During a trip to Coney Island, NY, Sue explored all thrill rides while I watched safely from the ground. She loved the parachute drop and rode the Ferris Wheel twice—once on an outer, fixed gondola, and again on the inner, sliding cars. She was a dare devil and thrill seeker. Though she enjoyed the rides, she wasn’t thrilled.
We stopped at Nathan’s Famous where we had their infamous dogs. I braved eating frog legs for my first and last time. They were split, breaded and fried. Though I found them a little tough, they were tasty. Yet I couldn’t enjoy them because I couldn’t stand the thought of thousands of frogs in tiny wheelchairs for life. So sad.
This hot and humid July 13 Sue, dressed in tight and tiny jean shorts that showed off her long, sexy legs perfectly, and a ribbed, teal tank top that hugged her small tits and made them prominent and seem twice as big as they were, constantly turned heads as she walked with confidence. Her braless top let her barely B cups shift and bounce freely and magnified her already perfect nipples as they hardened.
Once strangers stopped drooling over her legs and tantalizing nipples, they noticed her pretty face. She always denied it, but I knew her gait and recognized when she changed it to a harsher, tit-shaking step to get attention she pretended to ignore. Only slightly vain, this performance was more about boosting her self image. Her elated, wry smile told me she was ‘in a mood’—a horny one. Once again, I had to choose my role—enabler, or conservative husband and protector. Sometimes the choice was one of the lessor of two evils since she made it impossible to make a good choice.
In an unusual, lewd display in an open, public area, she took her first dog out of the bun, tilted her head back and slid the phallic tube steak in and out of her mouth. She licked its salty skin then with great risk, sucked it back in a few times until only an inch was out of her mouth and a few inches were in her throat. The usual roar of the dense throng around us deadened as men and women watched her deep throat her dog. She claimed she wanted to taste it naked—without condiments or the caloric bun. Right! I mentally prepared to Heimlich her.
Pulling it out one last time, she dramatically bit off a piece accompanied with a gasp and bug eyes from those watching her. Men winced. Her pouty smile betrayed how much she enjoyed the intense attention. After resetting the stiff dog in the bun, she dressed it and provocatively leaned forward as she ate it. With her own petite and sexy buns offered to the immediate crowd, I saw several men licking their lips. As the crowd began to disperse, more than one man slowly brushed against her proffered ass with no reaction from my horny wife.
Two men groped her buns, and one ran his hand obviously up the back of her bare leg before cupping her ass. She glared at me with a wry smile as if daring me to interfere with her pleasure. The usual conflicts rose quickly in me—do I stop this, or simply enjoy the stimulating, lascivious performance? I grit my teeth despite my engorged reaction. I knew better than to object or try to tame her. “Having fun?” I asked as I winked at her and hid my displeasure. She didn’t answer.
We walked the boardwalk and did some windowless window shopping before we headed for the much anticipated Cyclone roller coaster. As we watched several trains roar past us, we cringed as the wooden cross beams creaked and popped loudly. Expectantly, I listened for, but didn’t hear, any thick beams fall noisily to the ground. The creaking alone convinced me to stay off the ancient wooden coaster. Sue’s beaming face said the danger convinced her she had to ride it.
She bought two tickets and we waited on line, hand in hand; she bristled with anticipation while I just bristled. When we got close to the front, she pulled her tank top out of her shorts. I wondered why even as she fluffed the thin top to route hot air up her chest. It was just loose and low cut enough for a quick and deniable nip slip. She was having too much fun already.
I kissed her and stepped away at the last minute then watched her climb into the narrow front car, which was just two seats wide. A young guy fought his way past his friends and climbed in next to Sue. He spoke to her and she smiled innocently back. As the train began its long climb, I moved back to our former vantage point where I could see most of the bumpy and twisty ride. As the train slowly climbed up the first steep hill, Sue and the stranger, pressed shoulder to shoulder, seemed to be getting along like old friends, or even closer. Sue raised her hands straight up and beamed. Unlike me, she had no trace of sweat soaking her top.
As the ride accelerated down the first speedy drop, it tossed her side to side as well as up and down. The guy, let’s call him Dick, was also enjoying the ride, but probably for other reasons. He also raised his hands, but just half way so his elbows were at nipple level—hers. I watched him rub and ‘grope’ Sue’s tits with his upper arm with no complaints from my modest wife. Her loosened tank top was scooping air and flapping up to nearly expose her mounds. Dick was obviously trying to help it rise.
