Young Mark, conquers drugged out Jenny's, 19 yo's C-cups!

Mark, a young boy, see’s a chance at revenge against a visiting stuck up Jenny and her C-cups, his tit-fuck fantasy is about to get a chapter 2, willing or not.

Disclaimer: This story is born from the real-life fantasy of a reader who generously shared their past with me. I have served as the author, weaving their raw memories into the narrative. The events are drawn from his memories, fictionalized for narrative flow.
Please be advised: This account explores explicit and taboo themes from a deeply personal perspective. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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This story is a sequel to "As a Young boy, Mark, conquers Lisa, 19 yo's D-cups!" It was requested by the reader who originally provided the fantasy. Tap my name to see my full collection. Enjoy, Max!

The storm hit with the force of a personal vendetta, turning Jenny’s flight home into a canceled nightmare. Kim, ever the peacemaker, insisted she come stay. "It's just one night," she'd said, her voice a hopeful plea.
Mark watched from the living room armchair as Jenny walked in, dripping a false charm that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was a vision, all tight jeans and a smile that promised trouble. A real bitch, but a smoking hot one. He remembered the rumors about her and a married professor. The thought made his dick twitch. She reminded him of Lisa, and that perfect night he’d spent sliding his cock between her soft, generous breasts. God, I’d love to tit-fuck Jenny, he thought. She’s got the right size.
And she had it coming.
He remembered last summer by the pool. She was sprawled on a lounge chair, scowling at her iPhone. He’d seen the problem—a software glitch he knew how to fix. He’d approached her, not as a kid, but as an equal. "I can fix that," he'd said, his voice steady. She hadn't even looked up. "That's cute," she'd said, finally glancing at him with a flicker of annoyance before reaching out to ruffle his hair like he was a dog. The casual cruelty of it had burned him. She had dismissed him. The pity in her eyes was worse than any insult. He wasn't a person to her; he was just Kim's annoying little brother.
As he thought of Jenny and her breasts, a pang of guilt, or something like it, hit him. He thought of Kat, his sweet Kat. He looked forward to the day her tits grew enough for him to fuck, but for now, he loved what they had. They tried to be sexual almost every day, a secret, sacred ritual between them.
But Jenny was here. And the wheels were turning.
His mom, ravaged by insomnia, announced she was going to bed at nine. His dad was working overnight. The house was theirs. Kim, ever the planner, had bought beer and tequila. Mark was told to stay in his room; they'd take the basement.
An hour later, the sounds of giggling and loud movie dialogue drifted up. They were drunk. Mark wasn't skulking; he was just… passing through. As Kim stumbled into the kitchen for another round, Jenny called out for one too. Mark beat her to it. He cracked open two cans of cheap beer and, with a practiced hand, dropped a small white pill into each. ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ the online ad had called it. Fast and effective. He’d tested it on Kat once. Oh boy, was it effective.
"Here you go," he said, his voice a perfect mask of casual brotherly concern.
Kim grabbed them, mumbled a thanks, and was gone.
He waited thirty minutes. Just like before. He crept down the basement stairs, each step silent. The movie’s glow flickered on the walls, illuminating the scene. Kim was sprawled on the couch, mouth open. Jenny was on the air mattress beside her, dead to the world.
This was a chore. Nothing like the eager, nude form of Lisa. He had to work for this. He peeled back Jenny’s sheet, the fabric whispering in the quiet. He undressed her, his movements efficient, detached. She was beautiful, yes, but she was a bitch. And she deserved it.
He knelt over her, the dim light painting her skin in shifting blues and shadows. His cock was already hard, a rigid ache of anticipation. He reached down, his hands reverent for a moment as he cupped her breasts. They were perfect, just as he'd imagined. Soft, heavy, with nipples that were hard under his thumbs even in her drugged sleep. He pushed them together, the flesh pliant and warm, creating a tight channel. He slid his shaft into the valley he'd made, the friction a slow, exquisite burn that sent a shudder through him. He watched himself disappear and reappear between her tits, the head glistening with each stroke.
He found a rhythm, loving the feel of her breasts pressing against his cock. He laughed a little, a low, dark sound, because as he shot his cum, a rope of it landed across her lips and dribbled into her open mouth. Her throat worked, and she swallowed it, still deep in sleep.
