Uschi

by Lesley Finch

  Uschi, half asleep, extracted herself from this creamy soup and rolled off her horny manager, her breasts rolling around, high on her chest, as she spread across the bed on her back. Roger, waking too, slapped a groggy hand onto one of those towering, wobbly tits, savouring it like a restorative mug of coffee.

  ‘You’re an animal, Roger,’ Uschi slurred. She wasn’t complaining.

  Rolling toward her, Roger’s erection prodded stiffly into the soft flesh of her rounded hip as he helped himself to a further stage of breakfast by crossing the threshold into oral breastplay. Uschi let out a moan of surprise and delight. Roger’s inexperience was eclipsed by his innate sensuality where breasts were concerned. The man clearly loved tits an enormous amount, and his lips and tongue were as tender in their expression of admiration as his intentions were selfish and ungentlemanly.

  ‘Roger…’ began Uschi softly. ‘Remember what we discussed.’ A bolt of pleasure shot from her heavily-sucked nipple through her body with a helpless shudder, and she found herself groping her neglected other tit with feverish fingers. ‘Eat me out now.’

  Roger disengaged mouth from boob. ‘Can I play with your tits while I do that?’

  ‘I insist.’ Uschi pushed Roger’s head down her body to her thickly tousled groin.

  Roger drank in the scent, unfamiliar and yet instantly recognisable as the aroma of feminine arousal, pungent, heady, and delicious. Nestling his nose in her pubic thatch, he let his lips and tongue get to know the lips and folds of Uschi’s pussy, while his outstretched hands groped and jiggled her lush naked bosom. He had no idea what he was doing, but Uschi’s purrs of pleasure told him he must be doing something right, and as long as he got to continue manhandling those phenomenal, firm boobs he was happy to do anything for this young woman.

  When the orgasm hit Uschi, it wasn’t the stuff of sexual legend, but an orgasm it was, and she had to hand it to Roger for getting her there first time. Roger, slobbering and panting like a puppy, crawled back onto the bed, his now very prominent morning erection drawing a slippery line of precum all the way up Uschi’s shin and thigh.

  ‘Your turn,’ said Uschi, fixing him with a lazy post-orgasmic stare. ‘Can’t have you enjoying that boner any longer. We need to clear your head.’ She leapt up and wrestled him with ease onto his back, her heavy hanging boobs slapping his enormous erection in all directions before she took its plumlike helmet in her mouth and gave it the same wet, slathering, vacuum-sealed treatment he had lavished on her randy nipple.

  This was another new experience for Roger in his rollercoaster weekend of belated copulatory awakening. He had sometimes wondered, without excitement, what fellatio would feel like, and now he was finally receiving it he wondered what the fuss was about, even with so preeminent a fantasy figure as Uschi herself administering it. Hot and cushioning though her plump lips were, they were no match for the handsome, vice-like, fuckable grip of her deep young cleavage. Roger’s attention turned to the round, heavy breasts that swung as Uschi threw herself into her oral duties, and the sight alone prompted Roger’s first ejaculation of the day (at least, the first since waking).

  Uschi choked, coughed, and recoiled bodily from the forceful outflow of semen that the mere existence of her tits had inspired in Roger. Cum pelted her face from a foot away as Roger’s long, thick erection wriggled and gushed like an unattended garden hose. She tilted her head and returned to the spurting shaft, licking and sucking its length, encouraging its gooey spasms until Roger was, temporarily, spent.

  He rolled away. The very thought of Uschi and her body made his groin ache. His tender, withered cock trembled on the bed sheets. Uschi, now wide awake and layered in cum of various states of congealment and crustiness, hopped from the bed and skipped from the room, her hair, bosom, and buttocks jouncing briskly as she went.

