Uschi Returns Page 3

  ‘Well, that’s a start, at least,’ Helen said with a frown. She reached for it, but Roger held it back and raised a finger.

  ‘First, I’d like you to reproduce the incident for me.’

  Helen scowled. ‘Samantha, go to your room.’

  ‘But Mum…’

  ‘Now, Samantha.’

  Samantha lifted herself from the armchair and trudged off. Roger couldn’t help steal one last glance at those K-cup marvels as they preceded the teenager on her way out and up the stairs.

  Helen snatched the bra from Roger, stood, and put it on while pacing the living room slowly. As she fastened the hooks below her now even more impressive cleavage, the cups compressed her bosom inwards, forcing its jutting torpedo peaks into hemispherical orb-like shapes, much as they had done with Nina’s breasts. But, again as with Nina, there was no sign that the bra was at risk of snapping under the pressure.

  ‘Put your heels back on,’ instructed Roger, ‘And walk back and forth.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this,’ Helen said, and crossed the room to slip into her shoes.

  Back and forth she went, her heavy chest quivering up and down. It did indeed appear that the elastic shoulder straps were contributing to the vertical motion, but at no point did the bra appear to be not coping with its job of containing Helen’s huge, solid tits.

  ‘Really go for it,’ said Roger. ‘Don’t hold back on the jiggling.’

  ‘I promise that what I said really happened,’ said Helen, sounding less convincing by the second. A scowl on her brow and thin lips, she gave her bosom a furious jiggle in a last ditch attempt to prove her point. Then, exhausted, she stopped and struck a recalcitrant pose, hands on hips. She suddenly resembled her petulant daughter a lot more.

  ‘And I promise that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never break that bra, even with breasts as firm as those. It’s a perfect fit, and a well-engineered, secure piece of lingerie, with a ten year guarantee.’ Roger stood, ignoring Helen’s wide-eyed response to the bulging tent in his suit trousers. He was tired of trying to hide it. She had beautiful big jugs, they gave him a stiff, throbbing erection. It didn’t make any difference to the real issue here. ‘You see, Ms Price,’ he continued, ‘There were certain aspects of this case that confused me at first, but now everything fits together. Firstly, your daughter Samantha tells me that she has been a K-cup for the past two years, and has only owned one bra in her life, so I’m afraid I don’t accept your claim that the assortment of randomly sized front-fastening bras in your order history constitutes a series of purchases for her. In fact, I must conclude that you bought them for yourself, in descending size order, over the past twelve months.’

  ‘Pfft,’ snorted Helen.

  ‘Then you arrive here in yet another bra, purchased from a different brand, similarly in tatters. There’s a pattern here. I’m willing to bet that every single one of your front-openers ends up in this state. You’re doing this on purpose.’

  ‘I… I… that’s ridiculous!’

  ‘You, or perhaps a sexual partner, has a fetish for bursting bras. What serious breast fiend wouldn’t be filled with desire for a pair of breasts so pert and sturdy that they can reduce a bra to rags?’

  Helen said nothing.

  ‘Then, there’s this white residue all over your breasts. I propose, Ms Price, that this is not toothpaste, but semen. The thick, congealing semen of whoever it is at your workplace, excuse my language, titfucking you beneath your bras until the cups snap open and push him over the edge. After all, your cleavage is naturally tight enough for a perfectly effective titwank even when braless.’

  Helen raised an eyebrow. ‘And I suppose you’d like to test that theory, too?’

  ‘Yes please, if you’ll allow me,’ said Roger, and returned to his briefcase on the sofa cushion from which he now produced a medium-sized skin-coloured rubber dildo. ‘I had the foresight to bring this along for the purpose.’

  He let it wobble in his hand before passing it to Helen. ‘Please be so kind as to insert this into your cleavage from beneath, and slide it up and down as though it were the erect penis of a gentleman admirer.’

  With a smile of defiance, Helen, clearly aware that the game was up, went along with Roger’s instructions nonetheless, and inserted the prosthetic boner up past the plastic bra fastener and, with some difficulty, into her slowly yielding cleavage, until its tip emerged beneath her chin.