It was a great rush, but it wasn't enough. The memory of her smug smile, her dismissive tone, surfaced. The old anger flared hot and bright. He wanted more. He wanted to ruin this perfect, sleeping bitch.
He shifted, moving down her body, his knees nudging her legs apart. The position was awkward, her body limp and uncooperative. He ate her pussy, his curiosity about her taste mingling with the need to recover his hardness. He loved the musky, secret flavor of her. When he was rigid again, he rolled Jenny’s body with some effort and pushed a pillow under her hips. He dipped a finger in her pussy for lubriKation and pressed it into her ass.
“Fuck me, that’s tight!”
He pressed in to the knuckle. As he pulled back, he pressed in two. For a moment, he finger-fucked her tight, untouched hole, making an effort to loosen her up. Then it was time. He coated the head of his cock with her juices, savoring the feeling. She felt amazing. But he realigned, pressing his cock to her asshole and its relentless pressure. He expected resistance, but he was unprepared for the tight, clenching fight of her muscles as he forced his way in. A low, guttural groan escaped him, half pleasure, half triumph, as he sank inch by inch into her forbidden heat. She gave a soft, unconscious whimper, a sound that only fueled his dark need.
He began to move, at first slow, savoring the illicit grip. But the anger demanded more. He started to fuck her, hard and deep, each thrust a deliberate punishment for every condescending look she had ever given him. Her breathing was shallow, punctuated by what seemed like low moans, but she was still asleep, her body slack, completely unaware of the violation. He was a ghost, a phantom taking his due. After what felt like an eternity, he felt the pressure build at the base of his spine, a white-hot tide he could no longer hold back. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came, a shuddering, violent release that emptied him of everything but the raw, primal satisfaction of the act.
When it was over, the anger receded, leaving a cold, hollow emptiness. He pulled out, the sudden loss of contact stark in the quiet basement. He looked down at the mess he’d made. A strange, perverted sense of chivalry, or perhaps just a need to erase the evidence, compelled him to act. He cleaned her up as best he could with a damp cloth from the downstairs bathroom, his movements methodical and detached. Then he dressed her again, arranging her as if she had merely fallen asleep. He was a stagehand resetting the scene after the play was done.
His phone buzzed. A text from Kat. Where r u? Been waiting. He’d been needed for an hour.
Before he left the basement, he stopped by the couch. He looked at his sleeping sister, Kim. He couldn't resist. He gently lifted her shirt, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. He finally saw them. They were perfect. "Maybe not big enough to fuck," he whispered to the silent room, "but perfect." He redressed her carefully, a thief stealing a memory.
He was out.
He slipped into Kat’s room, the air thick with her arousal. "I think they drank themselves unconscious," he said, his voice low.
Kat’s eyes lit up. "You stink," she said, wrinkling her nose, "and I'm not much better." She grabbed his hand. "Shower. Now."
He pressed her against the slick, tiled wall, the hot water cascading over them as he drove into her from behind. Kat, only fifteen, arched her back, pushing her ass back to meet his hard, deep thrusts. The steam clung to them, a hot, wet veil. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft, youthful flesh, holding her steady as he pounded into her, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing in the small shower. Her moans were swallowed by the hiss of the water, high and desperate. He leaned over her, his chest to her back, his breath hot against her ear. "Fuck, Kat," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "You feel so fucking good."
He pulled out, turning her to face him. Her eyes were dark with lust. He lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pinned her back against the wall. He entered her again in one smooth motion. The change in angle made her gasp. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a searing kiss as he began to move again. This position was slower, more intimate, allowing him to grind against her clit with each thrust. "I'm gonna cum," she whimpered. "Please... cum with me."
He answered her by increasing his pace. He could feel her inner walls clenching around him, her body trembling as her orgasm washed over her. The sight of her young face, contorted in pleasure, was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her and let go, his cock pulsing as he shot his hot cum deep into her. He groaned her name, his body shuddering. They stayed like that for a long moment, the water slowly turning cool as they came down from their high, the scent of beer and another woman's sin finally, truly washed away.

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