by Lesley Finch
Sophie read out the e-mail address and waited while Selina, with a reluctant sigh, shuffled around with camera-phone and clothing. Roger’s cock throbbed and pounded in anticipation. He’d seen Selina’s breasts before, hell he’d even had his hands on them while measuring them on stage in front of a roomful of female colleagues in one of Uschi’s more outrageous ploys, but the thought that she’d filled out even more since then while still retaining her elfin, gamine figure… it was more than Roger and his tit-craving genitals could hope for.
‘Okay, I’ve sent it,’ Selina said eventually.
Roger’s mouse-clicking finger made a breathless beeline for the shared team e-mail folder. There it was, a message with attachment from Selina Carpenter. He opened the attachment and gazed upon the selfie his former colleague had sent.
While no stranger to a hands-free orgasm (having indeed actively cultivated the technique over years of painstaking practise), Roger was usually able to avert any spontaneous eruptions, providing he could see them coming them ahead of time. But in his haste to open the JPEG attachment, Roger had failed to anticipate quite how pornographically erotic the photograph would be, and the second he laid eyes on it his stiff cock began pumping cum into his underpants so copiously and pleasurably that he let out an involuntarily moan of ecstasy which he had to hastily segue into a hummed rendition of a half-remembered tune.
What a pair of jugs Selina had grown. What bulging firm udders, what proud, elevated, engorged teats, primed to fire jets of compressed breast-milk up and out at perfect forty-five degree angles. Those plump nipples and areolae would not look out of place on the tops of baby bottles—but scaled up for adult suckling purposes. The bra was indeed a very good fit, but as Selina had hinted, it failed to take into account nipples quite as high-set as hers. Those raw, rubbery, deep pink extremities rode a good two inches clear of the upper hem of the white padded cups, and a milky, lightly vein-tickled cleavage cried out to be filled with cock. Selina’s face frowned in the background, slightly blurred: her chest was so huge that the camera couldn’t keep nipples and face in focus at the same time.
‘Thanks for sending the picture,’ said Sophie, ‘And yes I can see that you really are currently in possession of a very… perky pair of breasts, Ms Carpenter. I was imagining the cups on my own breasts, and although mine do resemble yours with remarkable similarity, my nipples do point forwards rather than upwards, so I see your point.’
Roger’s cock wriggled and fought in his pants as the thought of Sophie and Selina being boob-twins coaxed a second wave of ejaculations from his helpless erection under the desk. He moaned again, humming still louder to cover it up. Uschi scowled across at him, and he realised that the tune that had found its way into his head was in fact the German national anthem, an unfortunately Freudian choice given Uschi’s Teutonic heritage.
‘Keep it down, Roger,’ said Imogen, and Roger looked up sharply in panic, thinking for a moment that she was talking about his cock rather than his desperate cum-face humming.
Then, Louise sniffed the air, brow furrowed somewhat. The scent of cum, still pumping forth so profusely, was wafting across the office from Roger’s groin as the haplessly horny man gazed, entranced, at the picture of skinny redhead Selina’s brassiere-vanquishing bosoms.
Still humming and cumming, Roger rose, hunched, from his chair, and scurried away from the pool of desks towards the corridor, his groin throbbing, pulsing, ejaculating alarming amounts of semen into his pants. In the gents’ toilets, alone at last, he wrestled open his trousers in a frantic hurry, pulled his long, thick semi-erection from the pool of milky ooze, and wanked it to completion with skilled efficiency, gasping and grunting as the final loads sailed across the tiled floor. Without Uschi purging him on a daily basis, this project was clearly too much for him. He really couldn’t afford incidents like this again—his libido was simply too sensitive to the thrills of large, shapely breasts. Nina’s plan had better work.
Having cleaned himself, his underwear, and the toilet floor, Roger returned to the desks. Imogen was regarding him with unkind suspicion, Louise and Jemima with amusement. Sophie seemed to have just finished the call with Selina, whose bare-nippled picture was still open on Roger’s computer screen. He closed the window in question hastily as he sat down, hoping no-one had been past his desk in the few minutes he had been away from it.
