by Big Kahuna
Contents
Title Page
License Notes
Other Works by Big Kahuna at Amazon.com
Acknowledgements & Such
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
A Few Words About Keeping Hucows
Translations
About the Author
The Silence
of the Hucows
A Novel
by
Big Kahuna
Tasty Burger Productions
Copyright 2014 Big Kahuna
Cover art by Big Kahuna
Kindle Edition License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, cows, or hucows, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Other Works by Big Kahuna
The Peripheral Cocksucker
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Bending Catherine
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Welcome to the Fish Tank
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Ms. Paragon vs. Doctor Tits
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Next Year’s Model
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What are Women For?
Visit my DeviantArt page for companion art, works in progress, and other fun stuff.
Acknowledgements & Such
My inordinate thanks to my large-breasted muse Weronnika, who not only provided the Czech translations, she also clued me in to what it’s like to have hooters so big that they can be seen from space.
This ebook makes extensive use of both Spanish and Czech languages. Translations can be found in the back of the book, in the order that they appear.
Trademark and Product Acknowledgements:
iPod: Apple Corporation
Playboy: Playboy Enterprises, Inc.
NBA: National Basketball Association, Inc.
CNN: Turner Broadcasting System, Inc.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Thermos: Thermos LLC
Skype: Microsoft Corporation
Bluetooth: Bluetooth SIG
Evian: Groupe Danone
Hustler Magazine: LFP Publishing Group, LLC
Viagra: Pfizer, Inc.
Photoshop: Adobe Systems Inc.
KFC: Yum! Brands, Inc.
Jeep: Chrysler Group, LLC
Facebook: Facebook, Inc.
Google: Google, Inc.
FedEx: FedEx Corporation
Kevlar: E. I. du Pont de Nemours and Company
Guinness Book of World Records: Random House, LLC.
Chapter 1
I Know What You Need
Melissa DeVries was bored.
She sat at her desk, feeling sorry for herself. Her day’s work was pretty much done, which it usually was by about four o’clock. She sighed. It sometimes felt like she had the most boring job in the world, secretary for a bunch of boring engineers in a boring company. It really was a boring company, too: Masterson International. Oil exploration and imaging, mostly. Her parents back home in Wisconsin thought that working in the oil business was exciting, but then her parents were pretty boring. She couldn’t imagine a duller life.
Moving to Texas had been a stupid idea. Her parents had tried to talk her out of it, but she had set her sights on Dallas while in college, and had promised herself that she would take the plunge despite the tight economy. The result was a low-paying job for which she was vastly overqualified.
She sighed again, wondering what to do. She could sit there and play Minesweeper—yawn. She could go on Facebook, or maybe tweet something—double yawn. When it came right down to it she was pretty boring, too.
Having nothing better to do, she checked her webmail. There was the usual nothing there: the usual spam, the usual offers to refinance a house she didn’t have, or magic pills to enhance a penis she didn’t have. Didn’t have? She could barely remember what they looked like!
She went about cleaning up her inbox, noticing too late one email that didn’t appear to be junk. Shaking her head, she dug it out of the trash. It was from someone who called himself Rance.
From: [email protected]
Subject: I know what you need.
Melissa made a face. I know what you need? Who was Rance to know what she needed? She didn’t even know what she needed. Well, a new life maybe. Could Rance give her that? She clicked on the header and the email window opened up. It contained just seven words:
I know what you need—an admirer.
She made another face, this time cocking her head. An admirer? That was pretty unlikely. What was more likely was that someone was playing a joke on her. Scowling, she cast an eye about the bullpen, looking for anyone who might be watching her out of the corner of his eye. She could see everyone on this section of the floor, there being no cubicles in which to hide. No engineers were surreptitiously turning away, no one furtively darting back behind his monitor, no sniggering.
“I know what you need,” she muttered, looking again at the email on her screen. She shook her head again and clicked on the ‘delete message’ button. “I seriously doubt that, Rance.”
___________________________
Melissa let herself into her apartment, her keys jangling in the doorknob. She was met by Maggie the cat, who jumped off the couch and began winding herself about her roommate’s ankles, purring loudly, bestowing her permission to enter and letting it be known that she could be fed now.
While Maggie contentedly devoured her canned mystery meat, Melissa began going about the business of unwinding from her day. She would start with a shower, the need to divest herself of the sweat of a Dallas day foremost in her mind. She poured herself a glass of sherry, sweet but not too sweet, and then went into the bedroom to undress.