A combination bump and gust tossed her top to her chin. Instead of covering up, she thrust her bare tits forward into the bright sunlight. Dick leaned forward to stare and drool at her naked, hard nipples and she let him with no effort to dissuade him. As usual, Sue could claim it wasn’t her fault the wind and bumps exposed her. The rest of us had to conveniently forget that she’d prepared for the ride by pulling her shirt out, then kept her arms straight up and leaned forward to allow or encourage the shirt to catch wind and rise high. Dick briefly pinned a bare tit as Sue still kept her arms up.
Finally, it happened just as I’m sure Sue planned or hoped. I watched as a twisting track and a big wind gust pushed her top past her head, up her straight arms and off. As it flew away, Sue looked around, open mouth and bug eyed, with her arms still over her head and her rebounding tits fully exposed. Now naked, except for her tiny shorts, she was beaming with joy.
Dick laughed and pointed, closely, at her sweet, pliant tits. I couldn’t be sure if he fingered her hard nipple, but emboldened by her unguarded boobs, he certainly leaned in and kneaded her stiff nipple with his elbow. Sue looked at him as if saying ‘what are you doing,’ but left her arms up and let him keep rubbing her. He grinned ear to ear as he gawked at her bare chest, bare legs and the tiny shorts that blocked the rest of his lustful view. Her idea of ‘friendly’ is typically ‘flirtatious’ to the rest of us, or in this case boldly submissive.
When the train pulled into the loading station, Sue pulled the second ticket out of her pocket for a second ride, smiled, and ignored her bared tits. The attendant never took his eyes off her nipples as he took her ticket and payment for another ride from Dick. His bulging slacks were obvious even from where I stood, as mine likely were. My red face showed my embarrassment for my wife; or was that arousal too? I wasn’t surprised that she wanted another go or that Dick took his time adjusting and readjusting his shorts. I’m sure he was about to cream them, if he hadn’t already.
It wasn’t until the train roared past me again that I saw the result of his adjustments. His swollen bishop and much of his slim shaft had fully escaped the leg of his shorts and he was pressing that bare leg against my wife’s bare leg. Her arms were straight up again; his elbow more deliberately and blatantly rubbed her nipple in circles and, as he rubbed her thigh, my wife stole frequent glances at his exposed cock.
I was at the Quai when their ride ended and caught him pulling his shorts over his purple head as Sue watched. Before the safety bar released, Dick turned and kissed Sue briefly on the mouth. That was a surprise. When I asked her what that was about, she downplayed it, “Oh you know, the excitement of the ride, seeing his first live naked boobs and rubbing my nipple, as you saw.”
No denials, just brazen, beaming confidence. The crowds parted slightly and gawked as she stepped thru them, head held high and proud. I let her have her exposure until we were on the street again, then offered her my shirt. She scorned, “Don’t be silly. The girls are just tits, everybody has seen them already and, as Scout Willis proved, it’s perfectly legal to expose them in NY.”
While I couldn’t argue with her words, and clearly recognized her true motive, I was torn between losing the special privacy of her tits being only for me and the pride and arousal of sharing her perfect nipples with Dick and every head that turned to stare at them. My dick stood and voted for the second option.
Within a short time, we got accustomed to her public, bared chest, though my dick throbbed every time her nipples went from soft to tall and hard each time another man stared at them. Some gave her a ‘thumbs up’ or commented “Nice tits!” as we strolled hand in hand again.
When we reached the Steeplechase, Sue wanted to stop for ice cream. She decided to boldly challenge the window sign that read “no shirt, no service” and yanked the door open. A female customer gave her ‘thumbs up’ and smiled broadly just as a manager stepped up and asked us to leave. We did. But not quietly.
A few doors away was an upscale diner with no window warning. Sue defiantly lead the way in, daring anyone to challenge her. The shift manager did.
He whispered that a minimum dress code is expected and she could either cover up or leave. She roared, “Bare tits are legal in NY and I don’t see any sign that says I can’t eat topless.” He silently pointed to an inconspicuous, framed, sign that read:
We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone at any time.
He smiled a creepy smile while staring at my wife’s tits. One of the younger diners abruptly stood up opposite her date and nervously stuttered, “S-S-She’s right. It’s legal and it’s our choice, so... “ The manager and the other two dozen diners, stock-still, watched her slowly unbutton her blouse, remove it and hesitantly unsnap her bra and let it slide down her arms. Her date was frozen in place, his mouth locked wide open as he stared at the premature, inspirational sight. As her pale, sizeable, and well-rounded mounds made their brave appearance, Sue stepped over to her.
