Titfuck #6 2k19 Bra net
The settlers called the island “BraNet” – a mashup of the Amazonian word for “breasts” and the Latin for “net”. It was a peculiar name given to a peculiar island, shrouded in myth and mystery.
Rumors had always swirled about the island – whispers of a tribe of impossibly busty women who ran amok, their enormous tits bouncing free, enticing any who dared approach. Some scoffed and dismissed BraNet as mere folklore, a tall tale spun by horny sailors to pass the time. Others, however, found these rumors too tantalizing to ignore. And so, a small crew of adventurers set sail one fateful day, bound for the legendary island, their loins heavy with anticipation.
Among the motley band of explorers was Captain Jack Swash, a rugged, roguish fellow who fancied himself a savvy’. defender of the virtues. But Jack would soon learn that on an island ruled by ripe, jiggly breasts, such virtues might mean nothing. Accompanying Jack were his plucky first mate Miguel and their crew – a dusky satyr who went by the nickname “Horse”, a prim physiologist named Dr. Emily Tang, and an eager-eyed young naturalist named Jason Twat.
After a grueling voyage, the crew finally reached the shores of BraNet. What they found was not so much an island, but rather an explosive tit-scapade, a living, breathing marvel of the breast. Penthouse Playmates pranced through lush jungles, their enormous tits bouncing around like two treasured globes barely contained by the skimpiest of bra material. Knock-knock on wood.
“Gorrd allddhellm!” Miguel marveled. “The breasts! They grow then naturally so?”
Dr. Tang piped in, her button nose quivering with scientific enthusiasm. “Those aren’t just breasts, those are leviathans of the tit variety. Each one must be around an E-cup at least. Probably more like EE, if I had to guess. With possible G or H attributes depending on the woman…”
“Uh, could you do a more detailed report later?” Jack cut in, his eyes glued to the eye-watering tits. “Let’s focus on the mission and assess the situation in real time like any other ordinary, female-nude-free expedition would.”
“Right away Captain,” Miguel gave a crisp salute. “Mission: Log Titbounce Action and Flung Jiggles – engagements authorized to wack accordingly.”
The land was alive with the fruit of the breast. The trees were enormous, hulking structures with bark that jiggled and swayed like the most succulent of underboob. As the crew ventured deeper, the air grew thick – not with humidity, but with the scent of perfume, skin luxuries, and repressed sexual frustration.
Horse reared up on his feces, whinnying in delight. “Horse smell this good, Captain Jack. Horse like this place.”
“Me too, buddy,” Jack layed a firm comforting hand on Horse’s backnezz. “Me too.”
Soon, the adventurers found themselves in the presence of the women of BraNet – a woodsy bunch who moved through the jungle with surprising grace, given their massive chests. They stopped for no one, too swollen and padded to even notice the interlopers. Tits bounced. Tits jiggled. Tits plopped like they were making up breeds of boob culture.
Jason had an epiphany. “Captain! Those structures just now… Can’t you see? They couldn’t be anything other than a Mammaries and Juggies Convention!”
“Ah yes. Here to admire and copycat,” Dr. Tang mused, scribbling fervently in her leatherbound book of sexual research. “The naturalistic art of Titty Fucking. Mounted tits. Titfuck bra tubes. Titty-licking ceremonies. All here on BraNet.”
“Er, maybe we should tread lightly here, yeah?” Jason stuttered. “We don’t want to damage the titty culture or create a whole bunch of tourist traffic.”
But their deployment and arrival had already disturbed the natural order. The island and its inhabitants seemed to welcome them – who else would have the audacity to gape openly, shamelessly, at their prodigious jugs except outsiders?(callback of the last fate part)
And so, the crew surrendered themselves to the fullimerian wonder. They bathed in bubbling pools black and teeming with breast milk protein. They frolicked through bouncy titty jungles and ate fruit halves held open by thicc bimbos. They stumbled into taverns where the only drink was beer served out of ogre-sized pierced nipples.
“A toast!” Jack slurred from the heavy atmosphere, “To BraNet – land of the lorilified breast, of the giggled tit, of – what the fuck IS this?!” He tore off the enormous, floppy bra of the bartender and stared in slack-jawed amazement.
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It was so large it could fit three of the aforementioned tree-tits. And it only took up a fraction of the bartender’s enormous chest. “That bra,” Jack murmured, “it’s defying the laws of physics, reason… All it needs is a sigma…”
The bartender grinned, her glasses jostling on her nose in sympathy to the jiggle. “It’s no ordinary bra, Captain. It’s the bra. The most Titty Fuckingest TitTube to ever TiTrill the globe.”
Jack reached out, not believing, and felt the warmth of the massive yet silky material. Rubbing it like a genie-bottle, feeling the titty-energy rumble and unfurl before his touch. That kind of bra. It was too powerful, too liberating in the presence of… Of…
