Inspired by lewd and sneaky observation
An office block canteen, Slough UK
“Here Glad, your nipples as big as mine and Aggie’s?” giggled forty eight year Dawn Sinking, hoisting up her 48DD tits, reading a four page leaflet. “No way, course not,” Gladys Dunnfor primly giggled, smoothing her hands down over her sunken seventy year old breasts, having lightly perused then discarded the same leaflet. “What the fuck is this survey all about anyway Miss Sturgeon?” chuckled Aggie Bestofem, knowing none of them could match the thumb size teats she proudly cupped under her pale grey tee shirt – without a brassiere beneath. The extremely buxom bleach blonde, forty five year old canteen assistant challenged the young, clipboard clutching TV researcher, thrusting the leaflet back to her. “It’s all to do with feminism, bodily reactions, health...”came the start of a response. “ ... and safety,” screeched Mamie Feasting,”Frigging elf and fucking safety got to be in there somewhere,” added the forty two year old fat, Mozambique canteen supervisor in Womens World magazine headquarters and printing press canteen on Slough Trading Estate.
Nikki Sturgeon frowned and pursed her trendy bronze lipsticked lips at the crudity shown by the canteen staff. How was she supposed to complete her survey with these uncouth low life females She sensed her own nipples hardening with embarrassment. It would have been better not to have seen such blatant evidence if the ladies had worn the regulation uniforms of pale pink smocks. Mamie had scoffed at such a garment suggesting they hindered work, the rear ties always coming loose because of the cheap material and nothing to do with the ties at their limit, on round robust figures.
Prim and proper, neat and trim except for thick thighs and ankles, perfectly coiffed, Nikki relished her job, finding out about things for the TV channel that employed her. At twenty five years old she had secured the post through her lover’s influence - she being Dilys Stout, floor manager of the popular ITV Loose Women show. Dilys and Nikki shared an idyllic chocolate box fashioned cottage on the leafy outskirts of Barnes in London, enjoying the garden, the nearby wildlife sanctuary, walks along the Thames and frequent love ins with their Doberman pets.
Andrea McLean, one of the shows presenters had brought up the subject of how she had noticed women’s nipples became more visible when the women were under pressure, on edge and challenging. The forty seven year old attractive Scottish anchor woman, confessed on live TV that she often sensed hers were rising, when interviewing awkward politicians and recalcitrant sports stars and now Nikki was charged with investigating such intimacies. She had sucked up to Andrea for favours, knowing she and her husband owned a grey brown Great Dane and she had always fancied kneeling under one of those magnificent beasts with her legs open. Angling for a visit of some sorts and being left with the huge hound, she felt it would be a lost cause but kept brown nosing Andrea. Dilys had experienced the bestial pleasures with a Dane and told her there was none better.
“It’s important research ladies, please help and answer each question,” whined Nikki, despairing, handing out the leaflets, sensing her teats had expanded into big buds in her exasperated mood. Smart looking bitch, thought Agnes Cumbersum, eyeing Nikki’s pillar box red, close fitting, pencil skirted suit, her faulty, nylon clad legs enhanced a little by six inch high stilettos matching her suit. The corporately presented researcher had waited an hour, to reach the catering team, their priorities being feeding the hungry staff. Now she would be delayed getting back home to Dilys, not going back to the studios, knowing that her six foot tall, masculine, close cropped, Dutch lesbian lover would already have been shagged by both dogs on her day off. Fifty year old Dilys had just finished her period, Nikki having willingly and without Dilys needing to ask, extracted and disposed of a slightly brown tinged tampon that morning knowing her lover was always rampant at that time of the month for anything to stuff into her hungry, big lipped, lightly trimmed minge and Bart and Mong the two Dobermans were the two liveliest animals to hand ... and to shag.