Completely out of her ‘modest’ persona, Sue advanced her Free-The-Nipple agenda and greeted her new topless friend. “I’m Sue. Thanks for your support.” As she went for a less-than-platonic hug, her hand became trapped between their chests and she reflexively pinched and twisted the pretty supporter’s thick nipple.
“I’m Zania. This feels so taboo, yet freeing. Thank you for inspiring this.” She looked at her stunned date then down at her hardening nipples and blushed as she watched my wife twist a tempting teat; she smiled. “Is this how you greet your supporters? Mmm, I like it.”
Sue grinned and answered, “It is now, Zania.” I watched the stranger reach for, grip and pinch Sue’s perfect nipple. Two other women stripped off their tops and joined Zania and Sue and immediately copied the new greeting—pinching each other and the original members of Sue’s new, ad hoc, Free-The-Nipple (FTN) movement.
Four more women stood and stripped and four men joined them, including Zania’s date, Zeke. Whether to pinch nipples or have their own pinched, they stripped off their shirts and joined the growing crowd. I took off my shirt and greeted all the freshly exposed nipples. I’m all about support, obviously.
Sue whispered to me, “I’m not sure you men are helping the FTN cause. I want to see every woman in NY topless today, but mixed with men... ?”
I interrupted, “Men walking topless with you should normalize this FTN movement. If you march without us, it becomes more radical and about rebellion, not normalcy. Which message do you want to send?” As everyone in the eatery watched, I claimed my wife’s nipple with a pull, pinch and twist. I savored the public display which she usually controlled or forbade; I so wanted to bite it as they watched.
“This is about both, but primarily rebellion against places and policies like this and the ice cream shop. Passively showing our tits isn’t enough. Now that we have the law on our side, I want public policy to change too. Maybe a huge march in front of City Hall will make the news and spread the message—even to those states where it’s still illegal to expose any nipples, even nursing ones. I’m going to set it up for tomorrow.”
With her mind made up, the only way she would change it is if she thought it was her own idea. “You know, hon, tomorrow is Bastille Day, or as it’s known outside of France, National Nude Day. If you march then, it won’t count unless you are all naked—men too.” Though we’d spent several National Nude Days publically naked, I somehow thought that idea for this year would dissuade her. Man, was I ever wrong!
Her brow furrowed for a few seconds then her eyes lit and twinkled. “Challenge accepted! Anyone willing to march naked with us tomorrow, come gather in the corner.” The manager threw up his hands and walked away. We were right to guess that he wouldn’t want to lose two dozen paying patrons.
Sue took names and phone numbers and asked everyone to start calling anyone who might be willing to join us at 10 a.m. at city hall—naked, but they should bring white cotton halter tops and white skirts or kilts. Spouses were invited if they participated. After two hours, Sue had twenty firm commitments and sixty ‘ahhhm not so s-s-sure about that—let me think on it’ responses. Confident of at least thirty, we worked out details and made some signs that night.
“Peter Patter here, reporting for PNine, your fair and balanced network, from Brooklyn Borough Hall on Your-a-lemon St on National Nude day. Well besides the expected turnout on a day when NYC typically suspends arrests for public nudity, not lewdity folks, we have an added surprise.”
“Kitty Patter here with my husband. By the by Peter, it’s Jorealemon Street. As our cameraman zooms out, you can see Peter and I, Kitty, are as naked as the rest of the revelers. All you local viewers in NY state can see that Peter’s peter is hanging out and it is excited to be here. You can also see, no need to zoom in Max, my kitty is also happy to be out on this hot day, and manicured. Our crew was also required to be naked so Max, show our viewers how happy you all are to be out and naked.” He did.
“Thank you honey, umm Kitty. Thank YOU, Max, for proving to everyone that I am not Jewish. Anyone outside the state watching our report, sorry. The censors block out our best parts if they are possibly lusty. You know, Kitty, if we both do jumping jacks, they may not be able to keep up with all our bouncing bits. You jump while I speak and I’ll bounce while you do—then we should do some quiet-time jumping together. -wink- Keep us both in frame, Max—no, don’t bounce the camera, just zoom back a bit. Ey! Back off Kitty’s kitty!”