  Roger knew that he could very easily have used this situation to his advantage, and that it could be his own furiously horny cock nestled between Helen’s rigid jugs. And under the terrible influence of Uschi, perhaps he might have done. But he was better than that. Uschi would have her part to play in this, they had discussed it already and the timing was starting to look right for the vague scheme they had in mind, but for now, Roger was doing things strictly by the book, and he was proud of his restraint, as he knew Nina would be. If Nina felt she couldn’t trust him, he’d be out of a job within seconds.

  But that wasn’t to say Roger wasn’t highly aroused by the sight of a spectacular-titted thirty-six-year-old titfucking herself with a dildo at his behest.

  ‘Harder,’ he said, trying not to let the tremble in his voice betray his desire. ‘Shove it in harder, like Gary, or Jim, or…’

  ‘Trevor,’ Helen confessed. ‘Oh Trevor,’ she then growled as she accelerated the fucking action between her tits.

  Then: PING! The bra clasp snapped open at last, the blue cups flapped to either side, and Helen’s sturdy, cum-encrusted breasts and stiff brown nipples were once again bared before Roger’s eyes, the pink dildo still held firmly enough in place between them that Helen could let go entirely without it falling out.

  This was not only too much simulated titfucking for the Lacy Lady bra, it was too much for Roger’s erect cock and fat balls, and he was seized with a severe and urgent need to cum.

  ‘Where’s your bathroom,’ he blurted out.

  ‘Top of the stairs,’ drawled Helen, and stumbled backwards into the armchair to continue the stimulation of her needy bosom while Roger made a beeline for the staircase.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Roger was already unzipping his flies as he ran. Cock out and on the brink of shooting his huge load, he was presented with two doors and, unsure which was the bathroom, grabbed the handle of the left door, threw it open, and wrapped his fingers purposely around the base of his long, pre-cum coated erection.

  It wasn’t the bathroom. It was a teenage girl’s bedroom, the walls papered in boyband posters, the air thick with the smell of perfume and aerosol. And, facing him, kneeling upright on the end of her bed brushing her long brown hair, completely nude, was Samantha.

  Roger’s urges had by now passed the point of no return. If the sight of Helen Price titfucking her own bra to pieces with a dildo hadn’t been stimulus enough for this incorrigible breast fetishist, here was her taller, slimmer, much bustier daughter, an eighteen-year-old miracle of nature who had already teased Roger dangerously close to the point of climax twice already, stripped nude with those perfect, perfect, 28K milkers finally bared for him, globular, pale, their density deliciously balanced between self-supporting perkiness and soft, pillowy warmth, skin-coloured puffy areolae the diameter of golf-balls, so high and proud atop those thrusting melons they practically pointed straight up at the ceiling, inverted nipples that begged to be sucked out into the open, cleavage so naturally tight and deep she could give Roger a titfuck the ecstatic heights of which he could never even imagine.

  He let go of his cock in fright, but it was too late. The orgasm had struck, and even without the use of his right hand, he was cumming, cumming so hard that the first few ropes of semen flew several feet ahead to land directly on Sam’s mamms.

  Samantha just sat there, wide eyed and grinning broadly, while Roger’s helpless genitals hosed down her huge jugs, plastering them top, front, side and bottom with the purest, most tit-crazed jism.

  ‘Oh
Christ,’ whispered Roger when his emissions had reduced to sporadic spasms that landed on the duvet and the carpet. ‘Oh Christ, I so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ winked Samantha. ‘I won’t tell.’

  ‘Thank-you,’ said the breathless, horrified man. Roger stuffed his still recoiling snake of a cock back into his pants, ran down the stairs on trembling legs, grabbed his briefcase and jacket, and ran out into the rain to find his car without saying good-bye.

  ‘Excellent work again, Roger,’ said Nina the following morning, having studied Roger’s selectively detailed report and called him into her office for a debrief. She was wearing her white and navy striped top today, a top which despite being high cut somehow managed to be more revealing than a string bikini, and which was having its dependable effect on Roger’s restored libido.

  ‘A product recall would have been unthinkable,’ Nina continued. ‘We’d have had to send you round to remove all those 36F bras from the customers’ breasts in person!’

  Roger made a mental note to consider relaxing his diligence next time this happened.

