"Today's Brown Bag Lunch topic is one I know many people will find helpful." Ms. Hubbard gestured to a woman standing to one side of the room. "Last week's topic was a primer on cunnilingus. We continue that theme this week with Breasts 101. And presenting this topic is Sandy from HR."
Sandy was an enthusiastic blonde who was the HR Manager. She smiled out at the crowd, and Dace Baker, sitting in the second row, straightened up. Sandy usually had good advice, especially when it came to sex.
"I'm sure all you guys have noticed that we women have breasts. The trouble is, when you get us into the sack you sort of play with them, or manhandle them briefly, but that's it. Today's workshop is 'Breasts 101', to teach you guys what to do.
"For starters, let's everyone get their tops off. Later, after the workshop, if you want to do more, feel free. But for right now we don't want you distracted by any other parts of anatomy. And with your tops off, take a seat on the guy next to you's lap, facing him."
Dace peeled off her top. She didn't know the guy next to her, though she'd seen him around. But that was the beauty of working at Hubbard: the guys were interchangeable. She sat on his lap, facing him. That put her breasts right in front of his face. He gave each of them a kiss.
Sandy covered the basics, what breasts were, and how they were formed. "Technically speaking, they're like sweat glands," Sandy concluded, "but ones that got lucky." This produced a wave of laughter all across the room.
"The next thing is the most important. Oxytocin. This naturally occurring chemical has a tremendous effect on the female body, and gets girls excited. The good news is that massaging a woman's breasts produces it. The more you fondle them, the more oxytocin is produced, and that pays off down the road for everyone.
"All right, now comes the fun part of the discussion, the 'hands-on' part. Guys, you're going to fondle the breasts in front of you, and girls, you're going to tell him what feels good.
"Start off slow, with gentle pressure on the breasts, caressing them. Most women find this approach to be the most intense. Then, as her excitement builds, increase the simulation with more intense pressure, sucking, pinching, nibbling, etc. The hotter she gets, the more she can handle. Breasts can increase in size about 25 to 30 percent when a woman becomes sexually aroused and can tolerate stronger stimulation. If you're unsure what to do, encourage her to show you and touch her own breasts; that can be a turn-on for both of you.
"As the breasts continue to receive stimulation, oxytocin continues to be released into the bloodstream. The hormone's most intense effects occur within the first five minutes after release, but can continue to increase uterine contractions for up to an hour. And the more you stimulate her breasts, the more oxytocin her body releases. The result? Her orgasms will be stronger and feel like they're affecting her whole body."
The next few minutes were pure pleasure. Under Sandy's guidance Craig caressed and stroked her breasts until she thought she would burst. She didn't come—a few women did—but she wanted to mount him right then and there. And when Sandy ended the workshop, she did.
The entire room was given over to sighs, murmurs, and cries of pleasure. The slightly sweet smell of the air was soon overlaid by the odors of aroused women and hard men. Craig kept up the stimulation of her breasts. She was sitting on his lap so he couldn't do much thrusting, but she bounced up and down, wanting to take him deeper, but kind of shivering at how intense everything felt right then. And Sandy was right. When she came, it was longer and harder than any she'd had in some time, and seemed to take in her whole body.
Finally she slumped against him. He had come too, and they both held on, breathing hard as the recovered their composure.
"I could do that again," Craig said, "though I'd like to get you somewhere where we could spend some more time at it."
She caressed and stroked her breasts. Her nipples were still hard, and after she lifted them, Craig got the hint and sucked and nibbled.
"I think..." She paused and swallowed. She didn't want him to stop what he was doing, but she was really turned on, and wanted to do more. "I think we need to find a bed."
"Us and half the office staff," he said. "Can we get together at afternoon break?"
She saw the clock on the wall. Lunch was over in five minutes. She was all worked up, and there wouldn't be any time to do anything.
"I suppose." She let him take her to the shower. A quick rinse, and she got as dressed as anyone at Hubbard: just her blouse and bra.
Nobody knew how the bottomless look had gotten started at Hubbard. Originally everyone had been topless, but women, or so she understood, had pointed out that it was unfair to women: they were exposing a lot more. Somebody had the bright idea of reversing it. Oh, you carried a towel for sitting down, and you wore pads during that time of the month, but essentially nobody wore anything below the waist except sandals or slippers.
When she'd started at Hubbard, that had been the hardest thing for Dace to get used to. After all, there wasn't any place more private than between your legs. And at Hubbard it was out there for everyone to see. The only fair thing was that the men were just as exposed as the women.
The reactions that followed were interesting. Most women trimmed or shaved their bush. She favored the "landing strip", a thin line of hair in line with her slit. About half the younger women just shaved everything off, leaving them as bare as little girls. That was okay, provided you shaved every day. The older women, those in their 40s and 50s, usually went for more of a matt down there, but in the last year even they had started having fun with it. One of the programmers, for example, was 52, and now trimmed hers in the shape of a heart.