A council house Slough. That evening
“Really weird today,” muttered Aggie to Mo her younger and equally buxom sister, pregnant, by person unknown, there’d been so many, who lived with Agnes’ family as they prepared a meal. “We had this posh bird round, orders of the management,” the elder sister giggled affecting a supposedly authoritarian pose and manner, although holding up a potato in one hand, a scrubber in the other. “She had a leaflet we had to fill out asking questions about our tits – would you believe? for fucks sake – our tits, no wait ... our nipples.” “Jeez, what the fuck for?” asked Mo lovingly handling and scraping a large carrot, thinking to herself she might find another and use it that night, or if that one wasn’t eaten, it could be useful. Forever cock hungry - Mo was 30, heavily expectant. She wore glasses on her pronounced Roman nose. She had shoulder length, fair – much solvent abused hair, pushed back in a band. There were no brassiere clues and her skimpy panty line was clearly etched low over her hips and disappeared into a dark damp place. Over it was a close fitting, light grey, knee length shift. Her legs were bare. Her bump was huge and when walking she’d adopted the waddle and her teats, soon to be devoured many times becoming very sore, were a man’s big thumb size – a big man too. She automatically glanced at her big sister’s enormous rack, now upholstered in a well worn, unwired and tired, grubby white, frayed Primark bra, which inevitably showed the lumps formed by Aggie’s teats. Ron - Aggie’s long suffering husband had advised her to wear one when he met her at the council offices to discuss Tina, their teenage daughter’s wayward behaviour.
“Do our nipples get hard at certain times, for fucks sake, that was the question or one of them,” chortled Aggie. “Mine are always hard. No - not hard but they never go flat, do yours?” “What get hard? yeah s’pose so, never thought about it, but why, I mean what they’re trying to find out – cheeky buggers anyway,” giggled Mo. “Dunno, load of fucking twat posh people sat on their arses and thinking something to do. I mean mines hard now as we speak ... funny that,” Aggie snickered, as she brushed her teats lightly – and sensing a nice thrill flutter. “I can tell. They rose to the occasion when that nice Mr Faherty at the council talked to us today.” “Yeah mine do too, and these days, with this,” she gestured at her bulge. “They’re like - what was it dad used to say ... like organ stops,” giggled Mo. “Aren’t we a pair of tits?” she shrieked and got on with scraping the vegetable.
A cheap flat in Wraysbury
Arthur Faherty, a single, 45year old local district council officer, known to all as Art, watched TV, working from home but viewing CCTV footage from shops near Washington Drive Slough. Shit! that Tina Bestofem has a superb pair of knockers, he mused as a group of teen girls spilled out of a convenience store in high mirth and seeing the council cameras, two of them lifted up their tops and flashed their breasts. Just like her mother he’d interviewed that day. A local copper had mooched along a little later missing the tit show, ticking them off for being rowdy, but as he hadn’t seen anything untoward they escaped punishment. Ramin, the shopkeeper knew the girly gang and told Ron when he popped in for a newspaper. Ramin told Ron that as a parish council member he would report the incident as the girls had been rowdy in his shop and a district council member took notes, hence the precautionary meeting.
Art remembered – how could a tit man forget – Mrs Bestofem’s ginormous, swaying, wobbling rack and the clear outline and lumps of her nipples as he outlined Tina’s misdeeds to her parents. He took note of the bra straps that carved into her bulky but still proportionately shapely form, below her armpits, her shoulders and round her back, thinking she needed better quality underwear and how he wished he could help her.
A secluded garden near Barnes
One of Bart’s rear legs vibrated at speed to one side of Nikki’s bare, raised rump, his knot fully engaged in her sluicing smooth waxed cunt. Watching and taking part – not with envy, she’d been done, Dilys loved the way his stumpy docked tail quivered and how his bulbous testicles wobbled in her hand. Full of three loads, one in her mouth - of canine spunk, the craggy, sharp faced Dutch woman made sure the dishcloth she’d stuffed under her crotch, soaked up the steady drizzle rather than stain the pristine high quality garden lounger she was perched on at the bestial rear end. She lightly fingered Bart’s sphincter, it was a firm but pliable bulb of muscle and Mong, the older Doberman Pinscher laying beside her, although depositing only one rope into Dilys – so far, had loved her insertion of a dildo up his arse, judging by the blue and rust coloured Mong’s excitement when she got it from it’s bag earlier in the afternoon and his dominance within the two tall rangy hounds. He had made it very clear to his owner and Bart his black buddy who was getting it first.
.... There is more of this story ...