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.

Bart slowed then stopped rutting at Nikki’s rear who glanced back at her partner and grinned. “He didn’t scratch me this time,” she told Dilys. “I know you like them without gloves on, completely natural, but I always seem to get a nasty scrape somewhere. Don’t think I have ... good boy,” she chuckled in doggy speak as Bart grinned down at her, his saliva dribbling on her shoulders. “No you look good darling,” tittered Dilys, admiring Nikki’s pale unblemished skin. She leaned forward and cupped her lovers tits, which were perfect globular handfuls and didn’t droop or sag when the TV researcher stood unadorned. The younger woman’s teats were solid and erect and mounted on her magnificent and rare puffy nipples, Dilys took some close up photos to enter in a porn bestiality competition amongst their private club.

“I’ll get some drinks and put the pizzas in the oven,” said Dilys, standing, giving her greasy twat a wipe with the dishcloth, before sauntering, followed by Mong along the garden path and into the cottage. Nikki watched her rumbustious rear undulate side to side with Dilys’ stately gait. Dutch Dilys knew Bart and Nikki would be tied for at least thirty minutes, maybe longer and the food would be ready by then. She turned the fan oven on to 200º and prepared two stiff G&Ts using Hendricks liquor and slices of cucumber but left the ice until Nikki was ready...

A large pub, Wraysbury

Art took some time out for a snack and set off to stroll to his nondescript local, the Bridge Tavern at 11.45 in the morning, the weather was hot and sunny and he needed to leave a message for his neighbours, a quiet couple Lynn and Nick Sodsbury, in their mid 50s, just in case a delivery turned up and would they take it in as they usually did. When he sauntered round, through their side gate to the garden, Ruff their black Labrador approached in a friendly style. He patted him but didn’t speak. Lynn was stretched out on her front on a rug, feet towards him. He’d seen her walk past earlier to the shops, in a flowing, patterned, blue, all over smock and while she is short and dumpy, she was all in shapely proportions – for her age. He imagined she would be naked without the smock, she was always dressed hippy style, judging by the jiggle of material over her torso.

Art had seen her the night before, doing the same errand. She wasn’t spectacular in looks and figure, a pleasant lived in face, under prematurely steel grey hair in a wild frizzy style to her shoulders. She had small tits and last night they were fully brassiered under a close fitting dark brown top, they later went out and had dressed for the occasion. When he’d spotted her in the morning in the smock, he was thrilled to see some perky, bouncy nipple bulges – must keep an eye out he reminded himself, because when they had visitors for barbecues, he got some of the best sneaky viewing from his upstairs rear room, where the females often dress down as do the men, but shunning the vests, baggy shorts, socks and sandals.

As he approached the neighbours, he had free access to their garden as did several neighbours to each others domains, Nick was laying on a garden lounger and saw him coming and tried to warn his wife, “Watch out Lynn.” Too fucking late mate Art snickered to himself. She seemed to be totally wrapped up in a paperback book, she hadn’t heard him, so their visitor got a cracking view up between her legs, under her very short cotton skirt, which had ridden up to her hips and was trapped beneath her. The prize for Art was to see her white knickers gusset between chubby, bare, lightly tanned thighs. Her legs were wide enough for him to see how the gusset widened to cover her cunt.

“What Nick?” she replied, glancing over her right shoulder up into the lounger. He nodded towards Art with a warning eye roll, maybe he guessed what she was exposing. In her movement, Lynn’s feet took up new positions, her knees parted, one leg bent upwards as she interpreted Nick’s glance and twisted towards Art. In her haste to turn, her thighs opened and he thought she mustn’t have realised how her miniskirt was trapped. There for the leching neighbour to savour – it takes seconds for a champion voyeur – was a wide concave triangle of white reinforced gusset. He didn’t detect hairs escaping in the smidgeon time of glance, but a covered cunt, so close and unexpected was a bonus.

