Uschi

by Lesley Finch

  And, try as he might, he could not get out of his head how unbreakably rigid his cock had felt, thrust deep inside Uschi. He had never felt so erect in his entire life, never cum quite so powerfully, and that main course had made the dessert of that titfuck directly afterwards all the more sweet and delicious.

  He needed to fuck all of them.

  Alice there, stooping to pick a paperclip from the carpet. How cute her bottom looked in that tight skirt, her plump little legs shapely in dark tights. He pictured himself approaching from behind, calmly lifting that skirt, tugging down tights and panties, and, encouraged by a smile and a wink from the busty blonde over her shoulder, inserting himself between her labia and sliding in and out, grasping and kneading her tits through her white blouse, the lace of her bra scrunching under his fingers, until, a matter of minutes later, he shot his seed, filling her until it oozed back out onto the base of his shaft and dripped over his nuts.

  Sarah, after willingly jiggling him erect again, stripping nude as she did so, would lean back against the window sill, feet slightly apart, pussy glistening, and would continue to jiggle those soft, perky, pink-nippled orbs as his cock made its way up her. He would lift her so her bare bottom slapped onto the sill, let her wrap her thick legs around him, and fuck, fuck, fuck, until she came, before he pulled out at the last second and let his gloriously iron bar of an erection shoot rope after rope of horny semen the length of her torso, decorating her full breasts in messy fashion.

  He had seen the glances Kathrin would steal of his long cock, and so in his dirty fantasy he would simply show it to her in all its eight-plus inch erect glory until she begged, pleaded to be fucked, letting her H-cup breasts erupt from her minimiser bra, shaking them and flaunting those thick, pale, puffy nipples in a desperate attempt to win his attention, promising a long, slow titwank any time he wanted it in return for just one seeing-to from that dick of his, whereupon Roger would finally oblige, yank her trousers and knickers down to her knees, nuzzle her mousy brown pubic bush and insert tongue between pussy lips and flick her clit with it until she was so gushing wet that he could slip all the way into her and writhe his hips against hers, her knees still held together by trousers and panties, letting the tip of his cock explore the depths of her prim cunt while she regaled him with tales of the endless fun he could have with her firm, sweeping bosom any time he felt like it. He would suck her nipples to boobgasm while he himself took the liberty of shooting his grateful load into her.

  Susan had practically eaten him for breakfast anyway, and he now craved an alternate ending to that drunken night in her apartment where instead of fleeing into the streets, he had lain back on the bed and allowed the tall, curvaceous Canadian to ride him cowgirl style, using his stiff cock to masturbate herself to breast-quaking, nipple-tingling climax while he enjoyed the show then withdrew to enjoy a leisurely titfuck within her tight cleavage, ending in a rich explosion all over those proud mountainous mammaries.

  In his newly fuck-crazed world, the bra fitting on stage would have ended, not with an escape into the welcoming titfuck-trained cleavage of photographic model Shelley Sinclair, but with Selina becoming so radically turned on by the detailed attention Roger was paying to her distended, hypersensitive bosom, that, right there on stage in front of all the other woman, she would subtly pull down the back of her trousers to secretly bare her pregnancy-fattened buttocks to Roger, standing behind her with measuring tape in hand, and whisper, ‘Fuck me, Roger,’ over her shoulder, and while the audience would see him holding a measuring tape to her blooming breasts, unbeknownst to them his erection, freed from his trousers, would be making its way between those soft buttocks, all the way between her tightly-closed thighs, and into her child-bearing cunt, dry and uncomfortable at first, but becoming gradually slicker through a mixture of Roger’s precum and Selina’s own juices. The two would contain orgasmic moans as their reproductive organs convulsed in synchronisation. Roger would gradually extract his still-spunking member and let it finish delivering its heady load onto Selina’s bottom, and the watching crowd would be none the wiser.

  Vanessa, tormented by the newly-realised guilt over the sexual arousal she had been causing Roger all along, would volunteer her body to him every day by way of consolation. She would wriggle out of her jeans and knickers, and, still wearing some skimpy top, would straddle him at his desk, yank forth his greedy dick and, wincing, would descend it until she sat on his hips, interlocked with him. As she fucked him at his desk, in full view of her envious colleagues, she would peel off her top to reveal the C-cup brassiere she had been misled into buying, her heaving melons only barely contained by its modest white cups, jiggly French titmeat spilling out to every side as she humped, gyrated, and shimmied her way to wobbly titgasm, until finally the front-opening clasp would give way, sending boob surging before Roger’s crazed eyes, upon which he could take it no more, and would cum so fire-hydrant hard the pressure would lift Vanessa up so high that only the bulbous purple head of his column would be left inside her, nudging and massaging the remaining throbs of orgasm from her sensuous clitoris.

