Uschi Page 4

  ‘Y-you’re forgetting someone,’ stammered Roger as Uschi wanked him steadily.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Me.’

  Roger nodded.

  ‘You like to think about my tits? My big firm Bavarian boobs? Hmm?’

  ‘More than anything,’ gasped Roger, out of his mind with sheer arousal. Pre-ejaculate was pouring from the tip of his penis in a steady stream, pooling on the floor beneath.

  ‘Oh you do, don’t you. I can feel you get extra big and hard at the thought of my lovely tits. You want to know how my boyfriend likes to cum?’

  Roger nodded.

  ‘He titfucks me. You know what a titfuck is?’

  ‘I... I can imagine.’

  ‘Oh come now Roger, surely you watch pornography?’

  Roger had never felt anything so stimulating in his life. ‘I don’t need it Uschi, I... I have you. My cock ejaculates every night purely from... oh my god... purely from watching you.’

  'I can't make up her mind whether that's hot or creepy, but then again it makes no difference.' She maintained her steady pumping action on Roger’s slick, veiny erection. ‘Let me tell you what a titfuck is, Roger. Imagine me taking this blouse off, and letting you see me in my bra. It’s a sheer bra, Roger, and by the way, you were wrong about my nipples, they’re not small and dark, they have wide, puffy areolae, the same warm Mediterranean colour as my skin, and my nipples are little smooth dots at their centres.’ She felt Roger’s cock dry-heave at the description and increased the pace of masturbation incrementally. ‘Imagine me taking the bra off and showing you my proud, firm breasts. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you pervert. My cleavage is warm and deep and tight, and I shake my breasts for you, I shake them and move them closer and closer to this stiff cock of yours until my cleavage swallows it up whole, and you fuck my tits Roger, you fuck them, harder, harder until you cum all over them!’

  At last, Roger came. He stifled a scream of pleasure as his erection, still being manhandled by Uschi, let loose a torrent of built-up semen, a viscous white rope that sailed halfway across the room and draped itself across the width of the meeting table. Second and third payloads, similarly copious in volume, erupted through the air to join it. Uschi let go, but Roger’s cock, well-trained in hands-free ejaculation, continued to spasm unaided.

  ‘Oh my,’ Roger wheezed, unsteady on his feet as his wilting erection continued to wriggle and spurt out final payloads of thick sperm into the air. ‘Oh fuck, Uschi.’

  Uschi took a paper tissue from her pocket and wiped her hand with it, stepping away from Roger. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘That should banish the dirty thoughts from your mind for a while. Clean all of this up. I’m going back to my desk to catch up on my work, and I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow, we continue this programme of purification!’

  She unlocked the door and left Roger, spent and light-headed, to deal with the mess.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Roger opened his bra size spreadsheet and half-heartedly typed “32F” next to Alice’s name. His Monday evening had been one of bored, restless introspection rather than the usual gentle, drawn-out gratification. Uschi had well and truly spent his load prematurely, ruining the entire rest of his day. What was the point of ejaculating half way through the day when there was still perving to be done? The complete and utter purging of his sperm-bloated testicles that Uschi had so dispassionately administered had left him uninterested in breasts for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. The only time Roger wanted to temporarily lose interest in these round, bouncing marvels of nature was when he was asleep, so his reserves of lust could be sufficiently replenished to make the most of his carefully staged daily bosom-watching regime all over again. Monday afternoon had thus been rendered entirely redundant. Sure, he’d witnessed a bra fitting, learnt an employee’s bra size, and at the age of forty experienced his first handjob while none other than busty Uschi from Bavaria had talked dirty to him. But where was the fun in that? She was trying to spoil all the mystery, take away his fun in gradually figuring it out for himself. This was a project that could potentially be dragged out for years of delicious breast-gazing procrastination, but now a thousand prolonged daily orgasms were to be whittled down to a week’s worth of straightforward investigation from Uschi and no doubt more infernal handjobs.

  If Uschi wanted to shop his wandering eye to management then so be it: either way she was ruining his perfect life.