Sophie was looking rather despondent. ‘I tried,’ she said to Uschi with a shrug that squashed her jutting breasts tightly together. Roger pictured her own nipples moving comfortable beneath the cups of her bra, and felt boner returning already.
‘Sophie, Roger, Uschi. My office, please.’ It was Nina, who had emerged from her office. Sophie, her back to Nina, rolled her eyes.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Uschi.
Roger and the two bosomy young ladies followed Nina into her office and closed the door.
‘Breast orgasms,’ said Nina once everyone was seated. ‘Far more prevalent than you’d think. I was listening in on that call, Sophie, and it seemed to be going so well until your doubts regarding the veracity of Ms Carpenter’s story became so bluntly apparent.’
‘But,’ stammered Sophie, ‘I genuinely didn’t think it was possible. It’s never happened to me, nor to anyone I know.’
‘To your knowledge,’ said Nina. ‘Would it surprise you to know that not only do I myself experience orgasms from having my nipples stimulated, but that it is by far the most powerful and pleasurable way for me to do so?’ Her huge breasts almost seemed to grow larger within her starched pink blouse.
Sophie blushed. ‘Gosh, Nina, I… I don’t know what to say.’
‘Uschi,’ said Nina. ‘I’m assuming a woman of your pronounced sexuality has similarly sensitive mammaries?’
Uschi avoided Roger’s eye, and for good reason. Over the course of a long weekend spent milking Roger comprehensively dry ahead of an office bra amnesty, the German siren had had her stimulation-proof nipples and areolae sucked, licked, and nibbled for hours by her oversexed manager, sessions which had left her so tantalisingly close to non-clitoral orgasm that she had nearly been driven to tears each time: the clumsy fingerings and slurpings around her sopping wet vagina had finished her off swiftly but disappointingly. The boobgasm was the holy grail for a woman as intent as Uschi was upon deploying her bosom in the bedroom to its utmost effect. Roger could see her jaw clench in her cheek at the very thought. It was her one and only sexual weakness.
‘It depends,’ she replied drily, ‘On who I’m with.’
Ouch.
‘Well regardless,’ Nina said, a grin spreading across her face, ‘You’ll enjoy this afternoon.’
‘What’s happening this afternoon?’
‘I’m scheduling an impromptu session of my own, inspired by Sophie’s dilemma on the phone. Breast orgasms. Compulsory for your whole team, Roger, and do come along yourself, as you’ll learn a lot about the inner sexual workings of the female breast.’
Roger knew Uschi well enough to tell from her face that she was far from pleased with this development, however well she was able to conceal the fact from Nina and Sophie.
‘But,’ said Uschi, ‘Isn’t there another inspection scheduled for this afternoon? By the regulators?’
‘Yes indeed,’ smiled Nina calmly. ‘I’ve invited them, too.’
Tea and biscuits had been laid on in the conference room, and the staff milled about with the representatives of OffBra, a man and woman both in late middle age, as they all waited for Nina.
The OffBra people were keeping a little distance, as though to fraternise with the subject of their inspection might compromise their objectivity. Nevertheless, Roger strolled over with his cup and saucer, and extended a hand of introduction.
‘Roger Addington. I manage the support team.’
The man and woman returned the handshake limply without offering their names. ‘Thanks for having us at this session,’ said the woman. ‘I must say we’re both rather intrigued by wha
t your boss is proposing to do.’
‘In a good way, I hope,’ said Roger with a weak laugh. The man and woman just looked at him blankly.
The door flew open and Nina’s bosom entered the room, followed a few moments later by Nina herself. ‘Ladies, gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said cheerily. ‘Please, everyone, take a seat.’
Chairs shuffled into a rough crescent around Nina. Roger noticed with alarm that the girls’ measurements and adjectival descriptions were still recorded on the whiteboard in Uschi’s distinctive German joined-up handwriting. He wondered what the OffBra inspectors would make of that. But then, on the other hand, the contents of the whiteboard would pale in comparison with what Nina was about to present.
‘Girls,’ Nina began, ‘As you’ll be aware, we’ve seen an increasing number of calls to the support line of an… intimate nature. We’ve been working to train you all on identifying these issues and empathising in whatever way you can, and I want to applaud Uschi for her efforts thus far. But there’s one sexual issue affecting women that we haven’t covered: the boobgasm.’
