Big Tits

by

Caution: This Lactation Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Lactation, .

Desc: Lactation Sex Story: An older man discovers new horizons with a stripper.

How strange to watch my sons ogling the nude women gyrating on the stage, muttering little comments as they celebrated John's last night of freedom. I had never heard of a bachelor party like this, but it had a certain wholesomeness, I supposed. The way I was raised, this was a den of iniquity. For them, seven in all, not counting me, it was a night club.

For me, I kept thinking the girls were young enough to be my daughters, which brought a bit of a pang to my heart, since mine had died three years before, but I was still happy they had included me, though at a separate table. "You ever been to a place like that, Dad? You'd probably blush all the time, but it'd be nice if you came. Sit behind us, okay?" And it had worked out well, I was a participant without cramping their fun.

When I wasn't watching the boisterous kids, I sort of tried to figure out which tits were silicone. Funny, I'm as randy as the next guy, but it wasn't a turn on. It seemed so sweaty and staged, with most of the women looking bored. There had been that blonde woman with the nice big ones, a couple of numbers ago, who could have been forty or so, though she was incredibly fit, and I felt a tingling in my groin when she stared at me several times. But basically, the big finale was the girl Jack had hired to cuddle John at eleven. The timing looked pretty good, the groom to be was starting to look extremely relaxed.

So there I was, eyeing boobs clinically, and my sons and their friends fondly, when a low voice spoke quietly in my ear "Mind if I sit down?" I looked around in shock, and there was the blonde. I felt a powerful flush hit my face, and started to stutter as I hadn't for years. She didn't wait for a yes, no or maybe, just sat down on the chair next to me. I stopped making noise, and stared at her.

Up close, her makeup was very thick, but there didn't seem to be any blemishes. She was definitely around forty, ten years younger than me, wearing a robe that was belted and covered her from her neck to mid thigh, as she crossed her legs. She was looking at the boys in front of us. "You're the father, right? You look uncomfortable." That sort of settled me, and with my mind whirling, I answered "That obvious, huh? I guess you'd call me a first timer."

Her head turned toward me, and she smiled. It was a nice smile, taking some of the edge off her sharply accented features, and turned her face into pretty maturity. "It's a thing I do up there, try to figure people out. You'd be surprised at how predictable most reactions are, you know, lust on some, others trying to hide their excitement, some just drunkenly ogling. Every once in a while, along comes one like you, cool, not really interested. And those two, they're twins, huh, look like you. Betty's tickled about doing the lap dance for whichever one's getting married." All this delivered with good pronunciation, direct eye contact, and a nice, intelligent timbre in her voice. I managed to keep my jaw from dropping, but my eyes must have been blinking, because she chuckled. "Come on, get over it and talk to me. My name's actually Bernice." She was holding out her hand.

I shook it, and choked out "Umm, buy you a drink?" I was operating on autopilot, completely out of my depth. She held a beer bottle up to my eye, the first time I noticed it. "Maybe the second one." I was nursing a scotch, but threw it down, feeling it warm me up, and lit a cigarillo. That calmed me, and I tried a touch of wit. "Umm, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Her smiled widened. "That's better. I bet that's scotch, you look like the scotch type. I'll have one with you when I finish my beer. Businessman, right?"

I shrugged assent. "And by day, you're a mild mannered philosophy teacher, entranced of Nietze, but leaning toward existentialism." She laughed, and answered "Much better. I'll buy the existentialism, but not the other guy. He was german, wasn't he? No, this is it. You wouldn't believe how much money there is in it. You don't have to hook or anything, as long as you're built well enough and can put on a decent show. I raised a daughter without ever needing penicillin." I smiled at that, wondering as my mind cleared, why me?

"See, it isn't easy to find a chance to talk to a nice guy. Someone who can keep his eyes up, his pants zipped, and isn't queer. I miss little things, politeness, repartee, wit. A guy who drinks scotch. You probably lead when you dance, too. This is really a pretty graceless world, even if it's a good living." She was looking down at her beer. Then she gave a little shrug. "Here comes Debbie. You want another scotch, and will you buy me one? Really, I'll leave if you want."

