by Lesley Finch
Roger cleared his throat, embarrassed, and signalled to the waiter to order another round of drinks.
Nina addressed the table. ‘Roger, Uschi, we all wanted to express our regret at how this all ended. We know that you both had the company’s best interests at heart, as well as the best interests of the girls themselves. Even though the industry regulator disapproved of your methods, your influence will be felt for a long time to come.’
‘I learned to cum using just my nipples!’ declared Sophie.
‘And I learned how to give a proper titwank,’ said Louise, her large chest swelling with pride under a silky pink top.
‘So did I!’ Jemima chimed in.
‘I never learned to titfuck,’ said Sophie with a theatrical pout. ‘You’ll have to come back and teach me!’
Roger looked nervously at Uschi, who sat there, sanguine.
‘If there’s to be any titfucking,’ Nina interjected, ‘Then it will have to be in your own time, away from company premises. Sorry, that’s the rule. You might want to apply for a course at the L.C.T.F., Sophie. If it’s still running, I haven’t heard from them in some time.’
‘The L.C.T.F.?’
‘I’ll explain later.’
‘What’s important is that we’ve all learned to love our boobs, and to be open-minded about them,’ said Jemima, raising a glass of something viscous and pink and hitting herself in the face with the straw in the process.
‘And, speaking of boobs,’ said Nina, that familiar and worrying sparkle returning to her eyes behind those thick-rimmed spectacles, ‘we’d better start getting ready. Uschi, you and me first.’
Uschi winked at Roger, and she and Nina took their handbags out the back of the bar to the ladies’ loos. Roger’s brow furrowed, and he gave the others a querying look, but Sophie, Louise, and Jemima weren’t giving anything away, and sucked innocently on their cocktail straws.
A few minutes later, Nina and Uschi returned, not looking much different except perhaps for refreshed make-up here and there. But there seemed to be a lot of conspiracy and cloak-and-dagger going on if all they were doing was powdering their noses. Louise and Jemima went next, and as Nina and Uschi returned to their cocktails with smug smiles spread across their attractive faces, Roger resigned himself to being the butt of some imminent joke.
When the women had all made whatever these secret preparations might be, the bill was paid and the group set off back into the summer evening through London streets into the depths of Shoreditch, where the middle-aged, business-casual-attired Roger looked and felt very much out of place.
‘Come on, ladies,’ Roger said, masking his impatience and apprehension with forced jollity. ‘What’s this all about.’
‘Nearly there,’ grinned Nina, and they turned into a narrow cobbled lane with a pub at the end of it. As they drew closer, Roger could see what was written on the chalkboard that was set up on the street in front of the side entrance.
THE BOOBY TRAP ~ BURLESQUE TONIGHT
Roger rolled his eyes and smiled wearily. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I get it.’
‘I told you it would be a fitting send-off, didn’t I,’ Nina chuckled.
They climbed the wooden steps to the small theatre space on the second floor of the pub. A cheerful buxom brunette in a daring corset and a tiny Fascinator hat sat in the box office. Roger glanced at a sign next to the till and then looked at it again: the club offered free admission to any woman wearing nipple tassels.
So that was what had been going on in the bar earlier. It was testament to the girls’ firm, shapely breasts that Roger hadn’t noticed they had exchanged bras for pasties in the loos. He glanced down and now recognised an inviting wobble and jiggle under Uschi and Louise’s blouses especially.
‘We’d like to claim the free admission, please,’ said Nina to the girl on the door.
‘Gonna have to see your tassels then,’ said the bored, corseted Londoner, reaching for a stamp and rubbing it on an ink pad in preparation.
Nina went first. She passed her handbag to Roger to hold, then peeled off her low-cut black top, beneath which, sure enough, the only thing separating her huge, splendidly-formed breasts were two tasselled circles of silver fabric that clung, somehow, to her nipples, slight penumbra of scarlet areola outlining them. ‘Will these do?’ she said, giving them a shake that got Roger’s erection off to a flying start as he stood there watching in surprise.
The box office teen’s eyebrows shot up, finally shaken from her ennui. ‘They’ll do for the lot of you,’ she said, stamping the back of Nina’s hand. Then, deadpan again: ‘Only joking. You’ll all have to show your tassels for free admission.’
Jemima likewise handed Roger her handbag and peeled down her pink tube-top, letting those firm round 32E’s bob into view, matching pink nipple tassels preserving the minimum amount of modesty. As she had her hand stamped, Roger thought back to how rigorous the fucking had been from that cleavage, and reflected sadly on the fact that a titfuck with Jemima would be something likely not to be repeated.