The OffBra man choked on a mouthful of tea. His colleague scribbled a note so hard on her pad of that she tore right through the paper.
Nina continued. ‘The boobgasm is a widespread yet poorly understood phenomenon. Some claim it is a psychosomatic effect, that it’s all in the mind, but these people are the ones unfortunate enough never to have experienced it for themselves. In fact I would argue that it is the inability to orgasm through stimulation of the breast that is psychological in nature. Who here has ever experienced a full orgasm solely through manipulation of breasts and nipples?’
None of the women present raised their hands.
‘And who would consider the boobgasm to be a myth?’
The call centre girls all raised tentative hands. Uschi just sat, drumming her fingers on her knee. The OffBra lady seemed to be abstaining altogether.
‘Just as I thought,’ said Nina. ‘Well, first of all, I would like to prove to you all that breast orgasms are a very real, very powerful phenomenon.’ And with that, she began to unbutton her pink blouse to reveal a very pretty white lace bra, unstructured so as to showcase the natural, pouting torpedo shape of her meaty, solid J-cups. With blouse thrown over the back of a chair, Nina hastened her way out of the bra, and there she stood, topless, in front of the astonished gathering.
Roger’s cock went from flaccid, to engorged, to fully erect so quickly he feared the onset of his second spontaneous ejaculation that day, but he kept his composure and shifted in his seat to give the sudden throbbing tumescence room in his trousers.
Nina stooped and reached into her handbag on the floor, her firm breasts thudding against her knees. She retrieved a bottle of baby oil and stood, squirting a healthy amount of the slippery transparent liquid over the upper ranges of her vast bosom, then returned the bottle to her bag before standing once more to address the room, bare breasts and nipples shiny and dripping.
‘I find lubrication an indispensable part of the process,’ Nina said, slowly distributing the oil around the flanks and undersides of her jutting J’s. ‘As there’s a lot of rubbing involved. A lot of massaging, caressing, fondling, stroking… it doesn’t have to be baby oil, of course. In the heat of the moment, with a partner, there is perspiration or other slick liquid bodily secretions that will serve the same purpose. I like to hold an erect penis and rub its tip on boobs, letting precum drizzle all over them. But while I’m sure Roger would be more than happy to oblige, I won’t put him or you through that awkward spectacle right now.’
Roger thought back to how profusely he had ejaculated between Nina’s jugs, and the relish with which she had basked in the flow of semen in her honour. He considered unleashing his cock right now and letting it pump cum through the air and across the room to give her all the natural lubricant she needed. It would be an obscene act, but Nina was already pushing her luck with the regulators with this preposterous sexual display.
‘Now I just rub. Constant, rhythmic motion is the key, uninterrupted stimulation, letting the sensation build.’ Nina began masturbating her breasts before her stunned audience. ‘I avoid the most sensitive regions for as long as I can, in my case that’s obviously the nipples, but also the inner walls of my cleavage. Anything inserted between my breasts and rubbed up and down will magnify the pleasure tenfold. Similarly, a sideways jiggle will cause those pleasure centres to writhe against one another. So for now I’ll just rub the sides and bottoms of my breasts… oh… oh yes. That’s it. See how my nipples are growing and stiffening? That’s the first sign that it’s working.’ Nina ran her fingers around the fronts of her pale tits, keeping a couple of inches clear of her swelling areolae which blushed a deep, throbbing pink. ‘Mmm, so tingly and tickly. This aching gently orgasmic sensation is building inside my boobs already, it’s radiating from my nipples.’
Nina drew lines from just outside the sensitive peaks of her breasts all the way up to her collarbone, then repeated this sweeping finger gesture up to her shoulders, then out to her armpits, her sides, then drew swooping lines around the bulbous undersides of those firm breasts in to where they met her ribcage with a small crease.
