats meshing together as she did the usual show closer while busty girls in white fur nurses uniforms arrived to cart Richard off behind them. “I’d like to thank our guest celebrity stroker, Morgan Goodchild and remind you to tune in tomorrow on guest stroker week when Janet Collins will be in the studio. Until then, remember to save up your semen for next episode of BEAT THE MITT!”
As the credits began to roll, Brandy wrapped her arm around Morgan, tilted her back, and kissed her long and deep while the crowd roared.
* * *
Tiffany blinked slowly as the dream receded, mind cataloging various sensations, the most urgent of which was the broad, soggy one around her lower torso. Rising up a little to get a view over the mountainous globes of her huge mammaries, she found the partially flaccid hose of her fifteen inch cock in a giant puddle of steaming white nutpaste that covered her stomach, thighs, and, for additional insult to injury, the already destroyed black fox barrel muff she’d ravaged before dozing off.
The massive puddle ended a few inches beyond her midsection in most directions, spreading out across the eighty-thousand dollar chinchilla bedspread upon which she’d dozed off.
Tiffany shrugged, lay back down against the still dry, ultra soft chinchilla pillow at her back, and dozed off again, hoping for another, equally pleasant dream…
Comments
This entry was posted on Thursday, October 22nd, 2009 at 10:39 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
2 Comments so far
The Love Of Furs
FurLayers
Very good could have been longer but short is ok too.
Curious, is this part too short, or all 4 parts as a whole?