  She cornered him by the vending machine while he was treating himself to a mid-morning Toffee Crisp. ‘I have decided we should work on Sarah next,’ she said.

  Roger looked this way and that in a panic to make sure no-one was nearby to eavesdrop. ‘Not here, Uschi. Please.’

  ‘You complain when we go to the meeting room, complain when we talk here... make up your mind!’

  ‘People will imagine all sorts of things about us,’ sighed Roger.

  Uschi cackled softly. ‘Like, me wanking you off onto the table?’

  Roger rolled his eyes and looked up and down the corridor once again.

  ‘Whatever they imagine won’t be anywhere close to the truth,’ Uschi grinned. ‘Anyway. Sarah.’ Uschi explained that she had arranged to start going to the gym with Sarah at lunchtimes, which might present a useful opportunity for her to spend some time naked with her colleague, and more importantly to give Roger the insight into the bosomy Irishwoman’s vital statistics he craved, and thus provide some kind of voyeuristic closure. ‘By the end of this week, you will have Sarah’s bra in your hands and you can read the label yourself. How would you like that?’

  The horny prospect of Roger having his dirty way with Sarah O’Reilly’s capacious brassiere was tempered by suspicion about Uschi’s machinations. ‘What’s your plan,’ he asked back.

  With a crafty smile, Uschi explained.

  ‘It’s absurd,’ Roger said, finally.

  ‘Trust me, Roger,’ said Uschi, and turned to head back to her desk, her full, gym-pert buttocks wobbling confidently in dark patterned leggings.

  Uschi and Sarah departed at noon to the gym, as planned. Roger, in the meantime, kept his erection in perfect semen-hoarding equilibrium by shifting his subtly leering attention back and forth between the remaining members of the team who obliviously provided a cavalcade of light pornography for his viewing pleasure.

  Susan lost a flake of croissant pastry down her low-cut top, the retrieval of which involved thrusting her hand deep into her cleavage, rummaging around for several blissful minutes, running her fingers around the inside of her clothing, then the insides of her bra cups, and when her digits finally found and extracted the troublesome crumb and her hand popped back out of her cleavage with a breast-quaking flourish of triumph, her nipples stood out, proud and erect through her clothing as a consequence of the lengthy manual stimulation. Her breasts must be so sensitive, wondered Roger, not for the first time. He thought back to the sexual act Uschi had described. What had she called it? “Titfucking”? He wondered what it would feel like for her as well as for himself as he stared down the depths of cleavage between Susan’s ample, still-quivering breasts. He pictured himself walking over to her there and then, pulling forth his now very hard erection and inserting it into that exposed jiggling cleavage, further and further until the twitching tip of his penis met her breastbone and the stiffened peaks of her luscious breasts squashed against his hips. Smiling, she would wriggle her clothed, partially-exposed bust around his agonized erection until he flooded her cleavage with wave after wave of thick semen and she herself shuddered with pleasure at the sensation of having so lust-primed a member stroke her ticklish bosom.

  How different the same act would feel between redheaded Selina’s solid, pregnancy-distended torpedo breasts, still the only incongruous, unmistakable outward sign of her early childbearing state. The expansive cleft semicircle of freckled décolletage displayed by her too-small green top was slick and shiny with the moisturiser she had so liberally slathered on the rap
idly ballooning skin. In his mind’s eye, Roger withdrew his still hard, still throbbing erection and, as Selina leaned forward to retrieve something from her handbag and her perky cantaloupe-sized udders swayed, dense and heavy, from her delicate torso, pictured himself lying on his back beneath her and allowing his proud stiffness to be slapped and battered to a second, even greater orgasm between them as they dangled. Selina stood and arched her back, sore from this new experience of carrying breasts around that were twice, maybe three times as heavy as the already generously proportioned mammaries she had grown used to in her young adulthood. ‘I wish I could pay somebody to carry these around for me,’ she said aloud to no-one in particular and to Roger’s furtive delight. Susan remarked that she’d have volunteers queuing up. Roger fantasized about becoming Selina’s personal breast carrier, walking around behind her everywhere, his roaming fingers hefting the firm, weighty bulk of her engorged bosom to alleviate her discomfort, his fierce erection nestled comfortably between her pert, gyrating buttocks to alleviate his own.