  Nina sat down, her chest jutting out over her desk. ‘The real reason the bra broke is intriguing, though. Back when I had my Notting Hill boutique and was producing my first designs I had a go at designing bras specifically for the purposes of… well, you know…’

  ‘Yes?…’ Roger of course knew precisely what Nina was talking about, he had described the act himself in his report after all, albeit in a roundabout way, but the filthy pervert within him couldn’t resist pressing Nina to say it aloud.

  Nina rolled her eyes. ‘Intermammary intercourse, as you so delicately put it in your report. I was a little ahead of the curve, if you’ll pardon the pun, when I conceived the idea for the titfuck bra, and it never sold very well. Difficult to market in a family-friendly way, you see. But everyone’s at it now. The average bust size has never been bigger, and we’re in the big-boob capital of the world.’

  ‘Godalming?’

  ‘The United Kingdom. Anyway, do you have any follow-up recommendations?’

  ‘Yes, Nina, I do.’ Roger cleared his throat. ‘While I was more than happy to deal with this situation in person, I feel that the girls on the phones could be doing a better job of averting complaints before they have a chance to escalate that far.’

  ‘This is what I’ve hired you to put into place, Roger. You’re the customer support manager.’

  ‘Yes indeed, Nina, but the problem is perhaps a lack of empathy on the part of the girls.’

  ‘I hired the girls based to a great extent on the size of their breasts. That was the whole point, so they would identify with the busty customers.’

  ‘My concern, Nina, is that simply putting girls with big boobs on the phones isn’t enough. They need training on how to really put themselves in the customers’ shoes. Or bras. We need to pre-empt all the issues a Tempest customer might experience, and put the girls through those same experiences, through role-play, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Again, Roger, that’s your job,’ said Nina, getting mildly impatient. ‘Train them.’

  ‘There’s the minor obstacle that I’m a man,’ Roger said. ‘The girls, quite understandably, are a little reticent about opening up to me. They’re comfortable enough talking about their bosoms in my presence, but it’s a little difficult to engage them on the subject one-on-one.’

  ‘I see,’ Nina said. She fiddled with a ballpoint pen. ‘So, what do you suggest?’

  Roger rubbed his hands. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I happen to know of a consultant who specialises in precisely this kind of thing.’

  ‘Customer support?’

  ‘Breasts. I’ve worked with her before.’

  ‘I thought this was your first position in the lingerie industry,’ Nina said, eyes narrowing as she regarded Roger from across the desk.

  ‘It is,’ Roger said, improvising. ‘We, um, we had a situation in my last company with the, uh, the better-endowed female employees flouting the clothing policy and coming to work braless. The matter nearly went to tribunals. We brought this consultant in to work with the girls on their wardrobes and body self-image. I think she would be perfect to talk to the girls here about their relationships with their own breasts, so they feel they can talk openly about them to anyone. Once we can fix that relationship, I am confident that the relationships with our customers over the phone will improve too.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Nina with a shrug that sent an enticing shudder through her striped bosom. ‘Let’s get her in. What’s her name?’

  ‘Dorster,’ said Roger. ‘Uschi Dorster.’

  Chapter Two

  Jemima, Sophie, Louise and Imogen had been with Tempest Lingerie since before Roger had started. They were all young professionals in their first jobs, and while the call centre work didn’t carry the glamour they might have hoped for, a career in the fashion industry has to start somewhere. Soon they would no doubt be promoted, or would leave for more exciting jobs elsewhere, and while Roger would miss their busty company, the opportunity to recruit replacements would more than compensate.

  In his previous job Roger had been obliged to apply his private boob-based employment criteria in the most clandestine and inconspicuous way possible, but here an expansive bustline was a candidly stated prerequisite he would be expected to enforce with great attention to detail in compliance with explicit company policy. No more cloak and dagger selection processes, no more fear of getting into trouble with Human Resources over his mysteriously bosomy team.

  No, that wasn’t the problem any more. Roger’s problem was hiding the fact that he spent pretty much every minute of the working day with a very stiff erection, a problem made all the more vexing by the cumbersome proportions his penis was prone to swell to. Roger was awkwardly well endowed in a way that was principally an inconvenience. In this respect he wasn’t in fact all that different from the colleagues with whom he was struggling to bond, but of course if he were to casually bring up the subject of his unmanageably oversized cock in conversation, it would most likely cause more problems than it would solve.