“I-I-I’m stopping now—your turn. Looking down the main streets here, you can see that the number of naked people celebrating the day is higher than ever. Not many people are fully dressed and some of those are stripping when they see our cameras. Nice rebounding action, Peter. You’re up.”
Kitty took a firm grip of Peter’s peter and held on as he continued to jump. “I s-s-suppose this is a test for the censors. Since Kitty isn’t jerking my pecker, just hanging on, is that a certified lewd act? Checking with our onsite naked censor ... We got a thumbs up—for today only! Hang on tight honey. Ohh yeaaa. What? Oh yes, NND.” Suddenly black bars appeared on the monitors over Peter’s peter. “What happened? Why the bars? ... Oh? Too much shaft and moisture? There’s a shaft standard?”
“No, Peter, but there are a stiffness and lewd standards. No deliberately provocative acts or fornication is allowed on the streets or on camera. You’ll notice couples ducking into alleyways where we know not to follow them. If Peter’s peter has recovered its composure, I can let go and clean up the moisture.”
In a daring fit of pique, Kitty bent over before one camera to give it a full shot of her lusty, unbearded, puffy clam while Max’s camera caught her tongue whip out quickly, wrap around Peter’s bishop and suck it clean. The censor was too slow to block her oral tribute and, even with the three-second delay, the black blocker came up too late. “There, now you are presentable again, Peter’s peter.” Kitty lingered bent over to mischievously allow the camera to zoom in on her full, sultry, swaying tits and pearl necklace.
“Ahhem, ahh, <gulp> yes dear? Oh wow, I can’t wait to see that on replays—from both angles. Now, umm, here comes the surprise—the other surprise—we were told to expect. Big signs in a big group reading ... FTN—Free-The-Nipple. Well, surprise. They are dressed in matching tops—men too.”
“Yes, Peter, they are shouting their mantra, but on Nude Day, why should anyone notice? The apparent leader of the group is coming to speak to us. What is your name and why are you dressed at all if you are out celebrating NND and championing Free-The-Nipple.”
“My name is Sue and with everyone naked, we knew we’d be lost in the crowd. Now that you and your viewers noticed us,” she slipped a hand behind her and released her halter top and waist ties then pulled it away. Max’s camera caught her tiny tits dancing and he zoomed in on them and the perfect, swelling nipples for a full screen closeup. “I don’t need this anymore.”
She turned and shouted, “GROUP, release!” At her command the second line of men removed the halters from the first line of women then pulled off their own shirts. They then removed the halters from the third line, all women. The effect was dramatic as the white halters vanished in a clear, synchronized wave of bare flesh replacing white cotton.
Peter interrupted, “I see leadership was not based on tit, um breast, size. But nipple wise, WOW! It’s so rare to see perfect, classic nipples. May I bite, um I mean, feel one with my wife here? Folks, Sue’s husband, Al is right behind her with his hand suspiciously in motion below her hips.”
“Certainly, Peter. After all, the whole point of our march is to um, desensitize public views that female nipples are so special that it’s illegal to display them. Your wife and I will also fondle your and Al’s nipples as you fondle ours.”
Though trying to avoid traipsing into lewd and censored motions, Kitty and Peter pinched and pulled Sue’s and my nipples, as we did the same to the reporters’. Perhaps Sue misstated her case since the difference between recessive male nipples’ minor response and Kitty’s and Sue’s obvious, erectile response was temptingly palpable.
Both women’s deeper breathing was cut off by the censor’s block. Once they stopped arousing each other, the censor allowed full screen closeups of all four hard nipples then the male nipples, split screen above them, for a brief moment for contrast exposure.
With his eyes locked firmly on Sue’s hard nipples, Peter asked, “What about your skirts and kilts? Are you keeping those on despite being NND?” He tried to see thru Sue’s opaque skirt, but was disappointed.
“Yes, Peter, we are. As you can tell from my husband’s rising kilt he and all of us are commando today. But our skirts stay on until our message is heard. Maybe your viewers can call in and vote for Free-The-Nipple and urge us to remove our skirts? Would you keep a count for us? I’ll check in later.”
“Sounds good to us,” volunteered Peter, his eyes still locked on my wife’s bold nipples. His wife conspicuously wiped his mouth of some drool as he concluded, “W-w-we will be here the rest of this day and give you updates as they cum. Peter and Kitty Patter for PNine.”