Uschi

by Lesley Finch

  ‘... you have to deal with the bounce factor,’ Roger continued, trying to ignore a display of busty athletics that would have done little to keep his throbbing erection at bay. ‘Here’s Shelley in the same bra. Though,’ Roger ad libbed, ‘I hope several cup sizes larger.’ There was a sprinkle of laughter at his reference to the magnitude by which Shelley’s bosom outranked Jemma’s, and while Jemma collected her jacket and left the stage, bosom still jostling under its own inertia, Shelley took to the stage in a K-cup version of the same white lace balconette brassiere, wearing only a tartan skirt and red heels besides, and carrying a pink blouse. Roger being Roger, the sight of those awesome breasts in a bra was an even more horn-inducing spectacle than their appearance when nude, and he swiftly averted his eyes. ‘Dressing for work, Shelley may be considering the same bra,’ he said. Shelley posed and acted as though she were looking in a bedroom mirror. ‘Of course, she’s not going to go to work in just the bra, she thinks it will be well hidden beneath her blouse.’ Shelley donned the blouse and buttoned it up. ‘But the lace pattern is clearly visible through the pale cotton. ‘A smooth cupped bra with full-breast coverage is the safest option.’

  Roger clicked the pointer, and the presentation slide changed to read the word “Minimize” as Shelley strolled past him out the door. Jemma entered stage left, almost unrecognisably flat-chested beneath a frumpy brown sweater.

  ‘Even in a discreet and well-fitting bra you may feel you’re still simply too full-bosomed for the office, in which case you may want to consider a minimizer bra, like the one Jemma is wearing here.’

  Jemma peeled off the sweater to reveal a severe contraption strapping down her boobs which were clearly trying to escape above, below, and to the sides of the heavy-duty cups. Her poorly concealed discomfort told the room that she wasn’t happy with this arrangement. Roger thought back to Kathrin and her double life as a flat-chested businesswoman by day, and buxom H-cup bombshell by night. If the anguish on Jemma’s face was anything to go by, Roger couldn’t help but admire Kathrin’s dedication to keeping her abundance hidden so effectively. He avoided the temptation to make eye-contact with Kathrin, who was a cumshot away from him in the front row.

  The next slide exhorted the audience to “WEAR A BRA.”

  ‘With the exception of the aforementioned minimizers,’ read Roger, pausing to thank Jemma as she hastened her way out, already scrambling her way out of the straitjacket undergarment, ‘Most bras will have the effect of lifting and boosting a large bust, and so it can sometimes be tempting to dispense with one altogether. Here’s Shelley, braless again.’

  Shelley’s erect, sweater-clad nipples entered the room from stage left, followed by Shelley’s enormous wobbling breasts, then followed a few moments later by Shelley herself. It was the pale blue skin-tight sweater that Roger and the audience were already familiar with.

  ‘We studied the attention-grabbing qualities of a thin, tight, light-coloured sweater earlier in the session, although of course the model was supposed to be wearing a bra at that point!’

  ‘Sorry, I got mixed up,’ shrugged Shelley, her shoulders slamming her heavy tits into one another, setting off wild activity under the sweater.

  ‘Quite alright,’ smiled Roger. ‘The first reason to favour a bra should be obvious, and that’s erect nipples. Jemma can get away with it as her nipples are flat, discreet, and not easily aroused...’

  On cue, Jemma followed Shelley to centre stage, in a similar thin merino sweater of an autumnal orange that complemented her ginger hair. Her breasts wobbled, also braless, not Shelley’s ponderous galloping, jostling K-cup wobble, but a brisk, prim F-cup jiggle and quiver with each step.

  Roger continued, ’... even under the constant friction of wool in direct contact with her sensitive skin. Note the smooth, uninterrupted line of Jemma’s braless bust compared with the swollen, sexual urgency of Shelley’s prodding nubs.’ The two girls turned side-on to illustrate Roger’s point. ‘But it’s not just about the nipples. Even more so than in a balconette, a lack of bra will result in a level of breast-jiggle that provides maximum attention-grabbing distraction not just in a run or walk, but in the most basic of activities. As I’m sure the larger-bosomed of you are aware, even the slightest shoulder-shimmy can result in a level of boob-movement certain to arouse the lusty passion of any red-blooded man in the room.’