She had only just thrown her slip and blouse into the hamper, leaving her in her bra and pantyhose, when she caught sight of herself in the mirror over her wide dresser. She straightened up, pouting at her reflection and cocking her hip in that haughty model way. “Is this what you admire, Rance?” she said to the mirror, turning her head for the mythical Playboy photographer on the other side of the glass, “or is it these?”
She reached back and unhooked the clasp of her bra, her fulsome breasts pushing the material away as they sought freedom from the confinement they’d been forced to endure all day. She removed the brassiere and tossed it into the hamper, then put a hand under each breast and raised them upward, offering them to the mirror.
“Do you like big titties, Rance?” she cooed, her soft voice an odd contrast to her bitter scowl. “Is that what you want?” She pressed her heavy hangers together, huge even by porn standards, creating a cleavage that could easily swallow the biggest dildo. This was not an exaggeration—it was something she usually did once a week or so.
“Or is this what you’re after?” she continued, bringing her hands down to caress her belly, which was proportional to her breasts. She ran her hands across the expanse of her round stomach, the product of too little exer
cise, too many lonely nights, and too much Jen & Barry’s. She wasn’t exactly fat, at least that was what she liked to tell herself, but at 175 pounds she couldn’t kid herself that she wasn’t skirting the edge of obesity.
“Yes, I expect this is what you want, isn’t it, Rance? You just want some BBW who’ll jerk you off between her fat tits until you come all over her chubby face, is that it?” She jiggled her stomach for emphasis, her scowl increasing as she watched her breasts, firm and round, roll back and forth across the upper slope of her belly like a pair of flesh-colored volleyballs, which was an accurate assessment of their size, as well as how men usually treated them.
Melissa hated her breasts; they were all anyone ever noticed. That wasn’t strictly true, as she well knew, nor did she actually hate them, but they were the cause of so much of her unhappiness, of her loneliness. Did anyone ever notice her blonde hair? Yes, they did, often complimenting her on it, how it shone and bounced, though they usually said this while glancing up and down, more often down. What about her clear skin? She had a good complexion, peaches and cream, so her hairdresser back home always said, “...though, honey, you really should think about having those boobs reduced!” Only a gay male would make that statement, and Tony was a self-confessed screaming queen.
The straight ones all loved her tits, though. How many times had she caught men staring at them? How many times had she been brushed up against, in elevators or other crowded places? She sometimes called them on it, but more often than not she simply avoided crowds.
Nor was it just men. They might be pigs, but none had been so bold as that drunken dyke bitch who’d bumped into her in the bar that one night. She’d gone with some of her coworkers after work, a little friendly get-together. And it had been friendly, everyone slightly liquored up, having a nice time. She had been talking to Johnny from Geology, drink in hand, thinking that she might actually say yes if he asked her back to his place. She’d worn a low-cut blouse to work that day, knowing they would be going out afterwards. Nothing slutty or unprofessional, perfectly acceptable Casual Friday wear.
Johnny had definitely been into her that evening, his eyes roving over her expansive bosom every so often. She hadn’t had many dates since moving to Dallas, most of them being little more than a prelude to getting her bra off. She had actually enjoyed Johnny’s attentions that night, the melon margarita she’d been nursing having sufficiently adjusted her attitude. He had just been about to ask her out, she’d felt sure, when someone bumped her from behind. She turned around, annoyed.
“s’cuse me,” the drunken girl mumbled. She was a full head shorter than Melissa, the kind of girl that men just loved to bounce up and down on their laps. Her eyes were having trouble focusing, until they focused on Melissa’s chest. “Oh, my God,” she said, weaving slightly, her hands coming up to cradle the breasts that were staring her in the face, “your boobs are bigger than my head! Look!” The little bitch then thrust her head forward, burying her face so deep in Melissa’s cleavage that it looked like she was wearing a pair of giant pink headphones.
People around them laughed, some of them whistling through their teeth, just good-natured humor at her expense. Even Johnny had laughed. Melissa hadn’t found it funny, though. She put a hand on the drunken girl’s nonexistent chest and pushed her backwards, then left without a word. She had not been back to that bar, or any other, since that night.
She scowled again at the image in the bedroom mirror, a pair of tits with a girl attached. “Well, Rance, unless you’ve got a big dick, a big bank account, and a liking for big girls, I truly doubt that you have what I need.”
___________________________
Melissa watched the movie on her TV with a sad sort of interest. The girl on the screen was beautiful. They were always beautiful, and skinny. This one was kissing her underwear model boyfriend, who was sucking on her mouth while caressing her tits, if you could call them tits. They were more like bits. God, why did she watch this crap? Night after night, the same goddamn thing. The same empty entertainment, the same empty life.
