( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o ) ( o)(o )
All characters are 18 or over.
*
When he responded to the door bell he couldn't believe his eyes. On his door step were three of the most lovely young women he had ever see.
As if fulfilling an unknown fantasy there was a blonde, a brunette and a red head! Each lovelier than the next one. And for some reason they looked familiar. He knew he had never met them but still, there was something about each of them... had he seen them before? In a dream? That made no sense!
"Um, can I help you?" he asked.
"Well, we hope so," bubbled the blonde. She was a prototypical California blonde. And how she had landed in the Mid-West was a mystery.
"You see, my name is Victoria, Victoria Bedfast. You can call me Vicky if you like. But not Tori! I hate that name." She frowned, but in a cute way. He wanted to assure her that he would never call her anything she didn't like. He wouldn't want to upset her or either of the other girls she was with.
Her tousled hair was golden blonde and had a just-got-out-of-bed look only an expert hair stylist could achieve while her corn flower blue eyes would capture the attention of any man who glanced at her. But her long legs, taut butt, and svelte waist show cased by a pair of short shorts were completely overwhelmed by the largest breasts he had ever seen contained within a tight, belly button revealing, crop top. The largest breasts he had ever seen that is until the brunette spoke and got his attention.
My God! he thought to himself, she's almost all TIT! The V-necked sweater she wore was being stretched to the limit by an absolutely immense pair of knockers which had to be contained by some sort of miracle fabric bra. Lace and satin just wouldn't be strong enough, he imagined.
Shorter than the other two, her hair seemed to absorb light. Almost black, it set off her Mediterranean dusky skin wonderfully. And her dark eyes were fittingly lovely. She was gazing at him with interest. She may have dirigibles for breasts, he realized but she was no dummy!
"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" he asked, realizing he had been lost in his examination of this amazing young woman while she was addressing him.
"I SAID," she emphasized, "that we three met each other at our college's Feminist Studies Dept. mixer last month. And we got to talking. My name is Maria Bustatelli. Why don't you invite us in so we can explain why we have gone to the trouble to find you?" She didn't seem upset that he had been staring at her breasts while she spoke.