Dace got back to her desk, aware of how Craig's come was slipping down her leg. She had to stop and wipe it up. Normally come stayed in a girl and only some of it came out. But Craig hadn't felt very long, so maybe that was why it was coming out. Dace mentioned it to Cathy, one of her co-workers.
"Craig?" She nodded. "Oh yes, he's quite a squirter."
"It's something I've noticed. Look, a cock is as long as it is so it can put come right next to your cervix, right?"
"I guess so."
"Well, some guys aren't naturally endowed enough to get that deep. Nature makes up for it by giving them powerful muscles down there. I once wanted Craig to come on my tummy, so he hauled it out at the last moment. But instead of covering my tummy, his first few spurts hit me in the face. And there's at least one time I know of when he shot some on to another cot, which had to be a good five feet away. That's what I mean by a 'squirter'."
"I'm impressed." Dace took a tissue and reached between her legs. She wiped carefully, and inspected the results. "It's all coming out, too."
"Yeah that happens. I figure the only way he's going to keep his come inside a girl long enough for her to get pregnant is if she spends at least an hour on her back, or maybe with that part of her elevated. Of course it wouldn't hurt if she came a couple of times too."
Dace nodded. She had heard about that. There were several feminists who believed a woman's orgasm didn't have any other purpose than pleasure, but there was growing evidence that women who climaxed, especially after a guy had unloaded, had a better chance of conceiving. Of course the opposite wasn't true, you didn't need her climax to get her pregnant.
"Well, I sort of promised him I'd see him during afternoon break."
"Well, have fun. In the meantime, what about Server B34? Have you looked at it lately?"
"I think so."
Dace got her working smock and pants. It was cold in the server room, and by common consent, anyone who went in there was covered from head to toe. It wasn't very sexy, but neither were goose pimples and turning blue from the chilled air. As she worked, she thought about what she'd learned at the Brown Bag.
Breasts were a subject near and dear to her. By the time she was 15 she realized that the lottery of life had come up a loser on breast size for her. On a good day, with a loose tape measure, she needed an A cup. She didn't have to wear a bra because there was nothing to support, all she had were nipples. She was told that was enough to nurse a baby, but a kid was the last thing on her mind. She wanted curves, and to do that she needed breasts.
Rather than bemoan her fate, the common wisdom was that a girl could be either beautiful or smart, and flat-chested girls were always smart, she did what any self-respecting woman would do. She bought a pair. She worked two jobs, she saved everywhere she could, and when she was 20 she celebrated by getting herself a nice pair of C cup breasts.
She'd also moved, she was sensitive to the gossips, of course, and didn't want people talking about her sudden increase in chest size. In her new place no one had known the flat Dace. As far as they knew she'd always had a chest that size.
The results had been magic. As the speaker was saying, a girl used her boobs to attract a guy. Oh, you did a lot more, but one of the first things a guy saw was a girl's boobs. You could see it at any party. And in conversation, a girl's boobs got talked to a lot more than her face, but only if she was well-endowed.
The rest of her had been just as female as anyone else, and more for self-esteem than anything else she'd gotten laid. Guys might be attracted to girls with big boobs, but a girl whom they could lay—she wasn't easy, but she made sure she was well worth it—got to be very popular. And when you add a figure ... She spent more than a few evenings of her college life flat on her back. She also did it on her knees, her side, and any other way she could think of. A book she found in the Restricted Section of the University's library while she worked there had fired her imagination. There were more ways to do it than she'd imagined.
The jobs had come, but it seemed as if she could have a sex life, or a love life. She wanted both, and then she'd stumbled on Hubbard. It was unlike any other company in the world. Here employees routinely had sex during their breaks, and nobody thought it odd! The average girl could get laid twice a day without any effort, and if anyone got jealous, nobody said a thing. That left her free to look for a husband in her private life, because she'd discovered in college that she loved sex.
There were girls in the dorm who didn't like it. Sex, to them, was almost an imposition. They'd do it to keep the guy they were with, but eventually they moved on. There were a few girls who clearly enjoyed themselves, and they practically had guys lining up. The lesson had been clear: sex was pleasurable, it was supposed to be pleasurable, and a girl who clearly enjoyed what the guy was doing had a much better chance of seeing that boy again.
In her Junior Year she had had a sociology class she had to take for distribution. It was the University's attempt to pound something other than computers into the heads of the Comp Sci majors. At first she thought it was a whim that led her to interview the hookers who worked in a Nevada brothel, but her questions went far beyond what the professor wanted. She began asking questions about techniques, and how the girls got pleasure from their jobs. That led her to more explorations of her own body, and that led to a tremendous increase in pleasure.
She had trouble remembering the guy's name, she was pretty sure it was Greg, and he was the first to bed the newly refurbished and educated Dace. She had faithfully done her Kegel exercises, she'd spent hours with a mirror in her dorm room touching herself and learning what felt good, and now she applied it.