  And so, Jemma and Shelley turned again to face the audience, and with the slightest shake of their slender shoulders, put on a display of bosom-shimmying worthy of any burlesque act. Roger, as the only man in the room, red-blooded or otherwise, found himself so close to the edge of ejaculation that his only saving grace was his obstructed view of what was going on, the bosom-jiggling models being downstage with their backs to him. Roger couldn’t remember a time he had needed so urgently to blow his load. He was going to have to get to a bathroom, pronto.

  But, as he turned rashly away from the wobbling boobs that headed in his direction toward the stage-right exit, he saw from the cue cards that there was one final point on the session agenda.

  “Bra Fitting,” announced the final slide. Thank goodness he wouldn’t be needed for this, nor would he want to be in the room, as there would be nothing more likely to cause him to cum more volcanically or conspicuously than a model being measured for a bra before his very eyes. He was legitimately concerned that any further breast-related arousal might cause him to pass out, or even suffer a heart attack or stroke.

  ‘Please welcome our professional bra fitter.’ Roger gestured toward the stage left door. Applause started, then slowly stopped, as no-one appeared.

  Eventually, Selina appeared behind Roger. ‘Roger!’ she whispered.

  ‘What is it?’ He put his hand over the mic to keep the conversation between them.

  ‘They haven’t turned up! The bra fitter and her busty model! They’re not here!’

  ‘Oh dear. What’s going to happen then?’

  ‘You’ll have to do it on me,’ said Selina, then seeing the obvious panic in Roger’s eyes, ‘I know I’ve already asked a lot of you, but you’d really be helping me out. I’ll talk you through it all, I just need you to take all the measurements with the tape. You won’t mind seeing my tits, will you?’

  Roger’s blood ran cold. Not only was he about to learn Selina’s turgidly milky bra size, he was going to be measuring it himself, and in front of a hundred female spectators, his own team numbering among them.

  Selina took centre stage. ‘Sorry ladies, there’s a slight change to the plan, as Ms Bridges hasn’t been able to make it, but I was closely involved in the preparation with this bra fitting part of the morning and with Roger’s help I’m sure I can give you all the gist.’

  Roger readjusted his erection behind the lectern, pushing it up beneath his belt doing his best not to apply too much friction with his fingers. Its throbbing head nestled, raw, swollen, and highly sensitive, just beneath his ribcage, with only his wide tie concealing the long bulge beneath his shirt from view. Smiling awkwardly, cold sweat beading his brow, he joined Selina at the front of the auditorium stage.

  ‘As you may know, ladies,’ began Selina, ‘I’m expecting my first baby...’ There was congratulatory applause. ‘Thank-you, yes, I’m very excited. And you’ve all been too polite to comment, but I’ve sure you’ve all been wondering where I suddenly got these enormous boobs, so I hope this will put any rumours of cosmetic surgery to rest!’

  The ladies chuckled.

  ‘I assure you, my recent blossoming is all the work of Mother Nature, and it’s been so sudden. In just a few weeks I’ve gone from a 32C to... well, we’re about to find out. Roger? Ready with the tape measure?’

  Selina shrugged off her white jacket. Beneath it, her solid, pregnant jugs stretched a scoop-neck top in navy sailor stripes to its absolute limit. This she peeled off, stripping down to a light grey cotton undervest that clung tightly to her young motherly curves. Sensitive nipples prodded visibly at the fabric, high above th
e outline of the bra cups far beneath. She took a deep breath, then whipped the vest off, too.

  Roger stared in horny fascination. The pink silk cups of the bra clung desperately to the lower quarter of each staunch, solid, grapefruit-sized tit. It looked less like the bra was holding her breasts up, and more the other way around. Shoulder and backstraps dug deep into Selina’s pale, skinny body, and swollen, elongated nipples pointed upwards and outwards at 45-degree angles, looking about as ready to squirt milk into the air as Roger’s burgeoning penis was to ejaculate white creamy issuance of his own.

