All characters in the following story were over 18.
Portions of this story are based on actual events. Other portions are based on what might have happened and how I would have reacted if they did. In the end, I "didn't do it," but to paraphrase OJ Simpson, If I had done It, here's how it would have happened!
Becky's nipples were barely visible through her sweater, but any nipples will catch my eye. My wife, Rachel, gets on my case for being too overt when I stare at big tits or protruding nipples, so I visually caressed Becky's big boobs from a distance, out of the corner of my eye, for a few minutes. I figured she had to be braless, even the concept of which always turns me on. After a minute or so, she caught me checking her boobs out (busted, as it were!), so I made my way through the crowd to her, managing to keep eye contact when she broke off her conversation with another guest. It was hard. And I was halfway there myself!
We spoke for a while about the weather (cold, with snow on the way for New Year's Day) and the party, but with the noise, we had to edge fairly close together to hear each other. Also, we were standing at the entrance to the hallway leading to the bathroom, which turned out to be very fortuitous. I was holding a paper plate with hors d'oeuvres in my right hand, managing to hold onto my cup of rum and Kahlua with thumb and forefinger as it rested on the plate as well. That way, I could use my left hand to both drink from the cup and eat from the plate.
And then it happened. It was an accident - at least at first. Making way for someone to pass behind me (more like he pushed through), the back of my right hand had come to rest, lightly touching the underside of Becky's generous left breast. I elected not to move my hand away from that exquisite contact. She made no move to back away, either. After a few moments, I shifted my feet a bit, increasing the pressure of my hand into her delectable bosom. Maybe she hadn't felt that first touch? Still no reaction from her to the increased pressure on her boob. We continued to chat away as if nothing was going on - despite the fact that
something
was definitely going on; I was developing a very stiff dick, right in the middle of our New Year's Eve party, with my wife not 15 feet away!
.................................
Our apartment was in a large complex in a community south of Boston, with a commuter train stop a short walk from our door. My wife worked downtown, walking from South Station to her office. I, on the other hand, had to take the T to the med school area. We enjoyed riding together in the morning, but for the ride home, we were almost always alone - the T was just not that reliable. The summertime rides home were thus often a teat - I mean treat - for me, as with no chiding wife, I could freely ogle the young ladies, catching glimpses of naked boobs through armholes or down loose tops, sometimes even to the nipples. But that's another story.
Maybe a year after we moved in, we spotted an attractive couple waiting for the morning train. He looked to be in his mid- to late forties - certainly handsome and well dressed, but with his hair already starting to gray a bit.
His woman, on the other hand, was a young knockout, likely 15 or 20 years his junior. She was a trim blonde with an awesome figure. She wore sturdy bras, but the bras could not totally stop her magnificent tits from swaying when she walked. In the summertime, she wore tops that tastefully revealed some few inches of cleavage.
They seemed totally at ease with each other, smiling and laughing often. My wife, being the vivacious one, eased over, and introductions were made. His name was Phil, hers was Becky, and they worked in the same office downtown, some half mile from my wife's office. I suspected an office romance, but we never asked.
As it turns out, Becky and I were tennis players, while our spouses were not. We met at the courts in our complex a number of times that summer and fall, and she certainly cut a figure in her tennis dress! It was a light blue with a frilly skirt and a too-tight top. Even as well bra'd as she was, when she dashed around the court, her boobs were definitely bounding around inside her sports bra whenever I hit a drop shot that she might possibly dash to reach. I soon learned how to hit them
just
deep enough that she'd be tempted to charge after them. Her bosoms must have jostled around enough inside her bra that, despite two layers of fabric, her nipples were clearly pushing out.
Beyond that, though, we'd chat on our way to and from the courts, and by the end of the tennis season, we were very comfortable with each other; I counted her as a friend (not quite 'bosom buddies,' as it were - not yet, anyway), and I think she felt the same. She had a lovely smile, a ready laugh, and blond hair long enough to brush the ends of her nipples.
.....................................
But back to the New Year's Eve party. After some moments of simply pressing my hand into the underside of her soft, heavy tit, I began a slow massage of the magnificent mammary. Definitely braless. Still no reaction from Becky. I have no idea what we talked about, but I was bound and determined to keep the chatter going. I do
so
love bosoms!
Actually, I do remember one thing - she asked me about my drink. I explained that I did not know if it had a "common" name, like a Black Russian (vodka and Kahlua), but I did tell her that it was rum and Kahlua over ice. Since Bacardi started in Cuba, maybe it should be called a "Black Cuban?" [Do any of you readers know?] She said it sounded interesting and maybe she'd try it some time.
After another five minutes, I grew even bolder, sliding my hand north in search of her nipple. With my plate of food as an excuse, I was able to glance down periodically, first to select a morsel but second to check out her sweater. There was her left nipple, poking out through her smooth sweater almost begging to be kissed. I inched my hand closer, the first knuckle of my middle finger all but touching the precious nubbin. One more tiny shift and - presto! I felt the underside of her stiff nipple on my finger. She drew a deep breath at the contact, which pushed her left bosom more firmly into my hand, but settle back into her former position quickly.
For the next five minutes, I toyed with her nipple as best as I could. There must have been 30 people in our small apartment, music was playing, and chatter was loud and everywhere. But for those five minutes, aside from the effort required to make conversation, the entire focus of my mind was on the feel of her bosom and of her stiff nipple on my finger. It was glorious!
But then I spotted my wife working the crowd handing out New Years Eve noise makers and announcing, "Five minutes until the ball drops! Gather round the TV!" As she approached Becky and me, I reluctantly moved my hand away from her bosom and finished my drink. "Nice talking with you," she said, and when I looked up to her eyes, I saw a very deliberate wink and what I'd like to think was a seductive smile. "You, too," I replied as my dick twitched.
My wife and I definitely brought in the New Year with a bang, but it was Becky's bosom and her stiff nipple that was uppermost in my mind as I tongued my wife's nipple to a mutual orgasm.
........................................
We didn't see Phil and Becky very often for some months after the party. As it turns out, his schedule had changed, so they were most often on an earlier train. Cold as it was, though, even when our schedules matched, Becky was in a coat and heavy clothing, so I had to rely on my memory, when my wife was not around, to re-live the stolen-yet-freely-given feeling of her left bosom and her stiff nipple as I beat off. (At the time, sex with my wife was a once-or twice a week thing, while I would have been happier with once or twice a