  And Uschi… well, he had done her now, from top to bottom. But he wanted to do her again, and again, and it clearly wasn’t going to happen. She had ticked him off her list and was presumably moving on to another target. Her curiosity about his dick was sated, and that was enough for her, and presumably she had thought it would be enough for him, too, but if that’s what she thought then she was wrong.

  He began idly scheming Uschi-style ploys to get the women who worked for him into bed, and was about to start a new strategic spreadsheet on this subject when revulsion gripped him, sheer self-disgust at the violations he was seriously considering. He couldn’t be trusted around these women.

  So, at the end of that working day he finished what he was working on, phoned Frankfurt head office, and resigned with immediate effect.

  He had so much vacation time overdue that he was able to serve his month’s notice as leave, and so he never had to set foot in that office again.

  Text messages from his team arrived on his phone the next day as the news was announced, everyone in the team expressing concern for his well-being. Everyone except Uschi, from whom he heard nothing.

  He decided he had had enough of London, gave notice on his rented flat, and began job hunting. A new life, new people, a clear slate. He had no commitments, nothing tying him to where he was, and an adulthood of enjoying the simple, free pleasures of ogling women, with no other vices besides, meant he had plenty of cash saved to tide him over while he got to work rebuilding a wholesome life.

  He signed up with recruitment agencies, and went to interviews, citing a desire for change and a lack of career mobility as his reason for leaving his prior post. The interviews went well: they were for basic middle-management positions for which he was arguably overqualified and underpaid, and he had a few offers. But after each interview, when he was taken to meet the people he would be working with, his heart sank. Drab, middle-aged men and plain women. Perfectly nice people, all of them, but, harmless though he was certain his intentions would be, he knew he would never make it through the day without some… what was the phrase… eye candy? Was it too much to expect a bosomy young secretary or two?

  All he needed was some nice women around him to dream about, the way it used to be. Women he could undress in his mind, and think about at night until his cock issued forth one of those long, slow, dreamy orgasms he missed so dearly.

  Until one day, he heard from a headhunter, the first time this had ever happened to him.

  ‘We had a recommendation,’ the woman on the other end of the line said. ‘From someone who admired your work.’

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Roger.

  ‘A fashion professional,’ the recruiter said. ‘It’s a role managing customer satisfaction for a start-up high-street apparel retailer.’

  Fashion. Roger agreed to the interview. He knew nothing about fashion, and even if the company w
asn’t brand new he’d still never have heard of them. He wondered who his mystery benefactor could be. Who did he know in fashion? His brain drew a blank.

  Not having bothered to do any research into this new company, he took the train out to Godalming and arrived at the office block the recruiter had told him to go to, and got the lift to the third floor where the offices of Tempest Holdings Ltd were installed. In reception, he was surprised, and aroused, to note a full-busted shop window mannequin in an elegant matching bra and briefs set. Lingerie industry periodicals were scattered over a coffee table.

  The ample chested young brunette receptionist in a low-cut red top beamed at him. ‘You must be Mr Addington. Here to see Nina?’

  Roger nodded.

  A set of glass doors swung open and out she walked. Medium height, black heels, dark tights, black skirt suit, low-cut black top beneath, immense torpedo bosom, a sleek red bob of hair, thick-rimmed spectacles, green eyes, and plush, pink lips. It was the bra sizing expert he had met on International Women’s Day, the one Uschi had stalled so he could perform the fitting on Selina himself. Nina stopped short when she saw him, tilted her head a little, and gave a curious smile. ‘We’ve met, I think?’

  Roger snapped out of his nostalgic reverie and took a step forward, extending a handshake. ‘Yes, I believe so, briefly. At my old job, there was some confusion, you were coming in to give a… a demonstration…’

  ‘And you did the bra fitting for me!’ Nina laughed at the recollection. ‘Of course, now this all makes sense. One of our models was there on the day, too, and she recommended you as something of a lingerie expert. Along with your other qualifications and experience in account management, you may be the perfect fit… if you excuse the pun. Come with me.’

  The walls of Nina’s office were decorated with photographs of slim, large-breasted models in attractive, sexy bras. Roger’s eye lingered on one in particular.

  ‘Ah, that one’s me!’ said Nina. ‘Back when I had to model the merchandise myself! What do you think?’

  ‘Of the photograph?’

  ‘Well yes, of all of it. The photograph, the bra… the breasts...’ She shrugged off her jacket, her real life bust bouncing heavily and momentarily distracting Roger from her black and white bosom in the photograph.