She hadn’t even bothered to dress after her shower. When had that started? She couldn’t remember, only that she’d suddenly lost interest in wearing clothing whenever she was in her apartment. It hardly mattered, there being no one there to see her. It was comfortable, though. Freeing, with nothing poking or pinching or holding something in or pushing something out.
The vapid, flat-chested career girl on the screen continued kissing the walking surfboard. He was only supposed to be a one-night stand, but in the space of ninety-three minutes he had become her fully committed, suddenly all grown-up soulmate. Utter crap!
She continued watching, scowling at the people on the TV much as she had scowled at herself in her mirror. The underwear model was fondling vapid girl’s breasts now, moving in to suck her apparently quite responsive nipples. Despite the stupidity of the scene, Melissa’s own nipples stiffened in response. Surfer boy was licking them now, tenderly teasing a nip, eliciting little moans and squeals from the blonde stick figure lying beneath him.
God, who directed this shit? That wasn’t how you sucked a tit! You had to get in there, show that tit who’s boss! She rolled her eyes at the silly thrashing about that somebody evidently thought was romance.
“Here, surfer boy,” she said to the figure on the screen, “watch and learn.” She lay back against the leatherette cushion of her sofa, automatically rolling a heavy dug upward, the still stiff nipple within easy reach of her tongue.
How many times had she played this scene out; a bit of self-love performed by the only person available to do it. She let her tongue roll across the fat nipple, batting it about, then blew lightly across it, the flesh of her areola crinkling tightly in response.
She could feel herself growing wet down below, a signal for some attention. Her free hand moved down along her big belly toward her already slippery slit, as it did practically every night...when something told her to stop. A wicked thought entered her mind, sending a shiver of excitement through her. It was time for a little something different. Time to see if she could climax just from breast play.
Melissa giggled at the thought, silencing herself with her own tit as she pushed her face into the warm breast flesh. The nipple invaded her mouth, sliding across her tongue and sending another shiver through her. Despite their size they were sensitive, always had been, erecting whenever they came in contact with something, the sole reason she never went braless, unless she was nude.
This feels so good, she thought. It did too, for it seemed that no one could suck her tits as well as she could. She sometimes wondered if there were guys out there who could suck their own dicks, but then pushed the thought from her mind. Any man who would suck his own dick would just as likely suck someone else’s.
She brought her free hand up to caress her other tit, grasping a big handful of the soft flesh while she whimpered into the oversized milker that was almost suffocating her. Oh, to have another person doing this with her, sucking her other tit while she sucked her own, or perhaps even two people; she did have two tits after all, one to a customer.
She brought the tit in her mouth down a bit, sucking more of the nipple into her mouth, filling it. She whimpered again, lost in pleasure. God, if she continued this much longer she might start nursing herself. She snorted at that thought, sending ripples across the vast tract of titflesh that wasn’t in her mouth. Nursing herself. Now there was a good idea.
She let go the tit she had been feverishly grasping and reached across to the little side table next to the couch, her hand closing about the empty pint of Funky Munky ice cream she’d had for dessert. With an audible slurp, she released the liplock on the engorged nipple, the swollen teat shining in the light from the television, and dribbled some of the melted ice cream onto her breast, coating the nipple in the warm goo.
“Mmm…” she moaned as she sucked the nipple back into her mouth, her tongue sliding over the rich-tasting ice cream, satisfyin
g more than one sense at a time. Goodness, she was going to have to start doing this every night. Who needed a man when you could do this to yourself? Who needed Rance when she could suck her own boobs into oblivion?
She poured more of the melted ice cream onto her tit and sucked it back in again, reveling in the sensation of it, the naughtiness of it. She did it again, getting the last dribbles of the sweet cream onto her tit, which felt somehow bigger now, heavier in her hands. Her mouth closed over the thoroughly excited nipple, sucking as fervently as an infant at mother’s breast, while grasping fingers latched onto the nipple of her other breast, tugging on the neglected flesh, practically doubling her pleasure.
She was going to come, she knew it now. She could feel her untouched clitoris vibrating, practically begging for some attention, which she was not going to give it. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, every sense alive, her massive tits no longer warm, but hot, her face all but buried in the sweater pillow that was in her mouth.
With a simultaneous tug and a suck it happened. Melissa screamed into the heavy dug, the sounds of her climax all but absorbed in the hot flesh of her tit, the breast orgasm exploding through her, warmth radiating out to the rest of her body. Lost in ecstasy, she released the swollen nipple from her mouth, palming the round tit in her hand as if she were an NBA forward, repeatedly mashing one heavy breast into the other while she came down from the most powerful orgasm she’d had in months.
She reclined on the couch in silence, her breathing slowly returning to normal as she absently watched the fake couple going about their fake romance.