Then it was Sophie’s turn to pass Roger her bag and black velvet jacket. She had been showing off some impressive cleavage, but Roger was surprised to see that she, too, was wearing a corset, a purple satin number with a line of hooks up the front, which she proceeded to unfasten with fumbling, cocktail-clumsy fingers. When at last the garment flew open, those turgid, thrusting torpedoes surged forward with such sudden force that the box office girl shrank back involuntarily. Roger couldn’t help but notice that Sophie’s breasts were entirely naked, and he took a cock-stiffening opportunity to admire those plump, pink, shiny nipples that had been the focus of her boobgasmic pursuit the day the Uschi project had been shut down by the authorities.
‘You’re not wearing tassels,’ said the small-hatted young woman at the till with a sigh. ‘No tassels, it’s a tenner to get in.’
Sophie looked down and gave a small yelp at the sight of her plump, bare nipples pointing so rudely forward. ‘They must have got stuck in the corset,’ she muttered, searching with difficulty within the satin cups of the raunchy support garment that hung beneath her armpits until she finally withdrew two black circles of fabric and affixed them to the far-reaching breast extremities with a sheepish smile. The young woman stamped her hand.
Roger practically started cumming the moment Louise started unbuttoning her white blouse, so vivid and so stimulating was his memory of her ample breasts, so elegantly sculpted in form, yet so soft and jelly-like in texture. That titfuck in Nina’s office had been almost the perfect sexual sensation, tempered only by Uschi’s bad mood. The orgasm had been of the all-too-rare kind that left him and his genitals fully purged and satisfied, like waking, refreshed, from a long and uninterrupted sleep. When at last the panels of cotton parted and those perfect 32F’s wobbled their gravity-defying way unsteadily into view, Roger thought for one near-orgasmic moment that she, too, had forgotten the tassels, when in fact her pale nipples were covered by pasties so small and skin coloured that she may as well have been. Had Roger not by now been holding four handbags, he would have had difficulty resisting the temptation to simply stick his hand down his trousers and give his cock those final couple of rubs to a nice long series of ejaculations down his leg while drinking in the happy sight of those almost impossibly perfect young boobs.
The young lady at the box office regarded Louise’s practically non-existent nipple-coverings with a raised eyebrow, but let it go and stamped the blonde’s dainty hand, granting free admission. Louise jumped up and down a little in giddy excitement, which did little to help Roger’s borderline state of advanced sexual arousal.
Finally—Roger himself was not going to attempt to qualify and was content to pay the ten pound admission fee—it was Uschi’s turn. The Bavarian siren was wearing a black silk blouse that accented her shoulder-length midnight locks and olive skin. Roger’s hands were full with the other girls’ handbags, and so with a mischievous smile, she hung hers by its white strap from th
e jutting tent that erected obscenely from the now unemployed businessman’s trousers, causing him to gasp in fright and his former colleagues to emit raunchy squeals of hilarity.
Shimmying her full breasts lightly as she went, Uschi made her way down the buttons of her shirt. The sight of that hot, welcoming cleavage, especially after being subjected to the heightened voluptuous charms of the other girls’ tasselled upper bodies, set Roger’s testicles on a full rolling boil, his cock revving on the starting line, and every other bad metaphor in the book. Thank heavens, then, for the black silk nipple coverings, tassels dangling from them. The direct sight of those puffy, suckable pale areolae would have had Roger clutching the ticket desk for support as he unloaded by the bucket-load into his underpants. Uschi shot him a dazzling toothy grin as she had her hand stamped.
The practically bare-breasted women took their bags back, stashing their tops inside them and leaving Roger to pay his own admission fee before following them into the small auditorium, where the house lights were down and the show about to begin. Nina had taken the precaution of reserving a table and a couple of bottles of wine, and Roger thus found himself right by the stage, huddled with this bevy of large-bosomed pretty young women and about to be entertained by yet more.
Though the show, when it began, drew whoops and cheers from his former colleagues with its succession of vaudeville and mildly erotic novelty strip-tease acts, Roger found the experience rather tiresome. And from his vantage point, with his back turned to his companions, he couldn’t even distract himself by letting his lecherous gaze linger on their opulent assets. There were other pockets of women around the dimly lit room who had also chosen to take advantage of the tassel-flaunting discount, but none of them were endowed to the same luscious extent that Uschi, Nina, and the others were.