  ‘I have to say,’ said Roger, ‘I don’t think the photograph does you justice.’

  Nina gave a coy wave of the hand. ‘Stop it!’

  ‘If I were to go by the picture, I would have you down as a… thirty-two double F. But looking at you in real life…’ He stared unapologetically at Nina’s bosom in its tight black crop-top. ‘You’re probably close to a thirty-four J?’

  Nina beamed. ‘Oh my. That’s brilliant. You’re absolutely spot on… about both sizes. I was only twenty-one when that picture was taken, and you’re correct that I was a thirty-two double F back then.’

  ‘You haven’t aged a day,’ Roger said, attempting some charm.

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Addington,’ gleamed Nina. ‘But yes, ten years on I’ve gained some weight. It all goes to my bosoms. And you’re spot on: these are big, healthy J-cups. Please, take a seat.’

  They went through the business of Roger’s C.V., but it was a formality. The job was his. Roger’s heart thumped in that old familiar way. This was too good to be true.

  ‘Let’s meet the team,’ said Nina, standing and putting her jacket back on, fastening it with a single gold button beneath her jutting bust.

  They walked through the corridors. Nina was smiling at her new find in Roger. ‘You can’t believe how happy I am that you came to us,’ she giggled. ‘We really need a man’s touch around here, but there are so few men who really understand breasts, bras, and women. Oh, here’s our testing room, morning Lorraine!’

  A door was ajar, through which they could see a heavy-chested young woman in bra and knickers, bouncing on a small trampoline while another, in tight-fitting lab coat took notes on a clipboard. Her animated chest seemed securely contained despite the considerable duress under which it was being placed. Roger’s cock registered its interest by twitching slightly.

  On they went, past designer studios and prototype labs. ‘I began with a tiny boutique in Notting Hill,’ said Nina, surveying her empire with satisfaction. ‘And now I’m about to launch a chain of large-bust lingerie stores in five towns.’

  ‘Impressive growth,’ said Roger.

  Nina’s bosom heaved with pride, her cleavage deep and inviting. ‘In every sense. One new branch for every cup size I’ve gone up in that time. F, G, double G, H, J.’ She chuckled at the coincidence.

  ‘Here’s to ten more shops!’ quipped Roger. He was amazed by the flirtatious confidence his rite of passage under Uschi’s tutelage had left him with.

  ‘Ha! At that rate, just imagine how big my bosoms will be by then!’

  Roger imagined it, and leaked pre-cum into his underpants as they walked.

  Finally they approached a pool of desks. Four junior members of staff, young women perhaps in their early twenties, looked up and grinned at Roger.

  ‘Girls, meet Roger, who I’m hoping very much will be your new manager.’ Nina went round the introductions. ‘Roger, this is Jemima, Sophie, Louise, and Imogen.’

  Roger took in the sight before him, four fresh-faced girls, eight full, firm breasts between them straining blouses and vest tops. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said, in the understatement of the year.

  ‘They’re our customer satisfaction reps. We recruit them partly on the strength of their bustlines, as they really need to identify with our core market. What I’m hoping is that you can bring some much needed senior management experience and leadership to the team, and in return they will provide the subject matter expertise, educate you in the issues big-bosomed women face, that sort of thing.’

  Roger nodded. He needed to cum.

  Back in Nina’s office, the bosomy bra magnate slid a contract and fountain pen across the desk. ‘Please do say you’ll join is?’

  With a hand he hoped didn’t show too much sign of excitable trembling, Roger signed the dotted line.

  ‘See you Monday,’ said Nina, overjoyed at having found her man.

  Roger sat in his flat with a cup of tea that evening. His cock coiled in wait in his trousers, awaiting instructions. Would he wank over the day’s outrageous good fortune? He considered his options. By the looks of things, the levels of arousal would be substantially higher at the lingerie company than they had been in the old job. Would he even make it to the end of each day without creaming his Y-fronts? The endless exposure to these new colleagues who would not only provide him with a whole new gallery of visual stimuli to work with, but would be talking about breasts and bras literally all day. He was going to have to find a way to regulate his desires and urges so he could enjoy a steady inflow of erotic input, and thus a steady outflow of happy cum each night. But how to do that?

  An idea began to form in his mind. It was an idea that could become a plan, but he wouldn’t be able to do it alone.

  He was going to need help.

  He reached for a phone, dialled a number he knew all too well by heart, and waited.

  ‘Hello?’ breathed a husky, Bavarian female voice.

  ‘Uschi, it’s Roger. I’d like to ask you a favour.’

  THE END