Lynn finally righted herself, kneeling up to face him, providing more swift flashes of her crotch, as he was explaining the reason for his presence. An added bonus, was her nipple buds. She wasn’t well blessed in that respect, but there they were under a dusky pink skinny top. Her and Nick weren’t the friendliest souls, but the little thrills she gave compensated.

At the pub - out in a windy smokers patio, a couple of non locals, unusual for the sort of place, sat nearby and instantly Art’s interest was perked. The weather was kind, but a pesky breeze swept through now and then, in the shade it was cool. He was a tall rangy slightly scruffy individual, hooded eyes and she was a petite, long, glossy black haired girl, Art reckoned to be in her early 40s but a stunner and an Oriental stunner too. Gorgeous almond shaped dark eyes, dark olive skin, big teeth in a wide constantly smiling mouth, her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Art heard him talking to someone on a phone and from the conversation he gleaned her name was Pixie. Eminently cute name, as she was, and there was a bonus in her dress, well not a dress but tight black denims on a slight shapely figure. That was topped with a light twill, pale khaki coloured, military style shirt complete with epaulettes, and two breast pockets.

However the weather was playing it’s tricks and what was the bane of females going braless and not many do these days, her small breasts professed large lumpy nipples, nurtured to a full stand by the cool air wafting round Pixie. Even the material of her shirt which wasn’t a real summery fabric, couldn’t mask her buds, the pockets not intruding over them – thankfully Art thought - and the pint of bitter, packet of pork scratchings and Pixie was a satisfying snippet of leisure time

In contrast, a couple of foreigners, sat outside with soft drinks looked Jewish but could be anything middle eastern, in their 30s, he was big and swarthy and reeked of BO. Art pulled a face when her walked past them in distaste, as the man wore a large suede/corduroy sweater over sturdy jeans in sweltering weather. She was mildly attractive, long glossy raven hair, engagement ring, wearing a black dress with wide straps and not high neckline, bare shoulders and legs and a good rack – but – rich forested armpits. He couldn’t believe it in this depilated world, but he liked it. Walking home, he passed a bus stop and in the queue, were a scruffy 50s hippy style couple. He of the type that the style police had given up on and she was unattractive, wearing a close fitting top, no bra, medium tits, and nipples that pointed down and away from each other. Art sighed but ogled none the less.

He wandered home keeping his pervy eye out for anything and soon spotted a once stately – she walked upright and held herself well, tall, bleached blonde lady gone to seed doing gardening work in her large front spread. Her hair was pinned back on her head with large spectacular combs. She’d seen much sun and was expecting more, her torso encased in a tight white, mini strapped top, which would have liked to, but couldn’t cover her belly, which hung low if she bent down. Art paused for a while, feigning interest in an election poster on the wall next door. He made sure of a good view, having seen her around but never in this situation.

The lecherous perv that he was couldn’t help enjoying the battle she was having keep a large hairy attractive dog from mounting her each time she knelt down to attend to some low flowers until it responded to a whistle from indoors and bounded away.

Standing up - she sometimes remembered to pull the light top down, but it wouldn’t stay down in her activity. The result was a front pouch of tan flesh that slopped over her tight beige trousers, which stopped mid calf. The white label of something, flapped in the breeze low in the middle of her back. He guessed it was the maker’s mark of her maroon thong – the brief structure of the undergarment, revealed more each time she bent, allowing more flesh to ooze out between it and the top of her trousers.

Naked apart from the thong, her rump must have resembled a large piece of pork trussed with string the way the butchers prepare meat. She was big titted, well brassiered, revealing masses of cleavage whenever she bent. The lower element of her bra was clear down the vast cavern. Art enjoyed the vista and his mind archived the details.