After a terrible ukulele act had left the stage amid lukewarm applause, the mistress of ceremonies took the mic to announce the final act if the first half of the show. First half! Roger’s heart sank at the prospect of another hour of bad variety. But the girls’ giggling and chatter descended swiftly to a silent, respectful hush as the stage lights dimmed for this final act.
In the darkness, John Lennon’s record “Imagine” was played over the P.A., and the stage lights glowed a soft pink as a tall, slim, leggy figure with long, light brown curls prowled on from the wings, eyes disguised by a pink sequinned mask, her entire upper body cloaked by two huge feathered fans, also a blushing pink. Whoops went up from the small crowd as this slinky lady began her slow fan-dance routine to the gentle rhythm music.
Louise nudged Roger. ‘Recognise her?’ she giggled in a low whisper.
‘I, um, I don’t follow the burlesque scene,’ Roger whispered back, taking the opportunity to glance down at Louise’s tasselled bosom as he turned away from the stage to replay.
Louise whispered something which sounded to Roger like “Imagine.”
‘Yes, I know the song, of course,’ Roger whispered with a patient smile. ‘Just not the dancer.’
‘Not Imagine,’ said Louise. ‘Imogen.’
Roger’s eyes widened and his head snapped back around to the feather-teasing woman on stage. Sure enough, with each carefully choreographed passing of the two fans, it was apparent that there was a surprising and completely disproportionate amount of bosom hiding behind them atop that otherwise skinny frame. Surely it couldn’t be… the rumours of Imogen’s double life were true?
‘You may say I’m a dreamer,’ she sang along with the music, turning to face Roger, prowling across the stage area to where he sat, his heart and cock pounding. The fans still strategically cloaked the increasingly evident ginormity of chest.
‘But I’m not the only one.’ The dancer, now on closer inspection most definitely the seemingly shy, prudish, Imogen from Tempest, sidled up to Roger and, swinging a long, slim, pink heeled leg around, straddled his lap amid loud brays of encouragement from the audience.
‘I hope someday you’ll join us.’ To Roger’s further alarm, Imogen’s hips slid forward to let her pink pantie-clad pubis nudge sensuously against the monstrous twitching bulge in his trousers. Roger gasped, his field of vision now almost entirely filled with huge pink feathers. He was being dry-humped by the bustiest girl in the office. If this still counted as burlesque, it was at the extreme end of the spectrum.
‘And the world will be as one.’ In one final, triumphant gesture, Imogen, back to the audience but facing Roger, swept aside both fans to reveal her nude upper body.
Roger began to cum, in what felt like slow-motion. Imogen’s breasts were magnificent outsized globes, completely at odds with her tall, gaunt frame. In size and shape they even exceeded the breasts of Vanessa from the old place, and her nipples were dainty pink little nubs with modest yet well-defined areolae, high on those bulging slopes. Roger looked up through that abyss of a cleavage as his dick throbbed and pulsed against that firm, slender pussy, and, with a dirty grin like he’d never seen, Imogen leaned back, let loose and started to jiggle those sloshing melons for all she was worth.
Roger wheezed as the sight shifted his public orgasm up a gear. He suddenly thought of Uschi and her mercurial fits of jealousy, but as he tore his eyes from Imogen’s huge, naked, careening udders to look across the table, Uschi was smiling across at him, thumbs raised in encouragement as she gave her own breasts a tassel-swinging jiggle of encouragement in his direction.
As the song’s final chord sounded and the audience rose in standing ovation (except of course for Roger, who was in the midst of a different kind of standing ovation), Imogen swooped her feathered fans around behind Roger and, thus enshrouding him, let her enormous, wobbling breasts smother his face while she rode him gently to a long, delicious climax.
Then, in one graceful move, she was off him, feathers covering her beautiful breasts once more, and disappeared backstage.
‘She’ll deny it ever happened, of course,’ said Sophie, pouring herself more cheap rosé.
Roger sat, chest heaving, panting and wheezing, still in shock at what had just happened. Uschi was shaking her head in affectionate despair. Roger, unlike Imogen, was a very predictable person.
THE END
~ ALSO IN THIS SERIES ~
Uschi
~ NOVELS BY THE SAME AUTHOR ~
L.C.T.F.
First Term at Stonemere Park
A New Year at Stonemere Park
Prime Assets
~ SHORT STORIES ~
The Sparkly Bra
Katy at the Spa