‘As I keep doing this, I’m drawing the pleasure out, distributing it evenly, and soon I feel a tingle in my stomach and then… oh god… between my legs… oh yes, oh yes, my clit is responding, hearing the call of my tits to orgasm.’ Nina held her breasts from either side and, with difficulty, compressed them together before grinding them alternately up and down, massaging that well-oiled cleavage. ‘You have no idea how good this feels,’ the horny redhead chief executive enthused as her enormous breasts squirmed and rolled between her small hands.
‘How do we know you’re not just making this up,’ said Imogen coldly from her arm-folded vantage point to the side.
‘My pussy is positively streaming,’ moaned Nina, lost in breasturbation. ‘I’d pull my knickers down to show you but I can’t interrupt this constant rubbing of my bosoms. Roger, come up here and help me, will you?’
Roger stood, crotch tented. It was useless trying to hide how radically turned on he was.
‘Stand behind me and keep rubbing my bosoms together like this while I pull my skirt and knickers down, please.’ Nina said, kneading and squeezing her gigantic white udders.
Roger drifted over and stood behind his boss like she had said. He put his hands tentatively on hers, and then held them there with increasing pressure as she slid them out from underneath, letting his own fingers plunge happily into her firm, silky chestmeat and continue that sensuous masturbatory rubbing of breast against breast. He was insanely erect, his cock trapped with immense discomfort in the folds of his underpants.
Wriggling her hips, Nina slid skirt and knickers down in one go, and as she bent forward her buttocks—as smooth, firm and well-formed as her breasts, if only half the size—reversed onto that straining bulge in Roger’s groin as he bent forwards with her, holding and squeezing those monumental breasts, his bent-down cock helmet disappearing deep into the redhead’s bum-cleavage. How he managed not to ejaculate he could only attribute to the strange embarrassment of the situation, the two inspectors from the lingerie industry regulatory body gazing in shocked silence at Nina and him as they stood there in the bizarre standing position of sexual congress with only the flimsiest of business justifications.
Nina, skirt and knickers now round her ankles, stood upright again, and Roger managed to resist the temptation to fuck her backside with his clothed boner as he continued to pummel this beautiful woman’s beautiful bust. ‘Thanks Roger,’ she said, and resumed control of her bosomy fondlings, sliding her oily hands back so that Roger could, reluctantly, let go.
Boner more than apparent, Roger walked with trembling knees back to his seat, certain his balls might overload at any moment. Frankly, he would have been glad to be put out of his misery, embarrassing though that would be.
As he sat and turned he
was faced with the astonishing spectacle of lingerie businesswoman Nina Bridges standing stark naked before a room of employees and external visitors. Her nude, oily breasts still gyrated and heaved under the constant masturbatory activity of her delicate hands, but it wasn’t just her bosom that was slick and shiny: her thighs were positively dripping with the vaginal juices that flowed liberally from between her legs, where only a small neat patch of ginger pubic hair served what little modesty she cared to preserve. There was now no doubt whatsoever that Nina was in the advanced stages of very real sexual arousal. Her breasts were clearly as extraordinarily sensitive as she claimed. He looked around the room at the other girls. Apart from the obvious alarm at seeing their leader naked and about to cum very messily right there in front of them, they seemed spellbound by the promise of being able to do this for themselves, small hopeful smiles on their faces, even on Imogen’s. They were unconsciously fingering bra-straps and breasts. The pungent, sweet, heady scent of ginger quim that filled the room was intoxicating (and also served the convenient purpose of hiding the masculine aroma of Roger’s own arousal).
‘Sophie, come up here please,’ said Nina, her oily bosom-rubbing accelerating and intensifying as she raced ever closer to climax.
‘Me?’ said Sophie, as though there might be another Sophie in the room. She rose hesitantly from her seat and approached the front of the room, lingering awkwardly by her masturbating boss in her oddly schoolgirlish attire.
‘I want you to try this yourself,’ said Nina rather breathlessly as a potent wave of pleasure seized her unexpectedly.
‘H-here? Now?’
‘You can do it, Soph,’ said Jemima encouragingly.
Emboldened by a small round of applause from Jemima, Louise, and Roger, Sophie smiled, shrugged, and began to unbutton her crisp blouse. Beneath it her admirable G-cups were securely strapped into a robust lace balconette bra in a surprising shade of lime green.