  From his carefully chosen vantage point at the head of the cluster of desks, Roger pictured this absurd scenario for his own idle erotic amusement. He had won Nina’s blessing to bring Uschi on board as a consultant, and the prospect of phoning her that evening to tell her the news and start plotting their horny schemes again together set his mind racing with dirty fantasies of having his boob-fiend ways with the Tempest Lingerie customer support team.

  ‘Jemima,’ he imagined himself saying to the slightly dim-witted aristocratic blonde to his left. ‘I know what it’s like for you.’

  ‘What do you mean, Roger?’ Jemima would say, her big blue eyes wide with curiosity.

  ‘I, too, am burdened physically,’ Roger would reply with wistful regret. ‘You have those huge breasts, so absurdly disproportionate to your tall, slim frame. And I have a nine inch cock so thick I can barely wrap my fingers all the way around it.’

  ‘Goodness,’ imaginary Jemima said, the similarity of their respective plights dawning on her. ‘I had never thought of it like that! Yes, we do seem to be more alike than I thought. Do you have difficulty finding underpants that fit you?’

  ‘All the time.’ Roger pictured himself strolling across and perching on the edge of Jemima’s desk, gazing happily down her low V-neck sweater and into her deep cleavage. ‘You girls are lucky to have so many bra sizes to fit your bosoms. They don’t make pants for men with huge cocks. I have to make do with wearing loose boxer shorts and letting my dick dangle out of them down my thigh.’

  Jemima, he imagined, would be lost for words at this revelation.

  ‘And at least your breasts stay the same size, more or less,’ Roger would continue. ‘Mine goes from six inches when flaccid to nine inches when erect, and even up to ten when I’m really, really turned on. Then it becomes a real problem to deal with. Imagine if your breasts grew that much every time you got aroused.’
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  ‘That would be most inconvenient!’

  ‘For both of us, in fact,’ Roger pictured himself confiding. ‘You see, it’s large breasts like yours which arouse me.’

  ‘Oh my! But it’s not just me… all of the girls, all of us have really big ones! You must be permanently turned on!’ Jemima would blush crimson at the thought, part embarrassment, part arousal.

  ‘Would you like to see it?’

  ‘Your cock?’ Then a coy, wide-eyed nod, and a bite of a plump lower lip.

  Roger pictured himself unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers, his waist level with blonde, plummy Jemima’s tight-bloused bosom as he reached into his boxer shorts and uncoiled a heavy, lolling semi-erection, foreskin still half-enshrouding its growing head.

  Jemima, he decided, would see his snakelike cock as a generous compliment upon her appearance. ‘My boobs did that?’

  ‘Well, it was quite a big cock to begin with,’ Roger would remark. ‘But, yes. The sight of those firm, shapely breasts straining at your blouse make me very hard. I want to cum all over your tits, Jemima.’

  ‘Then you should, Roger, you should! Let me take my blouse and bra off for you now, so you can see my beautiful big bosoms and relieve those heavy balls all over them! It’s the least I can do. I had no idea my breasts caused you so much discomfort, Roger. Would you like to rub your erection yourself, or would you like me to do it for you while you stare at my bare chest?’

  The posh, good-natured young woman would then obligingly cast off her blouse and unhook her bra, letting her firm breasts spring free with a shudder. Roger had built up a quite comprehensive picture of the girls’ naked breasts in his filthy mind’s eye over two months of hearing them discuss them with each other. He knew Jemima to be a 32E, a late developer whose breasts still boasted the firmness of youth. He knew her nipples to be a deep pink, her areolae the size and thickness of pound coins. And he knew her cleavage to be so tight set that she couldn’t wear bras with too prominent a central gorge, preferring instead to preserve her modesty with tight bralette-type vests. And it was this mental image which Roger imagined himself unloading thick ropes of spunk onto as topless fantasy-Jemima lightly gripped the fat, turgid base of his stiff shaft while he sat on the edge of her desk before her.