  ‘This is my 32C bra,’ said Selina, breaking the silence that had descended. ‘As you can see, I’ve outgrown it quite a bit lately. I always had pointy nips, but at least I was able to hide the beneath padded bra cups. That’s obviously no longer possible, as the undersides of my boobs have filled out so much that my nipples are practically sitting on top of them.’ Selina proceeded to unhook the bra, which turned out to be as unnecessary a support garment as everyone guessed, as her ballooning bosom didn’t drop an inch, instead continuing to thrust forth as though hewn from the finest marble. Her stomach was showing the merest hint of a belly, but this was still only really noticeable if you were looking out for it. And of course, not a single pair of eyes was looking at Selina’s stomach.

  Raising the tape measure, Roger approached.

  ‘First of all,’ said the brazenly topless young mother-to-be, ‘We need to measure under the bust to get the ribcage measurement. This may in some cases involve lifting a heavier pair of breasts out of the way, but my boobs are kind of doing that themselves so it won’t be necessary in this case. That’s right, Roger, all the way around.’

  Roger stooped to pass the tape around young Selina’s slender ribcage. The sleek undersides of her jutting breasts met with her body at a right angle, with no crease whatsoever. Roger inhaled the warm, milky aroma mixed with the floral scent of her perfume and the coconut of her body lotion, and in a genuine accident, grazed his knuckles under each breast as his hand went by. So close was his face that he could make out the prickle of goosebumps all over Selina’s pale skin as he did this. He glanced up at a proud, scarlet nipple, then quickly looked away as he felt the head of his cock pulsate in instant response, still trapped against his stomach. He read the measurement on the tape: ‘Twenty-four inches.’

  ‘Thanks Roger,’ said Selina. ‘For an even number we then four inches to that – we’d add five if it were an odd number – and that gives us a band size of 28. Now, to obtain the cup size, we measure around the fullest part of the bust. Roger, where would you say that was.’

  Roger studied Selina’s naked bust as it surged in matronly grandeur before her. ‘It’s tempting to say across your nipples,’ said Roger, trying to maintain some level of professional composure. ‘But in fact your breasts continue to swell outwards beneath them, so I’d say about... here.’ He lightly touched the outermost extremity of Selina’s curving right breast, about an inch below her skyward-pointing nipple.

  Selina didn’t appear bothered at having her bare breast touched by her manager, and instead urged Roger to continue with the measurement. Roger passed the tape measure around again, this time taking the liberty of holding the ends together at the front. He now had both hands on her breasts. He was astonished by how rock-solid they were, ever so slightly slick and shiny from the large amounts of moisturizer she was evidently applying these days. He was staring straight at her raw, erect nipples, and longed to suck on one the way he had Susan’s.

  ‘Thirty-six inches,’ he read.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ breathed Selina. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger, and carefully pulled the tape measure away from Selina’s bare breasts, letting them sway freely again, their lofty defiance of gravity at miraculous odds with their considerable size and weight. ‘Thirty-six inches.’

  ‘Call up the next slide in the presentation,’ said Selina. Roger clicked the pointer and a table appeared matching numbers to letters. ‘We subtract the full bust measurement from the band size, and then look up that number on the chart to obtain the cup size.’

  Roger did the arithmetic. ‘Eight inches difference,’ he said. Everyone in the room looked at the chart.

  Selina put a hand to her mouth. ‘I guess that makes me a twenty-eight double G,’ she said with a gulp. ‘Roger, could you go out the back and see if we have any bras in that size?’

  Roger nodded and made a beeline for the stage exit out into the corridor. Twenty-eight double G! The nearest gents’ restroom was several minutes’ walk away. He couldn’t wait that long. He dove in to the green room and, perceiving it to be vacated, flung his necktie over his shoulder and unbuttoned his shirt to free his raging erection into the open.

  ‘Oh!’ said a female voice to his left. He jumped in shock. It was Shelley, back in jeans and a cherry red vest top, sitting just inside the doorway where he hadn’t seen her. ‘Oh goodness!’

  ‘I’m... I’m so sorry,’ gasped Roger. His thick mast was thoroughly exposed, and there was no point in trying to hide it now. ‘I... I can explain!’

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ reassured Shelley, standing up and taking a few steps closer. ‘I completely understand, that must have been torture for you! You probably need to cum pretty hard now, am I right?’

  Roger nodded.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand, it’s the least I can do,’ said Shelley, and turning her face away from the imminent blast, wrapped her fingers around Roger’s veined, throbbing penis and gave it a few brisk rubs.