  Roger’s virility returned soon enough, and after a breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast the remainder of the morning was spent with Uschi enacting various office tasks which, in underwear would have been mundane enough, but which braless in a tight-fitting T-shirt suddenly turned into scenes from a Russ Meyer movie. Roger tried and failed to keep his errant penis from rising to Uschi’s bosomy provocation, and each time the tent in his trousers reached a level of towering stiffness that Uschi deemed unacceptable, he was stripped bottomless and wanked, sucked, or titfucked to a swift climax before the whole process began again, albeit with diminishing returns where Roger’s production of sperm was concerned. But, desperate to maximise this time with the woman of his dreams, Roger soldiered on, finding erotic stimulation not just in Uschi’s perfect breasts but in the elegant curves of her legs, the succulent swell of her dark-curled pussy, and in the plump, perky perfection of a bottom that was otherwise sorely wasted on the thoroughly breast-obsessed man. Uschi had stashed her bra back in her bag, and although Roger had had numerous opportunities to sneak a peek at those magical numbers and letters inscribed upon the undergarment’s label, the thought had genuinely not occurred to him, so swept away was he by this erotic whirlwind.

  Eventually, around noon, Roger could take no more and fell asleep on his back on the living room carpet where, having transgressed once again and feasted upon Uschi’s luscious pale nipples with great sexual appetite, he had found himself with the German temptress’s thighs around his face, her labia grinding against his mouth and nose while his tongue lapped her gagging clit.

  He woke to the sound and smell of sausages sizzling. His own sausage swayed, semi-erect in the air, the hour’s sleep having seemingly been enough to restore his libido somewhat. A plastic carrier bag sat on the kitchenette table. She had been to the shop.

  ‘You’re alive,’ boomed Uschi from the stove. She was wearing one of Roger’s old black T-shirts and his never-worn grey tracksuit bottoms, bought years before with never-resolved intentions to exercise.

  Roger licked his lips, confused at first by the pungent, salty flavour of Uschi’s now rather sticky juices. He stumbled, wearing only a Hawaiian shirt and black socks, to his feet, and made his way to the bathroom to wash, soaping his sensitive erection with care in an ultimately futile attempt to arouse it further.

  They ate the lunch Uschi had cooked. Roger stared unabashed at Uschi’s bust which wobbled energetically as she ran her knife back and forth through a sausage.

  ‘Surely my braless boobs can’t still be turning you on?’ she said, and peeked around the table, shaking her head in despair at the tent erected in Roger’s trousers. ‘When the whole team’s braless on Monday I don’t want to be wanking you off all day. They’ll be getting suspicious. Here, have a feel and get it out of your system.’ She lifted the T-shirt, baring her full breasts. Roger gazed in awe. She was managing to tire him out physically, but if there was a point where he was supposed to get bored of those tits, Roger couldn’t imagine it arriving any time soon. He reached across the table and helped himself to a keen grope, fondling and squeezing Uschi’s bulbous bosom with both hands. ‘Just think of what Sarah’s going to look like with those perky Irish E-cups jostling in her boob tube with no bra to hold them in place. You won’t have the luxury of pleasuring yourself with her the way you have with me now. What are you going to do?’

  ‘That’s the problem, Uschi,’ said Roger as he had his filthy way with her bountiful bare bosom at the kitchen table. ‘The way you’re carrying on I can’t just get off on the thought of all your tits any more. I have to feel them, suck them, blow my load all over them.’

  ‘As long as you just do that with mine, what they don’t know can’t hurt them,’ reasoned Uschi, and, with a saucy smile, shimmied her shoulders causing her boobs to wobble heavily in Roger’s palms.

  ‘I’m going to cum,’ rambled Roger.

  ‘Show me,’ said Uschi, scraping her chair back from the table and standing. ‘I need to be sure you’re really letting it all out and not secretly allowing it to build up.’ She peeled off the T-shirt, now completely topless, her large areolae impossibly perky atop her perfect b
reasts. In a now well practised move, she extracted Roger’s lengthy member from his pants, leaned over it until her hanging bosom flanked the throbbing head, and gripped its base with her left hand to steady it while cum pumped and gushed into her cleavage. Roger sighed with endless relief, clutching her breasts with weak fingers and massaging his cock with their yielding olive-skinned flesh.

  With the two of them confined to Roger’s apartment, the weekend progressed along these repetitive lines. By the time Sunday evening arrived Roger was averting his eyes whenever Uschi and her braless bust hove into his field of view. For now, at least, the conditioning exercise had succeeded, and as she collected her things, dressed in her clothes from Friday and skipped into the street to catch an evening bus back home, she left Roger a dehydrated, limping husk of a man, dreading the next day in the office.