  When Vanessa then stood and, with a rolled-up magazine began leaping up and down in an attempt to swat a fly, meaty round breasts cavorting with braless Gallic abandon under her baggy grey T-shirt, Roger was grateful for the sobering effect of Kathrin’s attire, which today was shrouding her torso with shapeless androgyny, and concentrated on observing her instead, as the spectacle of Vanessa’s bosom jostling so soon after his lurid fantasies of intermammary penetration would certainly have led him to a premature ejaculation there and then. The new girl Alice, now sensibly-contained within her new brassiere and revealingly clad in a polka dot crop top just didn’t seem to do it for Roger any more. He’d seen her breasts naked, and so the perverted thrill of the chase was lost. He cursed Uschi. Her plan was working.

  By the time the scheming German beauty strolled back in with Sarah, both women shower-fresh and glowing from the exercise, Roger was preoccupied with actual work for a change, and though his testicles were still lust-bloated from the sexual meanderings of his mind, his erection had subsided enough not to make a conspicuous tent in his pants. Which was fortunate, as Uschi requested his presence in the small private meeting room straight away.

  ‘The first part of the mission was a success,’ enthused Uschi once they were out of earshot, calling up some photos on her smartphone. ‘While Sarah was showering I had some time in the changing room to myself, so I quickly borrowed her bra from her bag, laid it out, and got pictures. These will help us identify the exact make and model.’

  Roger’s penis stirred from its slumber at the sight of Sarah’s strapless bra spread-eagled across the changing room bench. The black cups looked huge. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘We’re going to buy an identical bra, steal hers, and replace it with our decoy?’

  Uschi nodded, wide-eyed with perverse glee.

  ‘Can’t you just tell me her bra size now?’ Roger said, slightly desperately.

  ‘And deny you the erotic thrill of reading it off the label yourself? Hardly, Roger. Anyway, my plan is to replace the bra with an identical one in a slightly smaller size, and to do the same with her tube top. Have you noticed that she always wears that tube top on days she goes to the gym?’

  Roger confirmed that yes, he had.

  ‘Of course you have,’ said Uschi, ‘I forget who I am talking to. That tube top which only just covers her nipples. She wears that and the strapless bra because her tits get so hot after the workout it helps her cool down. Now, imagine that the bra and the top are that little bit too small...’

  Roger imagined, and his erection thickened accordingly.

  Uschi grinned. ‘You’re getting hard just thinking about it, aren’t you? You’re going to get to spend an entire afternoon watching as Sarah’s big tits and pretty pale nipples... oops spoiler... pop out of her bra and top, over and over again. You looking forward to that, Roger?’

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘Just think how hard you’ll cum, Roger,’ Uschi rasped dirtily. ‘Finally the mystery of Sarah O’Reilly’s big pale Irish tits will be solved. And I’ve seen them, Roger. They are magnificent. So round, so bouncy, so pert. So big.’

  Roger gave a whimper.

  ‘Now, there’s one small issue,’ said Uschi. ‘And it is an issue in both sense of the word. Look closely.’ She zoomed in on one of the bra cups and showed the photo to Roger. ‘You see that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Those stains. They’re faint but there. There’s a white streak going down one cup from top to bottom, and another two that stretch diagonally across both cups. You know what those stains are, Roger?’ Uschi’s eyes gleamed mischievously. ‘They’re cum stains, Roger. Naughty Sarah, she’s let some lucky man cum all over her big fat tits, and he’s shot his load before she could even get the bra off. She’s tried to wash it, but have you ever tried to wash cum out of black clothes? It’s impossible.’

  Roger knew all too well, and never bought black clothes for precisely that reason.

  ‘Anyway, Roger, what I’m getting at is if we’re going to create a perfect miniature replica of Sarah’s bra, we’re going to need identical cum stains, and I’m going to need you to make them. So, after work, I’m going to the department store. I’m going to buy a few bras in my size – which is smaller than Sarah’s, then I’m going to visit you at your home and together we’ll work on the cum stains. What’s your address?’