  Relief coursed through Roger’s body from his prickling scalp to his blood-drained fingertips as semen, thick and opaque, left his cockhead and hit the ceiling in a rapid series of viscous eruptions. The wet substance splattered and dangled from above as Roger gazed down Shelley’s top at her K-cup breasts, jostling heavily as she wanked him off.

  ‘You must feel a lot better now,’ Shelley said, carefully releasing her deft grip and letting Roger’s spent dick wilt a little. ‘You looked like you were about to have a seizure! Luckily nurse Shelley was on hand with some treatment.’ She winked at him and took a paper tissue before handing him the box.

  High-heeled footsteps approached from the corridor outside. Shit! Roger buttoned up his shirt and quickly sat down in the corner by the dressing table, his tie still thrown over his shoulder. His heart was still pounding fast from the excitement, and he noticed with embarrassment the thick, congealed wad of semen that dangled and stretched from the ceiling.

  The door opened and in popped a bespectacled face, framed by a sleek auburn bob. ‘Hello, I’m Nina Bridges. Is this the green room for the Women’s Day event?’

  ‘It is,’ said Roger as casually as he could under the circumstances.

  The woman stepped inside, a large bust neatly packed into a smart black knee-length dress, a leather hold-all in her hand, from whose sides poked pastel-toned hints of lacy underwear. A young blonde with an ample bosom of her own followed apprehensively. ‘I’ve had a series of mixed messages about the event. I was booked to do a live bra fitting on Jo here, but someone phoned me this morning to say it had been cancelled. Then I had a series of voicemails from the event organiser asking where I was.’

  ‘How strange,’ said Roger. ‘The event is most definitely going ahead, but I’m afraid we’ve already done the bust measurements without you.’ The white gunge of his recent emission was descending in sticky strands above the bra lady’s head, and he wanted to warn her but had no idea what to say. ‘Who did you say called you this morning?’

  ‘A young woman who said she was phoning from your head office in Frankfurt. German accent.’

  Uschi! This had all been engineered with Machiavellian genius. Now there was only Vanessa to go. Roger’s cock began to stiffen again at the mere thought of Vanessa’s enormous breasts and the mystery of that final bra size—not counting Uschi herself, of course.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Roger. ‘But there’s stil
l time if you want to contribute. Selina herself acted as the bra sizing subject, and we established her as a size twenty-eight double G just now. I’ve been sent back here to fetch some bras in that size. She’s waiting out there on stage now, it’s the next door along the corridor.

  ‘Perfect, thank-you,’ said the lady. ‘Come along, Jo,’ she said, and the two left just as the bulk of Roger’s fresh semen finally splodged onto the carpet behind them.

  ‘Thank God I don’t have to go back in there,’ said Roger, head in hands. ‘I don’t think my cock could take it.’ He stood, his large semi-erection still trapped between belt and stomach.

  ‘Do you need to cum again?’ asked Shelley.

  ‘Um, why,’ said Roger.

  ‘I’ve been learning to titfuck,’ she said. ‘And I could really use someone to try on.’

  She peeled off her vest top, baring those sumptuous luxury breasts and suckable nipples.

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ said Roger.

  Chapter Seven

  Lately, Roger had come to discover another unwelcome side-effect of Uschi’s campaign to cleanse him: boredom. Whereas once upon a time he had spent his daylight hours fantasizing about the women who worked for him, his evenings masturbating, and his nights asleep recharging his voyeuristic libido to start the lecherous process from scratch, Uschi’s successful attempts to propel him to premature climax were leaving him hours of free time he had no idea what to do with. An adult lifetime of perving had, so he was discovering, left him with no hobbies or interests beyond looking at and thinking about breasts. What was worse, he was now realising that without the sexual tension of unresolved busty titillation, his managerial office job was actually pretty dull.

  Even on those days when Uschi wasn’t up to one of her convoluted schemes, she was still finding ad hoc ways to drive Roger over the ejaculatory edge, usually before lunch and sometimes within an hour of arriving in the office. She would upset the delicate balance by which he let his orgasm build naturally over the course of the day by teasing him relentlessly in the most explicit terms, sending graphic emails and texts, summoning him for meetings in private during which she would bare her breasts and purge him of his pent-up seed using her hand or her cleavage. The silvery white stains on the meeting room carpet were becoming increasingly difficult to explain.