  He set several early alarms and made sure he was at work before the rest of the team. He didn’t want to be caught out by any further potential shenanigans from the devious mind of Uschi. He had already been coerced into tolerating the bra amnesty in protest at Vanessa’s free and easy disregard for underwear, and had the feeling that it wasn’t going to end there.

  Vanessa was the first to arrive, most unusually, given that she tended to breeze in anything up to an hour late. She was lightly tanned from a weekend in Paris, and as the low lace-trim neckline of her strappy cream-coloured cotton vest top travelled up and down the upper slopes of her unfettered bosom, it was readily apparent that the tan wasn’t restricted to the parts of the body a woman generally leaves covered up. She grunted a morning greeting in Roger’s general direction.

  ‘Enjoy the long weekend?’ asked Roger jovially, suppressing a wince as his cock twitched painfully as his mind’s eye travelled out of sheer force of habit inside Vanessa’s top at the oversized goodies within.

  Vanessa shrugged, her huge French tits rebounding and wobbling indifferently. ‘It was okay. I found time for sunbathing.’

  ‘So I can see,’ said Roger. ‘It’s a nice, even tan you have.’

  ‘In France we can sun ourselves topless,’ said Vanessa, looking down at her bare arms and upper chest. ‘Not like ‘ere, with you prudish Brits. And when you don’t wear a bra, like me, it is important not to ‘ave tan lines.’ By way of illustration, Vanessa tugged the thin straps of her vest until they fell loosely from her bony shoulders. All that now held the top in place was the jutting peaks of her perky, precariously mobile breasts. Perhaps, thought Roger, it was even the tips of her nipples, caught in a hole in the lace, that were keeping her top from simply falling down and baring those magnificent tits in their incongruous enormity. Although her daily bralessness left little to the imagination, this was the first time Roger had seen Vanessa in something so low cut, and the clues her deep, tight cleavage offered as to the true nature of those mammoth mammaries sent Roger’s tit-weary penis into agonising convulsions.

  ‘I’d show you my bare boobs, too,’ Vanessa taunted with a callous sneer, ‘But I know ‘ow much you disapprove of zem.’ And on that taunting, teasing note, she pulled the straps back on to her shoulders, briefly hefting her breast back up, tangled in cotton, before they descended again in tumbling disarray inside her top while she sat down at her desk.

  Before Roger could say anything, in walked the two blondes Sarah and Alice in states of unconstrained femininity that would normally have had Roger reaching for the Kleenex, but now only served as a migraine-inducing reminder of the exhaustingly orgasmic weekend Uschi had just put him through.

  Sarah was in a tight grey sweater of very thin jersey material that described every curve, outline and dimple of her succulent Irish chest in vivid, no-bra detail. Roger thought of the carefully choreographed wardrobe malfunction and swiftly assembled the jigsaw in his mind that filled in the girlie pink pigmentation of her soft, swollen, golfball-diameter areolae. The brisk quiver her tits undertook with each step she took across the office spoke volumes about their jelly-like density. Now that he’d seen her topless, all Roger wanted to do was repeat the masturbatory eruption he had made on her bra, but directly onto her bare breasts instead, while she willingly encouraged him the way Uschi did. But his achingly overwrought cock said no.

  Alice had chosen to show off her succulent F-cup wares in a smart blouse of seersucker pinstripe. Though tailored and fitted in cut and design, it appeared to have been done so with a much smaller bustline in mind, as large gaps yawned open between the taut-fastened buttons, revealing gaping lengths of dark, deep cleavage that writhed and wobbled bralessly as the young woman walked. Her small, stiff nipples stood out conspicuously beneath the cotton, and stress lines radiated outwards as far as her narrow shoulders and slim waist where the blouse was tucked tightly into a grey knee-length skirt. Roger did his best not to stare into those wide open vaginal gaps between her buttons as they seemed to invite his cock to penetrate deep within the bare skin cleft they presented. But not today. Roger’s crippled cock was having none of it.

  Roger shot a glance across at Vanessa to see if she was taking the bait. But she was engrossed in her e-mails, or social media, and wasn’t paying attention.