  That evening, at home, Roger paced his flat anxiously. Ordinarily he’d have had his nightly release by now, but instead his erection twitched impatiently as it waited for Uschi’s arrival. His mind, out of habit, kept replaying the day’s most ostentatiously arousing moments, Susan with her hand down her bra, Selina’s desire for a breast-carrying servant, Vanessa’s fly-swatting, the photographic evidence of Sarah’s semen-soiled brassiere, and the prospect of creating a forged simulacrum of that very undergarment...

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Your apartment is so... clean,’ said Uschi, dropping the cardboard department store bag onto the sofa as Roger took her raincoat.

  ‘I may live alone, but I’m a tidy person,’ bridled Roger. ‘What were you expecting? Takeaway cartons and pornography everywhere?’

  Uschi peeled the little sticker off the shopping bag and opened it, pulling out three smooth-cupped black strapless bras. ‘You owe me a hundred and twenty pounds, Roger,’ she said, dangling them from a teasing finger.

  ‘You bought three?’ spluttered Roger, imagining the cost.

  ‘We have to get those cum stains exactly right,’ insisted Uschi. ‘I’m not expecting you to get it right first time. I’ve seen you jizz and you don’t seem to have a very accurate aim.’ She was referring to the office handjob she had administered the day before, and the ungodly load which had found its haphazard way onto the floor and various items of office furniture.

  ‘I wasn’t doing the aiming: you were! You were holding my cock at the time!’

  Uschi chortled. ‘You’re so funny when you’re angry! Must be so frustrating for you waiting so long to have your daily release, eh? Not long now though, I’m going to put one of these on and then let’s get started. Where’s the bathroom?’

  Roger directed her. He had assumed they were going to put the bra on the table and do it that way, but Uschi was clearly a stickler for accuracy. She was going the Method route. And thus Roger’s doubts concerning his own ability to ejaculate three times in one evening vanished as quickly as they had arisen: if he was going to be issuing his breast-crazed seed over Uschi’s luscious tanned bosom itself then he would most certainly rise to the challenge.

  Eventually, Uschi re-emerged. She had tied her luxuriant black curls in a ponytail, clearly anxious to avoid getting any of Roger’s sperm on them. A clean towel was tied around her hips, again presumably to protect whatever she was wearing beneath it from suffering the same unwashable fate as the decoy bra. The bra itself was either doing a miraculous job of elevating Uschi’s breasts to their tantalizing perky h
eights, or, Roger suspected, Uschi’s breasts were doing that all by themselves. The only contribution the bra was probably making was the tight straight cleavage. He knew Uschi’s breasts to be close-set, but on the occasions he had seen her evidently braless in the office, her cleavage, though deep and inviting, had been more casually spaced. He noted with pleasure the soft pale tan lines that emerged from the cups and crossed her shoulders, and craved the sight of Uschi sunbathing topless.

  Uschi was consulting her phone again. ‘So, we’ve got three streaks of cum to splatter onto the bra. The first starts at the top of the left cup and makes its way down as far as the centre, the tip of the breast. So I’m assuming that her partner had his cock aimed over her left breast as either he or she wanked it to completion until some of it dribbled down onto the cup. The alternative is that she was titwanking him with the bra on, and for some reason everything ended up spraying to his right, her left. Then there’s this one,’ she swiped to another picture. ‘It’s a zigzag Z shape. My guess here is that he came over her while she was jiggling her tits in the bra. And finally this long line of semen that crosses the entire right cup from one side to the other. She must have been lying down, with him cumming across her tits from her right. That one’s probably easiest. Where’s your bed?’

  Dazed by this increasingly surreal state of erotic affairs, Roger led his partially-clad work colleague through to his bedroom, where she made herself comfortable lying tits-up on the duvet. She patted the bed with her right hand. ‘Kneel here,’ she ordered brusquely. ‘Get your prick out and spray your seed over my right tit. It needs to land in a clean, straight line, remember, and it can’t go farther than that one cup.’