One of the boys was looking at me with disapproval. That alone was enough to make me urge her "No, please stay. I'm interested. I like Johnnie Walker red, with water." I turned my head, but Bernice had apparently already signaled Debbie, who nodded to me. I looked at the confusing woman smiling at me, and asked "Really. How did you get into this?"

It turned out she had been married in College, to a Med student. He had given her implants after her daughter had been born, and she had been furious at him for how big he had made her breasts. But at the same time, she was surprised at the way men changed their reaction to her. There was no chance of being treated seriously, like anything but a loose woman, and her husband finally got tired of it. At twenty five, he "cast her out", and even though she was well fixed financially, she wanted something to do, and had always loved night life.

"I like showing off. After a while, you don't attach anything sexual to it. It's just a chance to attract admiration, to be loved. Five years of therapy to figure that out. But when some guy dumps on you, or leaves you, this... thing restores your faith in yourself. Honestly. When people fawn over you at work, deep down it pleases you, right? Makes you think you're Superman. Same thing." She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her robe and lit one. "Five a day. No more. Any more, and I notice it up there. Did you see me trying to catch your eye?"

I ended up telling her about the divorce, my daughter's death, the lukewarm relationship with Julia. "There's a certain ennui, a numbness. The kids, the prospect for grandchildren, that occupies my feelings. It's all I hope for." More revelation in an hour of knowing her than with Julia in three years. When I told her about the divorce, she leaned forward, elbows on the table. At the end of my diatribe, she breathed "There's a line from 'Good Morning Vietnam'. 'Never has a man needed a blow job as bad as you.' Geez, I was sure you were married." Just then, Betty came out, and started working on John. Debbie came up and whispered to Bernice, as I watched out of the corner of my eye. As the spotlights picked John and Betty out, she rose, with her hand on my arm, and whispered "I'll be finished at Twelve. Come back, and you can buy me supper. I'll make it worth your while."

I started to rise as she left, but realized my cock was sticking out blatantly, so I sat back down, blushing. She took two steps behind me, then whispered in my other ear "Glad to see you're still human."

I went through several stages. First, I decided I'd go home when the boys left, she was probably just looking for a trick. Then, after that didn't square with the emphasis she had made on not hooking, I thought about leaving her a note. Thanks but no thanks. Then I took a deep breath, and realized I was turned on, excited, and buzzing in a way that was totally unfamiliar. And flattered too, she was a hell of an attractive woman. When I thought about cupping those big tits, I decided to take her up on it.

It was actually about twelve fifteen when I got back from making sure the kid who had been careful about his alchohol intake was driving, taking the beer cans out of the car, and trying to urge caution on six drunk almost adults. I was shaking my head as I got to the bar, and Bernice chuckled at me. She had toned down her makeup, had a modest pantsuit on, and her hair up. Her breasts were fairly well concealed. She noticed my appraisal, and grinned. "Okay?"

I shook my head. "Hey look, I'm a country boy. You big city gals are way beyond me." Then I smiled, trying to be charming. "And yes, you look smashing." Her smile got broader, and she put an arm around me, as we walked out of the bar. I had retrieved my car, and it was just across the street. When we were settled in, she breathed "I wasn't sure you'd take me up on it. I kept thinking what impression did I make. I don't often ask a guy out. Plus, I thought you might be too dignified to go out with a stripper. It's the tits, right?" She giggled, then in a mock serious tone, said "You have the right to remain silent."

I was a little tipsy, so I tried wit again. Self deprecating, I hoped. "Here in Picksburg we laks the view from the Mount. How's that sound?" "What the hell's the Mount?" "Mount Washington, overlooks the city, pretty at night." She cuddled to me, it felt natural, as though she was totally comfortable with intimacy. My stomach churned, and my cock seemed to leap up. I sat there wondering whether to kiss her, make a move now, or try to be cool. She breathed "Lead on, MacDuff." I felt the pressure of her breasts on my arm.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Lactation /