A garden in Barnes

“We’ve tired them out,” snickered Dilys, nodding at the two Dobermans sleeping at her and Nikki’s feet. “Yeah and he was really going for it,” giggled Nikki glancing at Bart. “I didn’t let him knot me, otherwise I’d have been here all fucking night.” “He gave you a fair old soaking though, I mean holding his bulb is a fantastic feeling. I could sense his cum throbbing through and the ropes he squirted at your cunny was sensational, nearly as good as old Moog.” Dilys chuckled, wiping her mouth clear of pizza crumbs. “You got any further with tapping up Andrea for a loan of her Dane yet?” “Nah, she’s not biting I’ll just have to bide my time ... Oohhh darling that is so good, sweet course for you then?” Nikki sighed letting her partner ease over her and nibble her teats. “And I don’t bite. These are so beautiful, I’m glad we teamed up ... I mean if I’d searched for a girl with such fabulous puffies like this ... I mean how would I have found them. Maybe at a nudist camp or somewhere?” Mused Dilys.

Nikki’s hand strayed down to her crotch, her lover was concentrating on one tit at a time and sorted her thick labia to insert a finger. Her clitoral hood was pronounced and textured a darker skin tone, More of Bart’s jism oozed out, helping her frigging, easing her most sensitive bud to show itself. It’s bright pink tip wobbled with her finger stimulation and her own cunt juice commenced making a heady cocktail.

Dilys had noticed, knowing the intimate signs and slid lower between Nikki’s widening legs, to position herself to lap the flavours. Moog raised his handsome head, alert at the heady scents wafting round the intimate duo. He saw an opportunity and was soon trying to mount the powerful Dutch woman, who ignored him, knowing he would either be keen or it was just a canine whim, being used to her in that position.

“Fuck!” Dilys exclaimed, her head jolting up from Nikki’s soppy twat. “The bugger’s going for my bum...” “What - doing it on his own? Good boy Moog,” giggled Nikki, keeping her fingers dancing over her smooth pussy lips. She knew from experience the two Dobermans homed in expertly on both her and Dilys’ always open motts. “Urrghhhh, fuck me, he’s in,” yelped Dilys. “I haven’t lubricated it, but I’ll tell you what it’s fantastic, fucking hell, go boy.” “You going to knot him in there darling?” quizzed Nikki. “Dunnoooooo yet,” moaned Dilys.

A cheap flat in Wraysbury the next day

“Art, do us a favour please mate?” Nick called over the back fence, hearing his neighbour return. “We’ve got to dash out urgently and Ruff should be walked and do dah’d at this time ... sorry mate but it’s one of those fucking times when we can’t take him.” Faherty agreed, thinking now it’s mate is it? and let Nick bring the black Labrador round, handing him the lead and two black plastic dog shit bags. He had helped them with this duty a couple of times and knew they didn’t like to leave the hound anywhere at any time. As a member of the authority he couldn’t mind picking up the foul stinking faeces Ruff deposited in massive piles and this time being excited by the stately blonde and her canine, plus his regular forays into the realms of BeastForum on the internet, the idea of taking some solace in a male animal as he didn’t have any luck with humans loomed large in his perverted mind. Wanking was all well and good and inserting various objects in his anus was fun, but what would it be like to have a real active penis up his bum? Hhhmmm!

“We’ll be about a couple of hours mate...” there he goes again, matey, Art mused and agreed, to keep Ruff who was itching to go to the common and Art didn’t mind. He knew the neighbours used him for convenience, when it suited them, but he had the chance to enter their garden and finger Lynn’s undies on the washing line and on one occasion she’d left the dirty washing basket on the back step for some reason, he assumed by mistake and he’d had a lovely time rummaging in it and even having a wank with her panties over his face.

Ruff dumped his load and Art cleaned it up and deposited it in it’s bag in the council provided bins. They got back to his place and he prepared. Arty Faherty, for that’s what he deemed his new covert adventurer be known as -just to himself in his own sad little micro bubble, prepared for a totally new experience. His living room was big enough. He gathered KY Jelly, something he’d bought ages back and used for an occasional anal experiment. Wet cloths, dry cloths were gathered and an old rug was spread on the worn carpet. Curtains were drawn and he lit the wall lamps. He stripped naked, Ruff had wandered about sniffing here and there, then laid down.