The Mask update

Lucy shrunk away from him. What should she do? What could she do? What options did she have?

Her only option was to moan. Because the Mask’s hands were now on her full, pendulous breasts and he was feeling every inch of them. 

“Mmm—honey, you think these cantaloupes are ripe?” he asked. “They’re not making the usual bicycle horn sound… oh, heck, let’s get ‘em anyway, they’re on sale!”

God, what to do? Maybe she could knee him in the groin and make a run for it. Only… the feelings in her breasts were incredible. He really just know how to touch her sensitive tits, massaging them with all the lust of the millions of men who stared at them, all their pent-up desire now touching all over her cleavage.

“Just like a Pillsbury bun straight from the oven!” the Mask enthused, as if performing in a commercial. “Warm and hot and with hard nipples!”

His hands were all over her breasts, but suddenly Lucy felt a third hand going under her dress. For some reason, she spread her thighs, stretching her panties taut and only then realizing how much of her juices had dampened the crotch.

The Mask adopted a British accent. “The sweltering swamplands to the south provide fertile soil to any who wish to farm there, but before he plants his seeds, the farmer should be aware of the brutal heat that’s to be found in these marshy wetlands.”

“Oooohhhh!” Lucy gasped. 

Suddenly, the Mask stopped fondling her breasts, instead holding his hands in front of her face, fanning out a deck of cards until a set of panties appeared in the middle of them. “Are these your panties?” he asked wonderingly. Then licked them with a serpentine tongue that extended three feet from his mouth. “I THINK SO!”

Lucy could’ve died. Nobody had ever done that with her panties. No one had ever treated her so crudely. And despite everything, a wonderful lust was still running up and down her spine.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing these anymore,” the Mask said, flinging her panties aside, only to have them following by a string of handkerchiefs from his sleeve. He kept pulling at the handkerchiefs until a black Italian thong emerged. His eyebrows shot up as he held the frilly lace between them like a gauze curtain. “Oh my—no wonder I’ve been feeling so free. Would you like to live deliciously?” He threw the thong aside as well.

Lucy’s crepe dress was lifted up and up, crinkling more and more, until the Mask got a good look at her sex.

“Stand back, boys! We’ve struck oil! It’s the motherlode!”

Lucy didn’t want to see how wetly her pussy was flowing. She didn’t even have to look, because she could feel her juices coursing down her thighs.

The Mask fell to her knees before her. “I ABANDONED MY CHILD! I ABANDONED MY CHILD! I ABANDONED MY BOY! DRAAAAINAAGE!” He stopped his histrionics, looking up at her plaintively. “Can I have your pussy now? How about I use my fingers on my cunt and my tongue on your little bastard in a basket up there at the top?”