  Susan entered the office, seemingly still half asleep, then stopped dead in her tracks when she clocked Sarah’s unfettered udders wobbling their way from the printer. She had obviously forgotten about the bra amnesty, as her dark bra was showing clearly through a thin pink blouse. Alice saw her and wagged a discreet chiding finger in her direction. Susan made a detour to the girls’ restroom.

  Selina was next in, the only clue her own solid breasts gave to a lack of underwear being the prominence of her thick, pregnant nipples through her favourite sailor-striped top. Roger’s mind raced to the live bra sizing he had carried out in the company auditorium, to the young mother-to-be’s sudden abandoning of her usual physical modesty in stripping topless before her manager and peers. The busty fashion model Shelley had been on hand directly thereafter to afford him badly-needed relief within her cleavage, but Roger’s brain craved Selina’s cleavage to provide the appropriate closure, a desire his still-exhausted genitals were painfully reluctant to acknowledge. ‘Morning, Roger,’ chirruped Selina in theatrical innocence, taking her seat at the desk next to him and offering a glimpse of firm, dangling boob down her top as she stooped to stash handbag beneath desk.

  Susan re-emerged from the bathroom at the same time as Kathrin walked out of the elevator, and it was difficult to know where to look. Having forgotten the agreement to go braless, she could hardly have chosen a more revealing blouse. It was practically the same colour as her skin, and the statuesque Canadian’s chewy toffee nipples were all but entirely visible through it in thick, dark, erect contrast with her breast flesh, right down to the prickly ring of alluring goosebumps that graced her lush areolae. Even the details of her bosom that weren’t in direct contact with the translucent fabric showed through, like the shadowy curves where the bulging undersides of her voluptuous globes met her lower ribcage. And to cap it all Susan’s breasts were almost as bouncy as Kathrin’s, and nearly as large too, if not more proportionate to Susan’s larger frame.

  But if anything was going to deflect attention from Susan’s near-nude bosom, it was Kathrin, walking calmly a few steps behind her. There was no denying whatsoever that Kathrin had got the memo about coming to work sans bra. The high-turtle-necked, sleeveless beige top she had gone for was fully opaque, but even so her nipples looked more nude than Susan’s. It was as though she had simply sprayed beige paint over her body. Her thick nipples atop their hillocked areolae stood out with fierce feminine pride. The material of the top, where once it had presumably been stretched taut into the slim high waistband of Kathrin’s tartan flared trousers, had been pulled up by the lofty heave and surge of her firm, outsized bust, and was now wrinkled and creased tightly into the horizontal nook where bosom met chest with such geometric perfection, baring her cute stomach and dimpled bellybutton for all to see.

  Vanessa did a double-take that coincided
with the double-take in Roger’s pants, his feeble penis attempting twice to acknowledge the spectacle its owner was witnessing, but failing pathetically to do so. For Roger was now so far advanced in his desire for Kathrin that all he could think about was that briefest of moments in the communal Frankfurt shower when the tip of his thickening cock had lodged itself against the tight, impenetrable opening to the busty young woman’s intimacy. He wanted to know what it felt like to fuck a woman, and while there was no doubt in his mind that he would, before long, be losing his long overdue middle-aged, balding virginity to the lovely Uschi, he could think of that only as practice for the holy, busty grail of thrusting himself as far as he could into Fräulein Kathrin Fischer.

  Vanessa looked like she was about to say something, then gave one of the shrugs that were her answer to everything and principal form of communication in general, and returned to clicking the mouse and staring at the computer screen, her own soft globes half on the desk, half hanging off the edge, cleavage mounding toward her pointed chin.

  Finally, Uschi jiggled in, in her violet wraparound dress, luscious mounds of boob swelling out either side of the taut neckline that stretched diagonally through her natural cleavage. Such was the power of her physical allure that Roger, despite having suffered chronic overexposure to it over the past forty-eight hours, still found his lust piqued in her presence. Perhaps it was now a Pavlovian reaction, more than anything else. Uschi was beaming smugly, presumably anticipating an extreme reaction from Vanessa, but the smile fell from her face as she joined the others in the realisation that Vanessa was unperturbed.